Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Flashback

Something is different with Shane Hollander. Ilya just can't place it. He knows he probably looks crazed, watching Shane skate to the Metros bench, but he can't take his eyes off him. Shane always seems nervous. But now, his discomfort feels bigger, more palpable. Ilya notices Shane's tense posture, his nervous hands, and his avoidance of Ilya's gaze. Their eyes finally meet, and Shane looks away first, face flushed, clearly flustered.

Their "relationship," or whatever the fuck it was, hadn't changed since they last met, had it? Their texts were still a mix of flirting and Ilya pushing Shane's buttons. The Frequency? The same. Ilya is skating over to where Shane is leaning on his bench when the ref signals the start of the game, cutting his plans short. He thinks about saying something at the first face-off. But Shane doesn't even look up. Rude! Something is up, but Ilya refuses to let the chance to rattle Shane slip by.

Only after Shane scores and they return to their positions does Ilya finally get to speak. "What you do, Hollander? What's changed?" Shane glances up as they crouch for the puck. His eyes, deep, brown, flash with fear. His Adam's apple bobs. He looks paralyzed, as if his body is rooted to the ice.

Shane barely manages, "I don't know what you're talking about, Rozanov. I didn't do anything, nothing's different." But he sputters through the words, glancing away and fidgeting with the tape on his stick. He never loses that nervous look. Ilya rolls his eyes, making clear he does not believe him. With obvious smugness, he replies, "Ok. Sure." The ref drops the puck. Ilya swiftly knocks Shane's stick aside and steals the puck as Shane freezes in surprise.

Something must have happened between their last hookup and now. It was etched on Shane's face. Had he been with someone else and felt guilty?

The thought lodges in his chest like a shard of ice, but deep down, he doesn't believe it. So then what? What could make him act like this? He was nervous, avoidant, and flustered beyond the usual avoidant, flustered nervousness that was his baseline. Ilya's mind races through possibilities as he skates. Each one is more frustrating than the last.

Maybe Shane had finally looked into what they were doing. Maybe he'd realized what it meant, what Ilya was doing to him, and now he was freaking out. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe Shane wanted more and didn't know how to ask for it. That thought sends a dangerous thrill through him, but he pushes it down.

Or maybe, fuck, maybe Shane was regretting it. Maybe he'd woken up the day after Ilya left his apartment, decided this was too much, too weird, too complicated and was trying to figure out how to tell Ilya it was over.

The not knowing is killing him. Ilya prides himself on reading people. He's always three steps ahead. But Shane is a puzzle he can't solve now. It's driving him absolutely insane.

His jaw tightened. Anger surged raw and blistering, impossible to swallow. He flung it at the closest person. By chance, that was Hayden Pike. Of course, he was sent to the penalty box, but he felt a fleeting, wicked thrill so that he couldn't complain too much. 😈

Unfortunately for Shane, but luckily for Ilya, Shane was bad at hiding emotions. Many joked he had none, that he was a hockey robot, but Ilya knew better. Shane showed everything through his eyes and the way his face scrunched up. Ilya may not be as fluent in English as he would like to be, but he was fluent in Shane.

Except apparently not today. Because whatever Shane was hiding, Ilya couldn't crack it. Every time he thought he was close to understanding, Shane would do something that contradicted his theory. The fear in his eyes didn't match guilt. The way he kept stealing glances at Ilya didn't suggest regret. But the nervousness, the avoidance, those were real.

Ilya's skating suffers for it. He misses passes he should catch in his sleep. His positioning is off. He's half a second too slow to everything. His brain is busy running through scenarios instead of reading the play. What is Shane thinking? What does he want? What is he afraid of?

The Metros win the game, and Ilya was little help to stop him. His teammates saw that his mind was elsewhere. During the second period, Marlow had skated up beside him after Ilya missed an easy pass and asked if he was okay. Ilya had just waved him off.

His coach gave him an earful afterward. Yelling about his focus, responsibility, and failure as captain. Ilya stood there, waited it out, and nodded where needed, but none of it stuck. His mind replayed every micro-expression from Shane, still working to decode them.

He could not muster the will to care. Not for the lecture. Not his stats. Not any of it. Normally, a bad game would claw at him for days, forcing him to replay every botched move, torturing himself with a reel of mistakes. But now? Only a blistering, ravenous frustration. The game had stolen his attention away from getting the answers he craved.

He wasn't upset that he played less than his standard. He was upset that he hadn't figured out Shane's secret. Everything else, the loss, his performance, his coach's disappointment, was just noise. White noise. Nothing compared to the need to understand what was going on in Shane Hollander's head.

Feeling irritated and surly, Ilya skates directly toward Shane for a handshake between captains in front of the crowd. He stares hard at Shane's expression, searching for any clue to his thoughts, and his mind races back through every interaction they've had. Every time Shane actually opens up, actually reveals something real, it's when Ilya pushes him. Pushes him hard enough that his careful control shatters and the truth comes spilling out.

In the locker room showers that first time, when Ilya had been open and shameless. In Las Vegas, when Ilya's words had made Shane so desperate he could barely form sentences and begged him to touch him, when Shane had been so overwhelmed he'd stopped thinking entirely and just given in.

That's when Ilya gets the real Shane, not the tailored image with the perfect media answers in English and French (bastard), but the one who's needy and honest and can't hide what he wants. The one who tells Ilya everything with his body, even when his mouth won't cooperate.

Ilya knows he's playing with fire. He knows Shane is already wound tight, already on edge about something, and pushing him now might be too much. It could backfire spectacularly. Shane could shut down completely, or worse, panic in front of everyone.

But Ilya is desperate. It sears through him. The ache of not knowing gnaws at every nerve. He can’t stand another minute, another heartbeat, without understanding what's happening in Shane's head. He needs answers, and there's only one way he knows how to get them. He'll rip it free if he has to.

He decides the quickest way to get honesty is to push Shane past his limit. He just hopes he's not about to cross a line he can't come back from. Leaning in until his face is close to Shane's ear, he whispers quietly, "Have you been a good boy, Hollander?"

Shane recoils, wrenching his hand away as a ragged gasp escapes him. It's closer to a whimper than a breath. Ilya sees Hayden Pike in his peripheral vision, bursting up from the bench, hawk-eyed with suspicion. Shane’s eyes go glassy with panic. His lips part. Color spikes bright red up his neck. His fists ball and tremble. Ilya thinks he must feel torn open. Fear and longing at war on his face. Ilya’s heart pounds as he drops Shane’s hand and retreats, blood thrumming in his ears.

He briefly wonders if he’s pushed too hard until he catches Shane’s gaze, locked on him while they both talk with their teammates as they get off the ice. Ilya knows he looks smug, as if losing means nothing, and it’s nearly true. He loves hockey and hates losing, but the knowledge that he was working Shane up by pretending he didn't almost made the loss worth it.

Shane's narrowed eyes feign toughness, but they reveal just how much Ilya had unsettled him, and how aroused he was. Ilya smirked, arching his brows to issue what he hoped would tell Shane: I will see you soon, as a command, and not a question, and then he turned and headed off the ice to the locker room, not giving Shane another glance.

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A text from Shane knocks him out of the memory; he's almost there. Ilya’s heart hammers so hard he momentarily fears it'll split his chest open. He stalks to the entryway, pacing wildly with anticipation and dread. The last time Shane was here hadn’t ended well, and Ilya was not looking for a repeat performance.

The panic attack. God, the panic attack. Ilya’s stomach churns at the memory. Shane, gasping and thrashing in his grip. His eyes unfocused and wild, his chest heaving like he was drowning on dry land. Ilya had never felt so fucking helpless in his life. He'd tried everything he could think of. Touching Shane’s face, his shoulders, speaking softly in Russian and English, trying to ground him, but nothing worked. Shane just kept spiraling, disappearing into himself until he fainted.

And the things Shane had said. The words echo in Ilya’s mind even now, sharp and cutting: “Leave me alone.” “Leave like you always do.” “I feel like I am dying.” “Why did you do this to me?” Shane said he didn’t remember saying them. Ilya had asked the next day, carefully, and Shane had looked at him with such confusion that Ilya knew he’d been too far gone to retain any of it. But Ilya remembers. Every single word is burned into his brain.

It can’t happen again. He won’t let it happen again. What happened in Montreal, Shane mentally disappearing, passing out cold while Ilya frantically tried to wake him, terrified he’d broken something fundamental inside him, and he would have to call 9-1-1, that was the wake-up call. Ilya had gotten carried away, pushed too hard, taken Shane too far without the tools to bring him back safely. He'd been selfish and reckless, thinking only about what he wanted, what felt good in the moment.

Never again. This time, Ilya must stay focused. He has to watch Shane like a hawk, read every micro-expression, every shift in breathing, every subtle sign that he’s slipping. He can’t lose himself in the pleasure of it, can’t let his own desire cloud his judgment. Shane trusts him, and that trust is a weight Ilya carries like a stone in his chest.

A lot had happened since that day. A lot of great things, but also a lot of fucked up things too. Ilya considered calling it off a million times. What was he thinking? He knew they were both learning as they went, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing Shane. Letting him down every time he took him to that place without a plan to get him out. While Ilya hadn’t been in this type of relationship before, he knew any relationship like this needed insane trust. The idea that Shane trusted him this much made Ilya feel sick.

Ilya was an asshole, but he wasn’t an asshole. He could never admit it out loud, but he cared if this was good for Shane. He wished so desperately that he could just detach himself from feelings. Put Shane in the cage, hold the key, fuck him, get off and not worry and obsess about him every second they were apart. But it ate at him, and it ate at him until he felt like he was going to explode.

Their last hookup was incredible, but Ilya had messed up, too. It’s his responsibility to get this right. He’s done actual research, and now they’ll talk. No matter what.

When the doorbell finally rings, Ilya jumps in surprise. He rushes toward the door, only a few feet away, but stops abruptly, realizing how desperate he'd appear if he opened it immediately. With his hand still raised toward the doorknob, he forces himself to pause, lets his arm fall, and silently counts to ten before walking over and opening the door.

Shane is at his doorstep looking gorgeous and perfect, and Ilya has to breathe again to stop himself from grabbing Shane and kissing him out here where anyone could see. With a lot of effort, he steps aside and lets Shane in, though he is on him the second the door closes.

Shane hadn't even turned around when Ilya swiftly peeled off his jacket and shirt. As they move through the kitchen, Ilya pauses to mark Shane's throat. The noise he makes in return is so incredible that Ilya can’t help but moan. After a moment, Shane turns in his arms; their kiss feels perilous. He feels like he is losing control already, so he grips Shane's arms and tries to put space between them.

Shane looks confused, and honestly, a bit hurt, and Ilya never wants to see that look on his face again, but fuck, they need to talk. All he gets out through gritted teeth is “Couch. now."

But even as Shane moves toward the couch, Ilya feels the pull. It's magnetic and relentless. This need he feels to close the distance, to touch, to claim. Every step Shane takes away from him feels wrong, like fighting against gravity itself. Ilya's fingers itch to reach out, his body practically vibrating with the effort of holding himself back. He watches the curve of Shane's bare shoulders, the way his muscles shift as he walks, and it takes everything in him not to follow directly behind him, not to press himself against Shane's back and forget about talking entirely.

This is why they need distance. This is why he can't sit next to him. Because Ilya knows himself well enough to know that if he gets within arm's reach right now, all his good intentions will evaporate. The talk will be forgotten, replaced by hands and mouths and the desperate need to have Shane under him, around him, falling apart for him.

Shane complies easily, though the face he makes clearly shows his confusion. He makes his way over to the couch with Ilya a few steps behind and then takes a seat in the middle. Ilya has to sit on the chaise section to create some distance; he knows he will pounce on Shane again if he is any closer. Even from here, several feet away, it's torture. He can see the marks he just left on Shane's throat, and he feels dark and possessive. They are red, and one looks like it is starting to bruise, and the sight makes something primal surge in his chest. His hands grip his own thighs to keep them from reaching out.

Ilya has to force himself to breathe before speaking, “We need to talk. Nothing is wrong, I just want to make sure we are on same page before we do anything.” The sigh of relief from Shane is audible, and he quickly replies, “Sure, what do you want to talk about?”

Fuck why was this so hard? He had gone through this a million times in his head over the past two months. They had danced around it in their calls and texts, which had become more frequent since Shane gave Ilya the key, but actually talking about this felt impossible. He must look like he is waiting for his turn on the guillotine because Shane moves over towards him, placing his hand on his arm.

Ilya looks up, and fuck, Shane looks concerned. This is not what he wanted to happen, and so he practically trips over his words to soothe the look. “I just think we need to talk about stuff. Limits and how we can make sure we are both happy. Did you look up stuff after I left?”

Shane’s hand is still on his arm, warm and grounding, but it’s also distracting in the worst possible way. Ilya is hyperaware of every point of contact, the gentle pressure of Shane’s fingers, the heat radiating from his bare skin. He wants to lean into it, wants to pull Shane closer and let this conversation dissolve into something easier, something that doesn’t require words. But he forces himself to stay still, to focus on what matters.

Shane blushes and looks away at that but quietly admits, “Yes, some.” Ilya sighs in relief at that, glad he doesn’t have to start completely from zero and continues, “So you know what we are doing is kink, right? Shane nods his head but doesn’t speak, and Ilya huffs at that. “This is serious, Hollander. I need to hear that you understand. What we are doing takes trust from both of us, and if I don’t hear you say it, I don’t know if we can continue.”

Shane jerks forward then. What was a healthy distance at the beginning of this conversation has been whittled down to less than a foot. Shane gulped and then replied, “I understand. I know what we are doing, and I want to continue. Please, Ilya, what do we have to do so we can continue?” Shane is working himself up now, and Ilya notices his eyes are getting glassy with unshed tears. The idea of Shane crying when Ilya hasn’t even fucked him to the point he can no longer control his emotions is distressing, and so as a sign of reassurance, he brings his hand up to Shane's cheek and rubs it in a soothing motion.

Ilya takes a few moments to just enjoy touching Shane before he continues, “We need a signal. Words and hand moves to say we need to stop or we are ok to keep going.” Shane looks down and surprises Ilya by responding, “Like a safe word?”

Ilya knows his smile is a little crazed, but he can’t help it. Not when his chest feels like it is going to burst with excitement. “Yes, safe word. You did do homework, yes?” Shane nods, then seems to remember Ilyas's previous command for him to use his words, and they bubble out of him. “Yes, I looked into it. I mean, I had a little before that night, but not seriously. I read that the word should be something you don’t say in normal conversation, but it isn’t complicated.”

Ilya nods his head at that, happy with how the conversation is going. “Yes, that is correct, but it doesn’t have to be a word. Some people use something called traffic lights. If we use that, we don’t need a safe word this time. It can wait until we think about it more. Do you know what the different lights mean?”

Shane looks like he is really thinking and then shrugs and replies, “I assume from context clues that green means like I am fine. Good to continue. Yellow means slow down or pause, and Red means stop right now?”

Ilya nods his head at that, “Yes. That is correct. Good boy. If you can’t speak, though, I think we should do one tap for green, two for yellow and three for red. Is that ok?” Shane looks like he wants to ask why he wouldn’t be able to speak, but blushes and looks away, clearly understanding and mumbles that he understands, and yes, he is fine with that.

Ilya leans back, satisfied with how the conversation has gone. They’ve covered the essentials, established some boundaries, and Shane seems to understand the importance of it all. “I think that is good place to stop this talk for today,” he says, his voice lighter now, the tension from earlier dissolving. Shane looks up at him, a mixture of relief and lingering anticipation in his eyes.

Then Ilya’s expression shifts, a mischievous glint replacing the seriousness. “Actually, I have a present for you.” Before Shane can respond, Ilya stands and leaves the room, disappearing down the hallway. Shane sits there, shirtless and confused, his mind racing through possibilities. A present? Now? What could Ilya possibly...

Ilya returns moments later, and Shane’s thoughts cut off abruptly. In his hands is a small black box, sleek and unassuming, but the look on Ilya’s face is anything but innocent. His smile is wicked, playful, like he knows exactly what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash. Shane’s heart kicks up in his chest, equal parts nervous and curious, as Ilya approaches with that dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Shane's face is almost too much for Ilya to handle as he comes back into the living room. It's a mix of bewilderment, arousal, and just a tiny bit of fear. Ilya’s own heart is a wild, frantic thing in his chest. He’s so excited, he feels almost dizzy, like he could vibrate right out of his skin.

The box in his hands is small, but the weight of what’s inside and what it means is enormous. He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, wide and sharp and barely contained, even though he knows it’s probably only making Shane more nervous. But he can’t stop it. He’s been picturing this moment for weeks: Shane’s hands on the box, the look on his face when he finally sees what’s inside. It’s the kind of anticipation that feels like static under his skin, a barely leashed energy that makes his palms sweat and his breath catch.

And beneath all that excitement, there’s a thrum of nerves. What if Shane freaks out? What if he’s not ready? But mostly, Ilya is just desperate for Shane to open it so they can finally, finally use what’s inside together. He walks over to Shane and hands him the box, then sits beside him with their legs touching, trying to ground himself in the warmth of that small contact.

Shane just holds the box and stares for so long, Ilya wonders if he has finally broken him. The wait is almost torturous; Ilya’s mind spins with a thousand images of what might happen next. He wasn’t expecting this to be what did it, but he realizes after Shane continues to avoid eye contact and holds the box like it might explode that he will need to guide him through this as well. The nervousness bubbles up again, but it’s matched by a wild hope. That maybe, after all the research and all the waiting, this will be as good as he’s imagined.

Ilya tries to keep his voice patient when he directs Shane to open the box, though inside he’s practically vibrating. “Go on, malýsh. It will not bite you. I promise. It is something I think we both enjoy.” Shane meets Ilya's eyes at that, and he can see his Adam's apple bob in anticipation. Ilya shakes his head in the direction of the box, giving Shane another direct order, and then Shane looks back at the box and slips off the lid.

Ilya thinks Shane had to know what it was before he opened it. What else would it be? He said very clearly the next time they met, he would give Shane a metal cage, and he had. But this moment isn’t just about following through on a promise. Ilya has been preparing for this in ways Shane can’t even imagine.

For weeks, he’s been researching, reading guides and firsthand accounts, watching videos, and lurking on forums deep into the night. He’s learned about safety, cleaning, different types of cages, and all the ways things can go wrong. He’s memorized every potential risk and how to avoid them. When the package finally arrived, Ilya inspected it meticulously, tested the lock, and read every instruction three times. The cage itself is beautiful, made of steel with a multi-ring design going down the shaft and a smaller cage at the end with a hole so Shane could still use the bathroom and release cum when he needed to. It contains a small, hidden lock. A detail Ilya had obsessed over, ensuring it was secure yet safe.

Ilya had read a review for this kind of cage that touted that it “minimizes the bulge underneath your clothing if you're allowed to wear any. I don't understand why you'd want to wear any when your cock will look so pretty and helpless locked up in this cage,” and Ilya had to rip his pants off and jerk off right there on his couch as he read that over and over again until he came. He couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty and helpless Shane would look with it on. There was a dark, possessive part of him that wanted to keep Shane caged and helpless, tucked away and belonging only to Ilya.

The fantasy crept in at the edges of his mind, hot and shameful: Shane locked up for him, day after day, denied and dependent. Sometimes, late at night, Ilya let himself get off on the idea. On the thought of Shane held captive by his desire, the key always dangling on Ilya's necklace. It was so dirty, so wrong, that he couldn’t let himself dwell on it for long. He knew, deep down, that he was nothing if Shane couldn’t be his rival on the ice. His victories only mattered because sometimes he lost to someone extraordinary. Still, the idea lingered, wicked and impossible, making his pulse race every time he imagined it.

​Shane gasps when he finally sees what's inside. His eyes are frozen on the cage. Ilya lightly bumps into his shoulder and purred into Shane's ear, “You will look so pretty in it, my krasivyy mal'chik. I think this will be good in long term.” Shane's eyes flashed up at Ilya in surprise, and all he managed to get out was “...long…term?” Ilya cocked his head as he tried to think of something that wouldn’t scare Shane off. He had meant it for when they use it in the future, but the idea of Shane being in it for a long time pounded at the base of his skull. He had to work very hard not to blurt that out. “For when we use it again. It can be easier to clean, and I can touch you more in it. I said I would get it. Did you not believe me?”

Shane manages to blurt out, “I don’t know what I thought. This whole thing has been so crazy. Sometimes I feel like I imagined it all sometimes. Like this whole thing was a weird sex dream I had. I appreciate it, I really do, it's just…hard to really think about, you know?”

Ilya did know. He knew exactly what Shane was feeling. Well, maybe not exactly, since he wasn’t locking his dick in a cage, but he knew what it was like to feel like he dreamt the whole thing up. Like this “thing” they were doing was bigger than what they could understand, and even if they did, it wasn’t something they would want to admit.

Ilya is then brought back to their last night in Boston, when this whole thing started.

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Flashback​

After his weird performance on the ice, no one stopped Ilya as he quickly got changed and left the arena. He didn’t even shower, preferring to do it at home so he could get out of there faster. He was definitely speeding in his Lotus Evora, but he didn’t really feel like obeying traffic laws right now. He had to get home and make sure everything was perfect before Shane got there.

​And perfect meant everything. Ilya's apartment was always clean; his maid made sure of that, but this nervous energy was making him feel a little domestic, so he went about wiping down surfaces and even organizing the bookshelf that Shane probably wouldn’t even look at. He changed the sheets and fluffed the pillows, put away anything that could seem out of place. He hopped in the shower and spent longer than usual, shaving and trimming, making sure he felt smooth and clean everywhere.

He tried on five pairs of sweatpants before settling on the softest, most flattering one. He wanted to look relaxed but not sloppy. He even checked the fridge twice to make sure the ginger ale was chilled, just in case Shane would want some. Every detail was a ritual, a way to channel his nerves and excitement into something tangible. By the time Shane was supposed to arrive, everything was in its place, and Ilya was as ready as he could possibly be, at least on the outside.

Shane looked delectable when Ilya opened the door. A part of him wanted to strip Shane and fuck him right here on his doorstep for everyone to see. He wanted the whole world to know that he was fucking Shane, pretty boy Hollander, and he was so good at it that Shane kept coming back year after year for more. But as with most things involving Shane, Ilya had to push those feelings down. Nothing good would come from thinking like that. He couldn’t be seen with Shane in daylight, so all he got was the night, and he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth just because it didn’t come exactly how he wanted it.

Shane was staring. He always stared at Ilya as if it was his first time seeing him. With such a look of surprise that, for the second time tonight, Ilya really wished he could read Shane's mind. He had to be thinking about something dirty because that blush was there again. Ilya wanted to make it go all the way down his chest before the night was over.

Ilya stepped aside, and Shane came in like he was in a daze. He didn’t stop to wait for Ilya to shut and lock the door; he just kept moving through the house, on a clear mission to get to the bed. Ilya had to run after him just to catch up with him as he went into the bedroom. Ilya wasn’t trying to scare Shane as he stopped in front of the bed. He was trying to be sexy when he whispered, "You never answered my question, Hollander?" in his ear. Shane jumped straight in the air like a bunny. Shane was fuming when he replied, “Fuck off, Rozanov. What were you thinking, sneaking up behind me like that?” Ilya laughed at that and walked around Shane and flopped onto the bed. He countered, "Maybe if you pay attention to your surroundings, Hollander, you wouldn't be so easy to scare?"

He knew his half smile was riling Shane up which is exactly what he wanted and he knew he hit is mark when Shane angrily complained that "Fuck you, I was paying attention, you just are sneaky,” Ilya could not let that stand so he sat up with one arm behind him and tried to create a serious expression on his face when he chided that  "Russians don't sneak. Whoever told you that is a liar. You just have head in the clouds. Come here before you give yourself a concussion from walking into wall."

Ilya knew he had him as Shane mumbled what was probably a cheeky reply and came over to the side of the bed where Ilya was lying. Shane might have been taller than Ilya in that moment, but Ilya felt powerful. He thought he could get Shane to do most anything if he worked him up enough. He was beautiful, staring down at him, waiting for an order and after a few beats of silence from Ilya, Shane had to fill the quiet with "What do you want me to do?"

Ilya had to school his expression because what didn’t he want Shane to do? The man took up so much of his time and thoughts, but now that he was here, they all faded away, and so he decided to start with the basics.  "I want you to take off your shirt and pants, but leave your underwear on. Then I want you to come lie beside me on your back and wait. Ilya patted the bed as he said it, scooting over so Shane could slide onto the bed.

Before Ilya even got a chance to enjoy the show, Shane already had one arm out of his shirt, and he was working on slipping his head out when Ilya made a "unh-uh" sound. That just would not do. Ilya was supposed to be getting something out of this, and while a naked Shane was certainly a reward, he was feeling a little indulgent tonight. Shane froze immediately and dropped the arm that still needed to be slipped through. Shane looked so innocent in this moment. Like a newborn baby deer trying to walk for the first time.  He was looking down at Ilya with such incredible trust that Ilya had to count to five and grip the base of his cock to calm down.

Ilya tried to sound disappointed when he added that "I say take off shirt and pants. I did not say rip them off at light speed." Shane looked at him, a little bewildered at that, and replied, "Who taught you the phrase light speed?" Which is not what Ilya was expecting Shane to say. And from Shane's matching expression, he clearly wasn’t expecting it either, but it came out of him all the same.

Ilya crawled back to where Shane was still awkwardly standing by the bed and got up on his knees so they were at a similar height. He put his arms around Shane's strong neck, resting them on his even stronger shoulders, pulling him in for the second time tonight, and purring, " I thought you were going to be good boy? But if you want to be brat, I can treat you like brat."

For good measure, he lightly smacked Shane's ass through his jeans. It was a risk. They hadn’t done anything like that. Anything dealing with any real kind of pain, though this was one swat, not exactly a beating. Shane's gorgeous gasp made Ilyas's cock stir, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing, "We try again, I think, yes?"

Shane seemed like maybe he wasn’t completely in the bedroom mentally anymore. Like his brain was trying to move so quickly that, instead of doing anything literally, it just froze. He replied, “Yes, sorry,” but it seemed distracted and wasn’t very believable.

Ilya knew this wasn’t easy for Shane. Staying present in his body was a struggle, so Ilya decided to have mercy on him as he smiled up at him, chuckled, "No apologies necessary. As I said, your heads are in clouds today. Now take your time and take off your clothes. Fold them neatly like you always do and come here." He again patted the bed beside him as it seemed like he was going to have to make his intentions clearer for Shane tonight.

Shane seemed to take a moment to breathe, and then he did as Ilya instructed. He proceeded to take his shirt off slowly, and Ilya couldn’t help but stare. Really stare. Not bothering to hide the hunger in his eyes. Every inch of exposed skin made Ilya's mouth go dry.

Shane’s chest is strong and broad. His thick, powerful thighs, hockey thighs, make Ilya’s hands itch to touch, to squeeze. The line of his stomach is not flat but strong. Perfect for who Shane was and what he did. As he took off his pants, it pulled Ilya’s gaze lower and lower. Every muscle, every scar, every freckle was something Ilya wanted to memorize with his hands and mouth. The urge to reach out and touch was overwhelming; his body was practically vibrating with the effort to keep still.

Lust clawed at Ilya, sharp and insistent, making it almost impossible to remember why he wanted Shane to go slow in the first place. But he remembered. He’d set these rules for a reason, and if he expected Shane to follow them, he had to do the same, no matter how much it felt like torture.

Shane bent to pick up his clothes from the floor, gathering them with a gentle care that made Ilya’s breath catch. He folded each piece delicately, smoothing them out before stacking them on the nightstand, as if this small, private ritual mattered just as much as everything else they were doing.

There was something almost unbearably sweet about it, this trust, this gentleness, the way Shane was so good without even trying. It made Ilya feel wild, feral, desperate to claim him, to ruin that neat stack and press Shane down into the mattress. This sweet boy trusted him so much, was so open and kind, and Ilya felt like all his hunger was going to rupture and spill out, messy and overwhelming, if he didn’t move things forward. He had to keep himself in check, or he’d scare Shane away with the sheer force of how much he wanted.

Ilya had now dipped his hand into his sweats and was touching the base of his cock and rubbing down his pubic bone. Anything more felt dangerous, but he could not stop. Once Shane was down to just his briefs, he cautiously made his way over to the bed, slipping onto it, and turning to face Ilya.

Ilya wanted to devour him, and so to make that a reality, he pushed Shane's shoulder to make him lie flat and proceeded to stare down at him in a flip of their earlier positions. Ilya couldn’t help the “good boy” that slipped out, and Shane responded so beautifully, letting out a whine and chubbing up in his underwear.

He wanted to overwhelm Shane. Make him focused only on Ilya, and so he quickly dragged his mouth to Shane's neck, kissing and leaving little bites. He prayed that Shane wouldn’t become aware and make him stop, because the idea of marking him was just too tempting.

As he moved his mouth over Shane's shoulder and clavicle, he couldn’t stop the “Ty moya. Tol'ko moya” that bubbled out of him. Thankfully, Shane either didn’t hear him at all or wasn't in his right mind to ask Ilya to translate, because that was so fucking possessive he knew it would scare Shane away.

As he made his way down, he reveled in touching Shane's chest. It was so pretty and defined that Ilya just had to grab it. He loved the way Shane's back arched, and it seemed like his body had a mind of its own. He was always so sensitive, but god, tonight was something else. Ilya took one of those beautiful dusky nipples into his mouth while rubbing the other one between his fingers, and he could hear Shane above him babbling. “Fuck, Rozanov. Oh my god, just like that. Fuck that feels so good.” The statements were separated by Shane's gasps, whimpers and whines. Ilya had to grab the base of his dick again, letting out Blyat! O bozhe moy! Involuntarily.

He moved over to the opposite nipple, pulling back just slightly with it in his teeth, and his reward was Shane practically flying off the bed. Ilya felt a wicked thrill run through him at how responsive Shane was. How easy it was to make him keen, to make him flustered and desperate.  An ever-growing part of Ilya wanted to embarrass him, not in a cruel way, but in a way that made Shane blush and whimper, made his whole body light up with pleasure and want.

He wanted to say it over and over again. How pretty Shane was, how good he looked, how much Ilya wanted him until Shane was babbling, unable to do anything but take it. And he wasn’t lying; Shane really was beautiful, breathtaking in a way that made Ilya ache. He wanted to make Shane say it back, even if it made tears well up in those big brown doe eyes, just to see him flustered and overwhelmed and soft for him.

"You are so pretty, Hollander."

Shane looks like he wants to protest. It makes something hot and almost angry flare inside Ilya. How could Shane even think to argue with him about this? There’s a sharp edge to his voice as he says, with absolute authority,

"You are, and I want no back talk."

It is not a command that leaves any room for protest, and the words fall heavy between them. Shane is helpless to argue, the protest dying on his lips, instantly deflating him. Ilya’s certainty is too much to fight against, and the only thing left for Shane to do is take it. Every word, every truth, until it sinks in and he believes it himself.

Ilya takes that as a win and sits up while putting his arm down over Shane's chest, moving his thighs to bracket one of Shane's legs.

Ilya was once again looking at him appraisingly. He could have watched Shane for hours; there was nothing better than just drinking him in, cataloguing every flush, every shiver, every tiny movement. He loved the way Shane squirmed under his gaze, the way he tried and failed to hide from the attention, only to be dragged right back into it. When Shane immediately looked away, blushing all the way up to his ears and down his neck, it just made Ilya want to watch him more, want to chase that embarrassment, keep him right on the edge of flustered and adored.

But Ilya didn’t want him looking away. Not now. Not from this. He needed Shane to really take it in, to see how serious he was. There was a deep, possessive thrill in forcing Shane’s focus back to him, in being the only thing in the room that mattered. So he grabbed Shane’s chin with his hand, firm but gentle, tilting his face up until their eyes met.

Ilya held his gaze, searching those wide brown eyes, and didn’t let go until Shane nodded. Just once, shaky but real. Only then did Ilya sigh lazily, muttering, "Pretty," again, drawing out the word as if it were a benediction, before starting to rub Shane through his pants.

He wanted Shane to feel every bit of praise, wanted it to settle in his bones, wanted to be the only thing he could see or think about before he let himself move on.

Shane bucked his hips as much as he could in his current predicament, but Ilya kept him pinned, squeezing his leg between his own and grabbing Shane's cock through his underwear. Ilya couldn't help the smirk that twisted at his lips as he asked, "Feeling desperate, Hollander? Is there something you want? All you need to do is ask."

He saw the way Shane shook as he gasped, "Please." It sent a spark of satisfaction through Ilya. He loved working Shane up like this, loved how quickly he would beg when pushed to the edge. There was nothing better than watching Shane tremble, his voice breaking, his composure slipping away piece by piece. Ilya wanted to draw it out, wanted to savor every desperate sound, every flicker of need on Shane's face. He wasn't going to make it easy. He tilted his head, feigning confusion. He wanted to hear Shane say it, wanted the full confession. "Please, what, Hollander?"

He could see the frustration warring with want in Shane's eyes, and it only made Ilya feel more powerful, more ravenous for him. That stubborn little streak just made the whole thing sweeter. Shane snapped, “You fucking know what, Rozanov.”

Ilya laughed, letting the sound fill the room. He was having the time of his life, loving every second of drawing Shane out, making him admit exactly how much he wanted this, wanted Ilya. "I know nothing," he said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. "How do I know unless you tell me?"

The way Shane whined, frustrated and needy, before finally spitting it out in a breathless rush of “jesusfuckingchristrozanoviwantyoutofuckmeok?” was perfect. Ilya felt triumphant. Moments like this were exactly what he lived for: Shane, strung out and desperate, all for him.

Triumph flared in Ilya's chest, but he wanted more. He leaned over, pressing their cocks together through the layers of fabric, the heat between them almost unbearable. He grabbed Shane's wrists and pinned them above his head. "Try again, Hollander. That's the theme of the night, I think. How does the saying go? If you don’t succeed, try, try again?" Ilya nodded to himself, oddly pleased that he remembered the proverb.

For a moment, Shane just breathed in the same air, his glare softening. Ilya could see him caving. "I want you to fuck me, Rozanov. You know I do. Can we stop this game and continue?"

For a second, Ilya almost relented. But he couldn't just give in. He pouted, deliberately dramatic, drawing out the tension. "Why do you never let me have fun, Hollander? I give you what you want, yes?"

"That remains to be seen," Shane shot back.

Ilya grinned, letting anticipation hang between them for a heartbeat longer, then moved swiftly off Shane, down his body, pulling his underwear away and taking his cock into his mouth before Shane could process it. When Shane tried to buck off the mattress again, Ilya pressed his arm across Shane's stomach, pinning him down, grounding him right there with him.

Shane was floating in pleasure when Ilya suddenly pulled off, making Shane lift his head in confusion. Ilya was caught completely off guard by what he saw. There was something different, something missing, and then it struck him: the lack of hair. For a moment, all he could do was stare, surprised and intrigued in equal measure. He studied Shane’s cock as if it were a puzzle he needed to solve, curiosity blooming into fascination. Why would Shane shave? What had prompted this change? The question slipped out before he could stop himself, his tone sharp with genuine curiosity: “Where is hair, Hollander?”

As Shane coughed, trying to regain his composure, Ilya waited him out, patient and unblinking. He could see the flush spreading across Shane’s skin, red as a warning light. Shane tried to play dumb when he replied, “I don’t know what you're talking about, Rozanov,” but Ilya just shook his head, utterly unconvinced. “Nyet, I know you know what I say, Hollander. I know this cock, yes? I know what it looks like, and I know what hair looks like on it. You shaved recently, yes?”

Shane got defensive, trying to keep some ground. “So what if I did?” But Ilya was already working through the possibilities in his mind. He absently rolled Shane’s balls in his hand, watching his reactions and thinking it through. The lack of hair was a surprise, and the more he thought about it, the more intrigued he became.

Why would Shane shave? He ran through the possibilities, methodical and sharp: Was it for someone else? He doubted it; Shane didn't have the recklessness for that, not with how careful he was about everything. Hygiene? Not likely; Shane was a creature of routine, and he kept himself very clean, and this was clearly new. Sports? No, hockey players didn’t need to be hairless, unless Shane had taken up swimming as a new way to exercise? He asked Shane, “You take up swimming, Hollander? Swimmers, they shave, yes? Why else would you shave cock and balls?” Shane's lack of response and the way his eyes shifted told him that wasn’t the case either.

Maybe aesthetics? Ilya almost laughed to himself. Shane was self-conscious, but not vain. As Shane indignantly replied, “I just felt like it, ok. Wanted to try something different,” Ilya’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe it for a second. The excuse was flimsy, and the way Shane rushed to fill the silence, babbling about how it felt good, how it was stupid, which only made Ilya more suspicious. He kept his hand steady, still rubbing gentle circles as if hypnotizing Shane, but inside, he was relentless.

He kept rolling it over in his mind, searching for the missing piece. And then he thought about earlier. How jittery, how off Shane had been on the ice, how distracted even after the game. The timing lined up. Ilya’s mind jumped ahead, the pieces falling into place: what if Shane had shaved for a cage? Not any cage, but a cock cage. Ilya didn’t know for sure that Shane had one, or had ever used one, but the more he considered it, the more sense it made. Shane needed control so badly, but he also needed not to be in control. The cage would give him both the safety of rules and the thrill of surrender. Shaving would make it easier, safer and more comfortable.

Shane's desperate “Can we please drop it?” only made him more intrigued. He absolutely did not want to drop it. He wanted to force the truth out of Shane, to see him squirm and finally admit what Ilya was becoming so sure of. The cage theory burned in Ilya’s mind, the possibility so tantalizing and right that he felt almost feverish with the need to hear Shane confirm it. There was a stubborn, hungry satisfaction in refusing to let the subject go. He needed the truth, needed to drag it out of Shane, no matter how hard Shane tried to deflect or lie.

The realization felt so right that Ilya said it aloud, not as a question but as a fact, his eyes snapping up to Shane’s.

“You lock up your cock, yes? Take hair off so it doesn't get stuck in it.” The words came out matter-of-fact, as if he had always known. And he watched with deep pleasure as Shane tried, and failed, to lie convincingly, his face giving him away before he even opened his mouth.

He couldn't help thinking back to the game earlier, when he'd first asked Shane if he'd been a good boy. He had mostly meant it as a joke, a teasing little dig meant to rile him up. He hadn't expected much from it, just a blush or a muttered insult, something to make Shane squirm. But the question had stuck in Ilya's mind, curling there, and now that they were in bed, he couldn't help circling back to it one last time. Ilya was smiling now. Not his small, sweet smile but a full, irrepressible grin. He couldn't resist. "I guess you were a good boy after all?" he said, the words coming out more tender than he expected, but still with that hint of mischief.

He barely had time to savor Shane's reaction before everything changed. Without a word, Shane shoved him off with all his strength, tossing him to the side. Ilya landed next to him with a huff, completely stunned. Shane got up from the bed quickly, and for a moment, Ilya just stared, caught off guard by how unlike Shane this was. A cold prickle of worry slid down his spine. Had he gone too far again? Was this going to be the moment he pushed Shane right out of his life?

Chapter Text

Flashback

One second, Ilya was on top of Shane, their bodies tangled and breath hot. The next, he was shoved aside, stunned by the force. Shane pushed hard, sending Ilya rolling next to him. He landed on his back and, for a long moment, just lay there. Staring at the ceiling, his mind frozen. He couldn't process what had happened. Only when he heard Shane's bare feet pacing and muttering did his thoughts jolt back to life.

Slowly, Ilya sat up, blinking in the low light. He saw Shane move restlessly in and out of the lamp’s glow, shoulders tight with agitation. “Hollander?” Ilya called, uncertain. Shane didn’t answer. Worry twisted in his chest. Ilya inhaled, pushed himself off the bed, and approached Shane cautiously, still trying to figure out what had gone wrong and how the mood had changed so quickly.

Ilya had no idea what would happen next. Shane had been tightly wound all night. The way he looked at it, the tension could break into tears or a fight. He didn’t think Shane would punch, but he also didn’t think Shane would push him off, and so that uncertainty made every step towards him careful and calculated. Like he was approaching a cornered animal. Ilya’s heart pounded with worry and fear. As he neared, he heard bits of English: “have to,” “need,” “fuck.” Each word heightened his anxiety.

Ilya reached Shane just as his knees buckled, urgently grabbing him under the arms to keep him from collapsing. Fierce protectiveness battled with helplessness inside him. He ached to comfort Shane but had no idea how. Instinct screamed at him: Be the adult, take charge, fix it. But his only blueprint for adulthood was shutting down, sealing feelings deep to survive alone. No one had given him a script for what to do when someone else was falling apart. Was he supposed to say something? Hold Shane tighter? Let him cry? Ilya’s mind spun with uncertainty and a growing sense of inadequacy.

He felt like a child pretending to be an adult. Shane was pulling at his hair, not seeming to care if he ripped it out. Instinctively, Ilya kept untangling his hands from the strands, but Shane kept bringing them right back up and trying again. There was no map for this. Ilya was terrified he would get it wrong.

Sex and relationships had always felt transactional to Ilya. You give something; you get something. That’s how it worked with everyone, Shane included. Pleasure was safe, contained. It was something he could measure and control. But comfort? That was a foreign, messy landscape. What did he stand to gain from comforting Shane? No thrill. No clear reward. Just uncertainty, the risk of giving without getting anything back.

Being the one to comfort someone, to be soft and gentle when everything in him screamed for distance, was new. No one had comforted him when he was upset for a long time. His father, strict and cold, never gave him space for emotions, only demanding that he toughen up, push through, be stronger. His brother had been worse, bullying Ilya into submission, making sure any sign of vulnerability was swiftly punished.

His mother had been the only soft presence in his life. She was gentle and warm, the lone refuge for his feelings. But she had left him too, deciding to fix her problems with a bottle of pills and get buried in the ground in Moscow, thousands of miles away. Since then, Ilya had been alone with his pain. He forged himself hard, climbing out of every hole alone. No one would help him.

He looked at Shane and felt the sharp ache of jealousy at how different their upbringings were. Shane had two loving parents who would do anything for him, always ready to listen and validate his feelings. They had given him space to feel, and as a result, he was softer, more open, able to ask for comfort without the same shame Ilya had felt. Ilya could see how that made Shane more resilient in some ways, but to Ilya, it was hard not to see it as a weakness.

He’d been taught all his life that needing comfort was a flaw. An invitation to disappointment or pain. Part of him longed for what Shane had; another recoiled. He didn't know if he could be the person Shane needed, or even if he wanted to try. The fear of failing clawed at him as he hesitated, caught between pulling away and wanting to try, even if it left him exposed.

His next reaction, raw and instant, was revulsion. Shane was acting like a baby, and a bitter voice in Ilya urged him to abandon Shane, let him drop to the floor and sob on the carpet until he calmed down, maybe flick the TV on and wait until Shane’s breakdown ended.

He’d been taught to ignore weakness, to let others handle their mess. The urge bubbled up, but he fought it, and something softer took hold. A refusal to leave Shane. Lost in thought, he was surprised when he heard himself speak.

“Hey, please, don’t go away. I need you to stay here, baby. Please stay with me.”

He rubbed Shane's back in what he hoped was a comforting motion and kept talking, often slipping into Russian because English was fucking hard when he had to focus.

After a while, Ilya had no idea how much time had passed. He felt Shane's legs stiffen up slightly beneath him as if he was about to move away. Ilya gently cupped Shane’s cheek and guided his head into the curve of his neck, adjusting his own posture so he could better support Shane’s weight. Shane leaned against Ilya, still unsteady and needing help to stay upright.

Ilya didn’t know what to say. A sharp, gut-twisting sense of guilt began to overwhelm him. The more he looked at Shane, the more sure he was that he’d egged this whole reaction on, poked at every bruise until Shane broke open. The cold weight of responsibility pressed on his chest. He felt he had to try to fix it, even if he didn’t know how.

Maybe the only thing to do was start with the truth, to say he was sorry and hope it landed somewhere inside Shane's brain.

He just hoped Shane wouldn’t remember once he’d calmed down.

It came out almost as a whisper, but it felt right when he said, “Sorry, baby, sorry, sorry, baby, I didn't mean to push so hard.”

Unfortunately for Ilya, it seemed he would not get his wish. Shane's head popped out of his hiding place in Ilya's throat, and he stared with wide eyes. Ilya thought he might faint, but was surprised when Shane said, “You don't have to be sorry.” He looked down at that. Ilya could feel his heart pick up again as it pressed against him. It was as if he had just realized where he was and that he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Ilya felt an ache as Shane brushed aside his apology. He was filled with regret; he truly was sorry for what had happened. Now, as Shane seemed to push him away, every attempt to fix things felt like it made everything worse. He felt raw and exposed. He’d tried to be vulnerable and give comfort this time, yet now Shane seemed ready to walk away. The sting of rejection sharpened inside him. He struggled with the fear that his efforts had been for nothing as he watched Shane push away his hands and walk to the edge of the bed, sitting down quickly.

A wave of frustration and helplessness hit him. He wanted to yell at Shane for being so stubborn, for not seeing how hard this was for him, too. He opened his mouth, ready to snap, but instead of lashing out, he got on the bed from the opposite side and crawled over to Shane, wrapping his arms around him. When Shane said, “I have to leave,” and looked back, Ilya was stunned. Was he actually going to walk out? He couldn’t even stand by himself a minute ago, and now he was going to put on his clothes and get out of here?

The thought was unbearable. He scoffed, then saw Shane trying to get up, and panic surged through him. As Shane attempted to rise, Ilya quickly reached out, pulling him down into his lap while softly cooing, “Please, Malysh, please just lie down for a moment.

Shane went instantly with no fight, and Ilya tried to hide the smile that burst out in a rush of relief. For a while, everything was tense. Shane’s body stiff, Ilya’s heart pounding too fast. But as they stayed like that, a slow calm began to settle over both of them. Ilya could feel his own breathing slow down with Shane nestled against him, and little by little, Shane’s muscles started to loosen too. It was gradual, almost imperceptible, but the longer they lay together, the more it felt like the storm inside both of them was ebbing away.

Ilya loved Shane like this, soft and vulnerable, pressed close to him and letting Ilya run his fingers through his hair while he murmured gentle nonsense into his ear. They stayed like that for a long time with Shane tucked against his chest, and Ilya treasured every second. It felt rare, almost sacred, to be allowed to hold Shane like this and to feel him relax a little more with every breath. Ilya tried to memorize the weight of Shane on him, the way his hair felt under his hands, the warmth of his skin.

But even as he held Shane, Ilya’s mind wouldn’t stop racing. He kept replaying the night, every word and touch, picking apart what had happened and why. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became: Shane had definitely been wearing a cock cage. The reaction, the nerves, how tightly wound he’d been all night, it all made sense now. The realization sent a pang through Ilya: it was thrilling, yes, but it also made him ache with how much he wanted to keep Shane right here, safe and close, never letting him go.

He warred with himself as Shane finally stirred, mumbling that he really did have to go and that “Hayden will worry if I don't come back at all.”

“Fuck Hayden,” Ilya replied quickly, but he was already letting Shane get up. He couldn’t keep him here, no matter how much he wanted to.

Ilya’s mind was still spinning. They hadn’t even fucked. He’d barely gotten his mouth around Shane before everything fell apart. The whole night felt like it had unraveled fast, and now, watching Shane get dressed, Ilya fought with himself about whether to bring up what he’d realized. Should he say something? Would it just push Shane further away? He watched as Shane grabbed his shirt, hesitated with his underwear, then finally stuffed it into his pocket instead of putting it back on. Ilya had to stifile a laugh at that, which caught Shane's attention.

Shane pleaded, “Can we just pretend this night never happened?” The urge to say something, to reach out, burned in Ilya. He pursed his lips, fighting for words that wouldn’t send Shane spiraling again. "If you wish, da, we drop it," he said aloud, keeping his voice even and almost convincing. But inside, he was absolutely not going to let it go.

That curiosity, that need to confirm what he knew, was burning in him. He almost let it go, almost stayed quiet, but as Shane stood up, gathering his things and heading to the door, Ilya couldn’t help himself. He needed to know, needed to push, just a little.

He called out as Shane was about to leave, pulling his attention back. “Next time, bring it, please.”

Shane’s face flushed deep with embarrassment, but his pupils were blown wide, unmistakably aroused. Shane practically tore out of the room, but the spark in his eyes was all Ilya needed. Ilya let himself smile, a rush of relief and excitement flooding him. Maybe they could move on from this. Maybe things could get better, stranger, more honest. The idea of seeing Shane in the cage next time was so hot, Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had to jerk off the moment the door closed, everything crashing down at once, and then he quickly fell asleep from sheer mental exhaustion, hopeful for what came next.

​—------------------------------------------

Ilya takes the box from Shane's hand and gently pulls the cage out. He sets it beside him on the couch and then, with both hands, starts pulling down Shane's pants. Not all the way off, just to mid thigh. Shane works with him so beautifully, lifting his hips up so Ilya can slip the sweats and underwear down past his ass. Shane is hard. Of course he is. Ilya would expect nothing less, but he needs to get Shane in this cage like yesterday, and so with one hand he reaches around Shane and grabs his balls, and with the other he brings his hand down hard on them. Shane jerks, but he is stuck, and Ilya whispers in his ear, “Give me color.” He thinks he knows what the answer will be, but is still delighted when Shane practically screams, “Green!”

The hand holding his balls tightens, and Shane is squirming, trying to get away from the pain, but never moving more than a few inches away from Ilya. When Ilya hits again, it is much harder, and he can feel Shane's cock start to wilt just a little.

The pain clearly outweighs the pleasure, though he wants to soothe Shane, so he curls into his ear and says, “This is for your own good. You want to be in a cage for me, yes?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but the “yes, green” he gets still makes him smile. “Then we need to get this pretty little thing soft. Can’t have you hard and in cage. Can you take it? I know it hurts, but it will feel better soon.”

Shane is shaking his head emphatically, and so Ilya, not wanting to second-guess him or himself, continues the swats to his balls and sometimes to his dick just to keep him guessing.

After a long few minutes, Shane has shrunk significantly, and Ilya grabs him behind himself to get the cage and get him in it quickly before his hard work is ruined. When Ilya looks down, Shane’s cock and balls are flushed a deep, angry red, evidence of both the pain and the arousal he must be feeling. Ilya can’t help but smile as Shane whines in his ear about how much it hurts.

He loves this: the sight of Shane so raw and desperate, the sound of his breathy complaints right up against his skin. But he notices, too, that Shane never asks him to stop. Not once. If anything, Shane pushes his hips into Ilya’s hand, seeking more contact, more sensation, even as he protests. It’s the kind of trust and submission that makes Ilya’s chest ache with pride and hunger all at once.

The cage is next, and it feels so good in his hand as he slides it on. It fits well. Shane is still a little hard, so once he's fully gone soft, it will be a perfect fit; if he gets any harder, though, it will become quite painful. He then takes the key and brings it up to Shane's face. “Do you want me to lock it?” Shane shakes his head in the affirmative and then seems to remember Ilya asked him to use his words, and so gets out, “Yes, please, Ilya, please lock it. Please, I promise I will be good, just please lock it and take the key.”

Ilya doesn’t make him wait and slips the key into the lock, turns it, then tosses it on the coffee table half-hazardly, only really caring that it doesn’t fall off, so he doesn’t have to go searching for it in the carpet later.

Ilya scoots back so he is lying his legs on the couch and signals for Shane to come over. Shane does so quickly, and they lie chest to chest with Shane's head resting near his heart. Ilyas's hand slips down between them to Shane's cock, now perfectly restricted in the cage, one he bought and starts rubbing Shane's cock through it. There is a gap at the top between the last two rings, and Ilya can reach in and rub right under the head of dick. He does so idly while bringing his other hand up to Shane's hair. Carding his fingers through the silky locks. He wishes he had more to grab, but he makes do with what he is given, and Shane clearly doesn’t mind as he whimpers and whines when Ilya lightly tugs on the strands.

Ilya is rock hard in his sweats, and Shane seems to notice as he is now rubbing against him, a little frantically, trying to get Ilya to move this along. But that's not the point of this. Not today. Ilya isn’t simply teasing for the sake of it or trying to frustrate Shane. He’s trying to get Shane to let go, to surrender, to give up control and become soft and pliant for Ilya alone. That’s what he wants more than anything: to see Shane come undone, to be the one who brings him to that place where he doesn’t have to be in charge, and then bring him back up safely.

There’s no real heat or threat in Ilya’s scolding, just a deep, earnest need for Shane to understand. He lightly smacks Shane's thigh and huffs that he thought Shane would be good. “You just promised it moments ago, and already you are misbehaving? I had not planned to spank you, but I will if you keep trying to get me to do what you want.” His hand migrates to Shane’s beautiful neck, and for a moment, Ilya thinks about wrapping his fingers around it, just lightly, never enough to choke, just a gentle squeeze, enough for Shane to feel his control. The idea makes his own cock throb with want; it would be so hot to see Shane give in so completely, to see the trust in his eyes as he let Ilya take him apart. But he thinks that might be too much right now.

This “thing” between them is still new. Even though they have been sleeping with each other for years, the dynamic is quickly changing, and Ilya doesn’t want to do something like that without talking to Shane about it first. Instead, Ilya just uses his grip to guide Shane’s head up, forcing him to make eye contact. Their eyes meet, and Ilya holds him there, wanting Shane to see every ounce of care and authority he has to give in this moment.

Ilya softens his voice, making sure Shane hears the truth beneath the game. "Let me give you what you need, malysh. It's the same as what you want; you just need to let me give it to you. Always trying to be in control must be exhausting. I’ve seen how soft you get when I hold you down. Let me do it now. I promise you will like it. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to be anything but mine."

Shane's eyes are the size of saucers, and his pupils are blown so much that they nearly engulf his irises in black. He whines, and that just won’t do. Ilya craves his voice affirming what he said, and like the perfect angel he is, he fights through the fog that seems to be worming its way into his brain and, lethargically but still enthusiastically, replies, “Yes, please. I will try, please, Ilya, make me yours. I want it like you said, just like you said. Please, I promise I will be good. Please, can we continue?”

Those pleas go right to Ilyas's cock, and he has to shift Shane so he isn’t putting so much pressure on his lap. He barely manages to get a “yes” out before he is pushing Shane up and flipping him onto his stomach, his ass high in the air. God, that ass is gorgeous, and he works Shane's sweats down until they are tangled at his calves. Ilya decides to keep them there, hopefully as a reminder for Shane to remember to behave and let go. A way to keep him exactly how Ilya wants him.

He smacks Shane's ass a few times, not looking to hurt or punish, but to see it move, to watch the ripple of muscle and skin under his palm. Ilya takes a moment to appreciate how truly stunning Shane’s body is. He's strong and solid, broad-backed with thick thighs and calves built for power. Every inch of him is gorgeous, but Ilya especially loves the details: the stretch marks at Shane’s hips from bulking up and slimming down over the years, the freckles scattered across his back and shoulders, the little imperfections Shane tries to hide. Ilya wants to worship every part, to kiss every mark and make Shane feel how utterly beautiful he is in Ilya’s eyes, but that feels a little close to something he doesn’t want to name right now, so instead he grabs each cheek and opens it, just staring. Shane's hole looks back at him, and Ilya can’t stop the thumb that runs over it.

Shane is so fucking responsive, and his gasp tells Ilya just how he feels about it. Ilya takes his thumb and brings it around to Shane's mouth. “Suck please,” he asserts, and Shane doesn’t even take a second to think, just brings the digit into his mouth all the way down. And now it's Ilyas's turn to gasp at the action. He shouldn’t be surprised; it was literally during their first time together when he had done something similar, and Shane had behaved the same way. Blindly taking whatever Ilya offered into his mouth, but even after all this time, it still amazes him.

Ilya pops his thumb from Shane's mouth and instantly applies it back to his hole. Shane did a good job of adding as much spit as possible because it now slips down past his entrance, and Ilya has to rush his finger to grab it before it slips off onto the couch. His thumb goes into Shane easily, and Shane grips and sucks him in until his thumb is taken to the root. Ilya takes the rest of his fingers and delicately rubs Shane's tailbone, then, one-handed, he slides his sweats down so just his cock sticks out.

Shane whines, bringing Ilyas attention back to him, and he has to shush him by giving him kisses up his back until he's kissing and nibbling behind his ear. “Do you promise to let go and let me give you what you want?” He whispers. His voice sounds low and dark as it comes out, and Shane responds so sweetly, “Yes, I will, I promise. Please, fuck me.”

Ilya has to smile at that, and he hides it in Shane's hair, though he's sure he felt it if his questioning noise is any indication. Ilya grabs Shane's legs and moves them together so there isn’t any space between his thighs, and he plunges his cock between them, feeling the hard steel of the cage rocking against him with every thrust. There's something about that sensation, the cool metal, the reminder of Shane’s submission that drives Ilya wild. He loves it more than he can say: the way the cage presses on top of him, the way it keeps Shane desperate and contained, all for Ilya.

Shane definitely is confused now, his noises pitched between bewilderment and pleasure, but that only makes Ilya want him more. He can feel the tension in Shane’s body slowly ebbing away, muscles releasing bit by bit as Ilya keeps up the rhythm. And then, as he slips his thumb out of Shane's hole and replaces it with two fingers, Shane starts to babble. Soft, needy words, Ilya can't quite make out, but go straight to his heart. It’s working. Shane is letting go, little by little, surrendering everything to Ilya, just as Ilya hoped he would.

Ilyas's hips start moving faster now; he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. He works Shane's hole in tandem, scissoring him open. He can see Shane's insides, pink and soft, and he realizes that his orgasm is going to hit him a lot sooner than he was hoping for.

Ilya wanted to fuck Shane's thighs until they were sore and red. Wanted to knock against Shane's cage so much that he cums involuntarily, but the image below him is just too erotic, too intense, and Ilya has to quickly pull out from between Shane's thighs and pull his fingers out before he is cumming. Some lands on Shane's ass, but he manages to get in the tip and work most of it inside.

Shane's shoulders bow back as Ilyas cockhead slips in, and Ilya brings his top half to his chest so they are kneeling on the couch. Shane's head lolls onto Ilyas's shoulder, and the look he gives makes one last final spurt of cum shoot into the man underneath him. Ilya sets his chest back down slowly. He slips out of Shane, who whines at the loss, but Ilya is too transfixed by Shane's hole to indulge him.

The cum, which Ilya only shot shallowly into Shane's ass, is now coming out in a thick white line. Ilya catches it on his fingers and brings them to Shane's mouth to clean. Shane does without any complaint, and once they no longer feel tacky, he slips them out and bends down to get the rest of it out with his mouth. It pools on his tongue, and then he is once again bringing Shane up, but this time his mouth covers Shane's, and he feeds the cum to him. Shane takes it greedily, sucking on Ilyas's tongue and not wanting to let go.

Eventually, Ilya breaks the kiss, deciding now probably isn’t a good time for them to die of asphyxiation, and Shane takes the breath to beg Ilya to let him cum. Please, he’s so close. He can do it with the cage on; he knows he can. Ilya looks at him, and he knows his smile must turn cruel because Shane's eyes start to swell with tears, and he says one word.

“No.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Flashback

Ilya had to jerk off again after his call with Shane. It was like the more he thought about Shane not being able to cum, the more he had to. He wondered whether he would get a photo at some point or if Shane would chicken out. The times he wasn’t stroking his cock, he had his laptop out, deep-diving into research about dom/sub dynamics and the ins and outs of chastity. He devoured everything he could find. Blogs, forums, and even medical articles were read and dissected in the hopes he would understand what made it so compelling, what the rules were, and how to keep it safe and exciting for them both. The dynamic between them had always leaned toward Shane being more submissive, but Ilya knew enough now to understand that didn’t mean things would always stay that way.

As he scrolled, Ilya found himself wondering if Shane would ever want more, or something different. Maybe, sometimes, Shane would want to be in charge. The thought surprised him, but it made sense. He remembered how it felt with Svetlana. How could she flip the energy between them so easily? It wasn’t ever explicitly a dom/sub thing, but when they slept together, she was usually the one in control, and Ilya was always eager to please her. It hadn’t made him feel weak or small; it had felt good, safe, even thrilling to let someone else take the lead.

Now, he wondered if Shane might want that too. Maybe one day, Shane would want to push him down, tie him up, and take what he wanted. Maybe Ilya could learn to surrender, just as much as he was learning to command. He was fine being in charge if that’s what Shane wanted, but he knew he was out of his depth, like a rookie in a game where he didn’t quite understand all the rules. He’d had all kinds of sex, but this was something different, deeper. Something that required trust and real communication, and he wanted to be good at it for Shane.

He spent a long time debating whether to reach out to Svetlana. He didn’t have anyone else he could talk to about something like this, not really. The idea of saying it out loud made his stomach twist. If he told someone, even in the vaguest terms, it would make everything feel real. And he and Shane weren’t real. Not really. They could kind of play at being together, pretend for as long as it lasted in whatever hotel room or apartment they found themselves in on any particular night, but bringing it up to someone else, asking for advice, felt like crossing a line. Someone else would know, even if he kept the details secret. Still, he needed to talk to someone who might get it, someone who could help him make sense of the feelings he couldn’t quite name. Svetlana was the only person he trusted that way. She was so understanding, so unflappable, and she understood him in a way he didn’t think anyone else ever had or ever could.

Even though he was nervous, he pushed through and sent her a text, asking if he could call. She quickly replied, "Yes,” and the call started off like most of their catch-ups, with Svetlana launching into a story about her latest car acquisition, one she just couldn’t resist adding to her dealership’s lot. She teased Ilya about coming to test drive it, and he laughed along, letting her easy confidence settle his nerves for a moment.

​

But Svetlana could always read him, even through the phone. “You’re distracted, Ilyushka,” she said, her tone shifting from playful to perceptive. “What’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re considering a practical car for once.”

​

Ilya hesitated, rolling the words around in his mind, searching for the right entry point. He didn’t want to sound foolish, didn’t want to say too much, but he needed her advice, and she was the only one he trusted to give it straight. “Do you ever, you know, feel different when you’re with someone, and you are in control? Like, really in control?” He tried to sound casual, like he was just curious, but the awkwardness bled through.

Svetlana hummed thoughtfully, immediately picking up on his discomfort. “You mean in the bedroom, yes?” She didn’t wait for him to confirm. “Of course. It’s one of my favorite things. When I take control, it feels…right. Like I know exactly who I am, exactly what my partner needs. It’s not about being harsh, Ilyushka. It’s about caring, about wanting the best for someone, even if they don’t know how to ask for it.”

He fumbled for words, still never saying Shane’s name or even referring to him directly. “But…do you think someone like me could do that? Be in charge, I mean.”

She chuckled softly, filling the silence with warmth. “For Jane?” she said, not bothering to pretend she believed his hypothetical was about a woman. “You know, I always thought you preferred to be told what to do. At least, that’s how it is with us. But maybe you needed to learn how to want control on your own terms. You are a good person, Ilya. You know how to, and like to take care of people, even if you pretend you don’t.”

He could hear her smile through the phone. “If this man...your Jane, needs you to take charge, I think you could do it. You just have to believe you deserve to. You don’t do things halfway, Ilyushka. Whoever he is, he’s lucky you care so much.”

Ilya let out a slow breath, feeling seen in a way few people ever managed. “Thank you,” he said quietly, the weight of his uncertainty eased just a little by her certainty in him.

“Anytime, dorogoy,” she replied, and he could hear the fondness in her voice. “And come by for that test drive. Maybe taking control of a new car will help you practice?” He laughed as he said goodbye and felt better as he hung up the phone

It was maybe an hour later when he heard from Shane.

Jane: I'm back from practice, and I'm going to put it on.

Ilya smiled at that. He could feel Shane's nerves from 500 miles away, and so he asked.

Lily: You want company?

He waited as Shane typed, then stopped several times before simply responding.

Jane: Maybe?

Ilya thought about just calling him again, but he thought back to his conversation with Svetlana.  “It’s about caring, about wanting the best for someone, even if they don’t know how to ask for it.” It stuck in his brain, and he couldn’t get it out. He wanted to see Shane. Wanted to see him like this, to give him what he needed. He decided to FaceTime him, and as it rang, he became nervous. Shane didn’t pick up, which was strange. Maybe seeing each other face-to-face was too much. Maybe he didn’t know what Shane needed afterall. He tried to stay calm and neutral when he texted “Pick up call.” That was chill, right? Definitely not demanding in any way. After a short pause, Ilya calls again, and this time Shane picks up.

"Hey, sorry, wasn't expecting you to video call.”

Ilya believed that to be true as he looked nervous. He could only see from his chest up, but his hair looked wet, so he must have just finished bathing. Shane was looking at him strangely, and Ilya asked cautiously if Shane wanted him to watch him put it on. Shane didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, his mouth slightly agape, and Ilya laughed inside. He loved flustering Shane, but he hadn’t even really said anything yet, and Shane was already an embarrassed mess.

"Earth to Hollander, you with me?”

From his side of the call, Ilya could tell almost immediately how much the image of him was getting to Shane. It was funny, in a way that filled Ilya with a private, wicked satisfaction. He could see Shane, blushing, biting his lip, trying to sound casual while his mind was clearly running wild. Ilya reveled in it, loved how easily he could rile up Shane with just a word, a tone, or even the suggestion of him.

“Yeah, sorry, long day,” Shane replied, and wasn’t that an underassessment? It had been a really long fucking day for Ilya, full of lots of emotions, but there was a thrill in knowing he had that effect, in hearing Shane stumble over his sentences or fall quiet for a beat too long, and Ilya couldn’t help but tease a little more, just to see how far he could push it. Making Shane come undone, even from a distance, was one of Ilya’s favorite games.

“Something on your mind, Hollander? You seem distracted at games lately. How was practice?”

​Shane was clearly caught off guard when Ilya mentioned, almost offhand, that he kept tabs on his career. His quiet, sweet "You watch my games?” threw Ilya off. It was such a simple question, but it sent a rush of warmth through him. He hadn't meant to say it, but for a moment, he allowed himself to feel quietly grateful that he had. But Shane didn’t dwell on it; he moved the conversation forward, shifting the focus back to what was coming next. Ilya could hear the nervousness in Shane’s voice, the way he hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"It was good…um, Rozanov, I was kinda going to put it on.”

Ilya smiled at that. Why else would they be here? Shane was so discomposed when he was turned on, and so Ilya decides to guide him by confidently replying, “Yes, Hollander, I know. Can you show me?”

Shane looked like he wanted to run away or vomit. Or vomit while running away. Ilya wanted to be reassuring but didn't know the right words to convey it. Ilya found it kind of funny that now Shane was shy about this. But Shane took a deep breath and then responded, “I need both hands. Maybe I could prop you up against something.”

"Yes, do that please,” Ilya replied as he watched Shane move to his living room and prop his phone up on his coffee table against something.

Ilya couldn’t take his eyes off the image of Shane on his phone screen. Shane sat there in nothing but a towel, hair damp and sticking up in soft, wild tufts. He looked impossibly gorgeous. broad-shouldered and strong, the muscles of his chest and arms still tense from today's practice, where Ilya no doubt assumed he had worked hard. Pushed himself to the brink, but there was something delicate about him, too. Maybe it was the flush on his cheeks, or the way he clutched the towel a little too tightly at his waist, as if he needed the barrier.

Ilya’s chest tightened with longing. There was something about the contrast, about Shane’s strength and vulnerability being on display at the same time, that made Ilya want to reach right through the screen. He wanted to pull the towel away with his own hands, to see every inch of Shane exposed for him. More than that, he wanted to be the one to kneel down, fit the cage over Shane’s cock, and watch the shiver run through him as he locked it in place. The urge was so sharp it almost hurt, this need to close the distance, to make Shane his in every possible way.

Ilya watched Shane on the screen like a hawk, his gaze devouring every detail. The nervous way Shane shifted his weight, the way the towel clung to his hips, the flush high on his cheekbones. Ilya barely dared to blink, afraid he’d miss something: the subtle flex of Shane’s thighs, the way his fingers trembled as he adjusted his grip on the phone. When Shane shyly asked, “What do you want me to do first?” it seemed to echo in Ilya’s chest, making his pulse race faster.

Ilya swallowed, his mouth gone dry. He wanted to ask a million questions about how the cage felt, about what Shane was thinking, about every sensation running through his body, but all that came out was a low, rough,

"Can I see it first? Hold it up to the camera.”

​Shane hesitates, then slowly reaches beyond the phone and brings it into view. The sight was almost too much. Ilya had been looking at photos of cages for weeks, but seeing it like this, live and with Shane looking so open and shy and desperate for approval, was killing him.

Questions poured out of Ilya before he could stop himself, one after another, his curiosity and desire tumbling over each other in a rush. "Blyat, Shane, you wear that? Does it fit? It seems small. Does it hurt when you wear it?” He barely paused for breath, hardly giving Shane time to answer before another thought escaped his lips.

But even as Shane tried to respond, voice soft and a little shaky, Ilya found it almost impossible to focus on the explanations. He heard every word, filed away each nervous confession and admission, but his eyes were glued to the cage. The clear plastic glinted under the lights, and the sight of it made Ilya’s heart thud hard against his ribs. Shane finally got out a "Yes, it fits, no, it doesn't really hurt. I mean, it doesn't always feel great, but that's kinda the point, eh?”

He kept staring at the cage, and he felt like he’d never seen anything so painfully beautiful. Everything else, every answer, every word seemed to blur around the edges, fading into the background. All he could do was stare, hungry and enthralled, at the symbol of Shane’s submission, feeling the questions build inside him even as the most important one was already right in front of him, coming out.

"Can you show me how you put it on?" He felt lightheaded with desire; the image seared into his mind. Without thinking, he slid a hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate to relieve the relentless ache building inside him.

"How much do you want to see? I can do it quickly, or I can go slower." Shane looked at the camera, waiting for Ilyas command, and every nerve in him was alight, hungry for all the details, and every second. He didn't want to miss a thing.

"Slower," Ilya said, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Slower, malýsh. Show me all of it. I want to see everything." His voice was rough, breathless, and he was so utterly captivated that the rest of the world seemed to disappear. He watched as Shane hesitated, then reached for the edge of his towel, fingers trembling just a little. Ilya's heart hammered as Shane revealed himself, half hard and flushed, and Ilya drank in the sight, greedy for every inch. He would have watched forever if he could.

"Will it fit?" Ilya asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity. "Seems like it's too late." The question was plain, unfiltered, almost innocent in its fascination.

"It will fit," Shane replied, meeting Ilya's gaze shyly, and for a moment the air between them was thick with memory and longing. Ilya couldn't help but grin, remembering the first time they'd been together, the same words exchanged, and he knew Shane was thinking of it too. The memory shimmered between them, electric and alive.

Ilya watched, spellbound, as Shane explained, "Ok, so first I take this ring and slip it like this," demonstrating how he slid his cock and balls through the ring. Ilya’s focus was absolute. He was so flushed, the heat spread from his cheeks down his chest, every cell in his body alive with want. He couldn’t help the desperate little noises that escaped him, so turned on, he almost ached.

Shane continued, "Then I take the cage, and I put it on." Ilya licked his lips, eyes glued to the screen, watching as Shane struggled a little to fit himself in, not even close to soft. When Shane picked up the pins and showed them, Ilya’s breath caught. He wanted to reach through the phone, wanted to do it all for Shane, wanted to make him shiver and beg. "Then I slip them through, and then I take the lock and…" Shane trailed off, waiting, looking for Ilya’s permission.

Ilya didn’t hesitate, his voice low and commanding, "Lock it." The words felt electric coming out of him, thrilling in a way he hadn’t expected. He got off on it, on the power, on Shane’s obedience, on the knowledge that he was the one making Shane do this. It was more than just curiosity or arousal; it was a rush, a deep satisfaction that spread through him. He loved how Shane looked to him for direction, how the simple act of telling Shane to lock the cage made him feel powerful and wanted in ways he’d never experienced before. The moment lingered, intoxicating, and Ilya knew he’d replay it in his mind again and again, savoring how much control he held and how much Shane trusted him to take it.

The sigh Shane let out was enough to make Ilya’s hips jerk involuntarily, pleasure winding tight in his belly. His curiosity was sharper than ever, but it was tangled up now in hunger, in the wild, reckless urge to do things to Shane he could barely put into words. "That feel better?" he asked, voice strained, and when Shane managed a broken "yes," Ilya could barely keep still.

He beckoned Shane closer, unable to contain himself. "Come closer. I want to see. Stand in front of camera." He watched, ravenous, as Shane obeyed, stepping close so all Ilya could see was the flushed skin of his stomach and the locked cage. Ilya’s groan was guttural, unrestrained, and he didn’t care how desperate he sounded.

"Fuck, malýsh, I can't get over this. It's so fucking hot. I wish I was there. Would you let me do whatever I wanted to you? To it?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, hungry and honest, and he didn’t care about holding back anymore.

The second Shane answered "yes," Ilya’s excitement surged, nearly overwhelming. He was so turned on he could hardly keep his hand still, his palm working over his cock with urgent, hungry strokes as he watched. He couldn’t stop imagining all the things he wanted to do to Shane with the cage on. How he’d tease him, touch him, make him beg, make him squirm. Every sound Shane made fed that fire, and Ilya felt wild with need.

"Touch it, please?" His voice was rough, breathless, and even as he said it, he was already picturing himself there with Shane, guiding his hands, pressing him down and making him obey. He watched, transfixed, as Shane grabbed behind the ring and squeezed, the plastic glinting in the light. Ilya stroked himself harder, the sight almost too much.

He couldn’t help but push for more. "Grab your balls. I want to see what it looks like when you try to get hard." The words spilled out, shameless, and when Shane complied, rolling his balls in his hand, Ilya let out a low, desperate groan. He wanted to be the one doing it—wanted to feel Shane straining under his touch, helpless and caged for him. The sound of skin slapping filled the call, and Ilya knew Shane could hear him touching himself, but he didn’t care. He was lost in the fantasy, picturing Shane on all fours, mouth open and eager, the cage tight and unyielding between them.

"That's about as hard as I can get with it on,” Shane admitted, his voice strained.

Ilya’s curiosity only sharpened. "Can you cum with it on?" he asked, the question almost clinical, but his mind was already racing with images of Shane coming for him, frustrated and desperate.

"Yes and no." Shane sat back, keeping the cage in view, explaining what it felt like, but Ilya was only half-listening, his mind full of everything he could do to Shane, everything he would do, once they were together again.

Ilya could hardly keep himself together as he asked, "How does it feel?" his voice was a little rough, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to do to Shane with that cage on. He stroked himself faster now, hungry and delighted, so aware that this was just for him, that he was the only one Shane would let see him like this. That privilege made everything hotter, more intense. He wanted to make Shane squirm, keep him on edge, deny him any relief just because he could.

Shane’s answer floated through the haze of Ilya’s excitement: "Like relief, but also like the pit in my groin doesn’t go away. It stays. I feel wrung out, and like I haven’t done anything at all.” Only a little bit of cum comes out of my dick, and it does slowly, kind of dripping out, not like it would during an orgasm.”

Ilya couldn't help the wicked smile tugging at his mouth as he watched Shane try to explain, his own hand moving quicker, more openly, wanting Shane to see how much this turned him on. He loved how affected Shane was by watching Ilya get himself off. How it agitated him, made him desperate. Ilya wanted to drag it out, make Shane ache with want and frustration, to show him how little control he really had.

"Do you have to be fucking yourself to cum?" Ilya asked, his voice almost teasing, loving the way Shane squirmed at the question.

"I think so,” Shane answered honestly. “I think without being able to get hard, you have to make it come out another way.”

"You have to milk the prostate?" Ilya pressed, savoring Shane’s embarrassment, so pleased that all this was for him and only him.

"I don’t know if that's the correct term, but yeah, I guess, it feels like pressing on a live wire. Like it's always sensitive, but the cage makes it so much more so. It feels like everything has been turned up to 100. Like my skin is raw, and even touching my nipples is too much."

Ilya was openly enjoying himself, his hand moving quickly, not caring if Shane saw or heard. He wanted Shane to know exactly what he was doing to him. "I use correct term. You look it up later. That is homework for you. You know I like you in cage," he said, his voice low and full of promise. He knew for a fact it was the right term. He'd gone down that rabbit hole himself, late at night, reading every thread and article about prostate milking, about how it worked, about why it could make someone come without ever getting hard. He knew more than he’d ever imagined he would, and it made him feel oddly proud to be the more experienced one, just for once.

But he loved how shy and uncertain Shane was, how new he was to all of this. He didn’t even know the words to describe this yet, and that innocence made Ilya want to take care of him, teach him, and keep leading him deeper into the world they were building together.

Ilya grinned, loving the way Shane bristled and bantered. Riling up Shane was one of his favorite things, and he knew exactly which buttons to push and just how much Shane secretly liked it. "Yes, much less mouthy," he teased, enjoying the spark in Shane’s eyes.

“Fuck you,” Shane shot back, but there was no real bite in it, just more of that shy, heated affection that made Ilya want to push even further.

“I would if I could,” he responded and then Ilya could sense Shane was right on the edge, so he decided to go for the kill. With a wicked smile, he flipped the camera around to show his own legs and cock, knowing it would short-circuit Shane’s brain. He reveled in the power he had. As Shane went silent, there was stunned awe in his expression. Ilya knew exactly what he was doing, and he loved every second of having Shane undone and eager just for him.

Ilya barely realized how filthy his words were as they spilled out, his excitement cresting higher with every stroke. "I want to jerk off on you, and all you can do is watch. You can’t do anything but watch with your cock soft and unable to do the same." He was jerking himself hard now, precum slicking his hand, too turned on to care about anything but the look on Shane’s face. He loved seeing Shane so desperate and denied, loved knowing that all of this was just for him.

When Shane admitted, "I want that too," Ilya felt a surge of delight, and suddenly he was saying things he'd barely thought through, the filth pouring out before he could even filter it. "I want to fuck you over and over while you stay soft for me. I want to empty your balls until there is nothing left in there, and you get no relief, and then I want to fuck you full of my cum some more. So much I get you pregnant."

He hardly noticed the line until it was already out of his mouth, but when he saw the way Shane responded, the look on Shane’s face made Ilya feel reckless with excitement. He could see Shane melting into the couch, losing his grip, his eyes going wide with want, and it sent a fresh jolt of arousal through him to know he’d driven him to this edge. Ilya didn’t even care that it was just a fantasy. The way Shane responded made it real enough. Maybe, if such a thing were possible, Shane would let him, would take everything Ilya wanted to give, and the thought of having that kind of power, of Shane losing control for him, made Ilya wild.

He watched as Shane’s legs lifted, hands moving to touch his hole, not dipping inside but just teasing, exactly like Ilya wanted. The sight made Ilya almost dizzy with power and arousal. It was so fucking hot. Shane was desperate, trembling, making all those needy, breathless noises, and yet he was still holding back, not going in, just waiting for Ilya’s say-so. That was trust, that was control, and Ilya felt it coil inside him, tight and electric. He couldn't stop thinking about it: Shane, so open and needy, but still following the rules Ilya set, still wanting to please him, to prove he could be good.

He told Shane to move his fingers to the space between his hole and his balls and rub, voice low and coaxing, loving how Shane obeyed without hesitation. Every time Shane moved, Ilya could see the sparks of pleasure and frustration, the pain of the cage making it all even sharper. It was like watching someone teeter on the edge, and Ilya was the only one who could push him over or hold him back. The power of it, of being the one Shane wanted to listen to, the one he’d wait for, made Ilya want to keep him like this forever.

“That’s right, baby, touch there and think of me. Think I’m doing it.” The words came out rough, full of want, and he could hardly believe how easy it was to control Shane like this.

Watching Shane get dizzy, hearing him stammer, “fuck, it’s coming,” Ilya felt a deep, possessive satisfaction. Even with the cage on, Shane was coming for him, making a mess just like Ilya wanted. He watched as Shane smeared it on his fingers and sucked them into his mouth, and all Ilya could think about was how much he wanted to push him even further next time.

Ilya was lost in his own pleasure, stroking himself with abandon, barely aware of anything except the heat winding tighter in his belly and the sight of Shane on the other side of the screen. Filth spilled from his mouth, half in English, half in Russian, and he was grateful Shane couldn’t understand all of it, because what he was saying was probably too much, too dirty, even for them. But he couldn’t stop. “Damn, baby, this feels so good. You are so good. My good boy. Take this dick like a good boy. Baby, baby, fuck, Shane.” He chanted Shane’s name between the words, unable to help himself, and each time he saw Shane react by blushing, squirming, his cock straining against the cage, and Ilya felt himself getting closer, the power of it overwhelming.

He barely registered anything else until Shane moaned his name right back, “Fuck, Ilya,” and with that, the last of Ilya’s control snapped. His orgasm hit hard, spilling over his stomach and chest, more than he thought possible. Even afterward, breathless and shaking, he felt the aftershocks of that connection, the way Shane had lost himself too, desperate and eager for every filthy word, whether he understood them or not.

After a few moments, Ilya flipped the camera around so it was facing him, and he watched Shane, watching him. Ilya’s breath catching as he took in the sight of him, flushed, lips parted, eyes heavy with want. It was almost too much, seeing Shane like this, and Ilya’s mind spun with filthy possibilities. He couldn’t stop picturing what it would look like if Shane crawled forward, mouth open and eager, licking up the mess Ilya had just made. The image was sharp and vivid in Ilya’s mind: Shane’s tongue darting out, gathering every drop, his gaze flickering up to meet Ilya’s as if asking for approval.

The possessive thrill of it sent a shiver down Ilya’s spine. He wanted to see Shane worship him like that, to see him on his knees, desperate to taste, to please, to show Ilya exactly who he belonged to. Even if it was just a fantasy for now, it was enough to make Ilya’s pulse race, his need for Shane growing even sharper as he watched, hungry for the day that vision might become real.

For long moments, Ilya just breathed, letting the possessive thrill and the sharpness of his desire wash over him. He felt powerful and wanted, and his thoughts turned toward something deeper, something that would last beyond this moment. He realized he wanted to lay down rules for Shane, to shape the boundaries of their dynamic and make sure Shane knew exactly what was expected of him.

The idea sent another jolt of excitement through Ilya. He wanted to be the one in charge, to set the rhythm and the rules. He imagined Shane’s obedience, the way he’d blush and nod, the way he’d look for guidance and wait for permission. It was intoxicating, knowing he could give Shane structure, permission, and denial, all at once. He was almost giddy at the idea of denying Shane, of making him wait, of setting up this game where he would decide when and if Shane got to come. The thought of Shane slipping up, of having to punish him, sent a sharp pulse of want through Ilya. He wanted to see just how far Shane could be pushed, how desperate he’d get, and how sweet his surrender would be.

Ilya’s voice was still rough with want when, at last, he spoke, already eager, already plotting how he’d take control and make sure Shane would always know exactly who he belonged to. "When I come to Montreal, you wear it." It wasn’t a question, and Shane’s instant, eager agreement only made Ilya want to draw things out more. "Until then, you wear it when you are not playing, and you will not cum."

He watched the flicker of disbelief on Shane’s face, the way hope and longing warred in his eyes as he asked, “Will I get to cum when you’re here?”

Ilya gave one of his crooked half smiles and said, “Maaaaybe. If you are good.”

Shane's reply was so hopeful and sincere that it squeezed Ilya’s heart. "I will be," Shane promised, and Ilya couldn’t resist one last little reward, letting his voice soften with pride and affection. "I know, you good boy. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you in two weeks."

He watched the way Shane’s face softened at that, all dreamy and trusting, and Ilya knew he would replay that expression over and over until they were together again.

​—------------------------------------------

Ilya is debating what he wants to do while idly playing with Shane's hole when Shane makes a desperate whine and has to rest his head on Ilya's chest. When he glances down at Shane, his expression is grumpy, but he doesn’t say anything. Ilya feels the need to push, and so in the most condescending voice he can muster, tries to look puzzled. “Is there something you want, baby? You know my English is not that good, I need you to speak up.” Ilya loves the way Shane's nose scrunches up, and he automatically takes his thumb and rubs the wrinkle that has appeared between Shane's eyebrows until it flattens back out.

Shane shoots Ilya a look, exasperated and a little surly, like an annoyed teddy bear, and it’s so cute he nearly loses his resolve. “I don’t want anything. You're kind of being an asshole. Your English is great.” Shane shoots back, and it makes Ilya laugh. He is delighted by the expression and hums, “Well then, since you don’t want anything, I assume you don’t want to cum. Shame, I put the key on my necklace so I could make that happen.”

Ilya jingles his crucifix, showing off the keys with a little flourish, and then Ilya lets go of Shane’s waist, brings his head back up, and turns around so his back is to Shane, waiting expectantly. “Since you have no interest in experiencing pleasure, you can wash my hair,” he declares, voice playful but with a hint of challenge. He waits, and after a moment and a little scoff, he feels Shane’s tentative hands slip into his locks, the smell of shampoo on them. It is gentle at first, and Ilya’s eyes flutter shut at the contact. The touch is so good, so unexpectedly intimate, that his knees nearly go weak and he has to catch himself against the shower wall, savoring every second of it.

Shane's chest presses into Ilya’s back, and he can feel the cage press slightly in the cleft of his ass. Ilya feels like being a bit cruel, letting the playfulness tip toward something a little more demeaning. He wants Shane to squirm, to know who’s in charge. He glances over his shoulder and murmurs, “Even if you wanted to, shlyukha, you couldn’t fuck me right now. Your cock is so tiny, I’m not even sure if I took it off; you could get it up long enough. Could you keep it up if you didn’t have anything inside you? Would you have to have something in your ass to keep you hard?

The words are teasing, but the effect is instant. He can feel Shane tense behind him, the cage pressing harder into his ass, and Ilya grins, satisfied and hungry for more. Shane whimpers at his words, but doesn’t reply. Ilya wonders if he even can right now, or if he's gone non-verbal. He decides to test it by making a demand of Shane. Forcing him to speak if he can. It's a two-fold decision for Ilya. It allows him to check in on Shane and his current state while also prolonging the humiliation.

He turns around, wet hair dripping, and faces Shane directly. He grabs Shane by the chin, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes, and lets the silence stretch, gaze unwavering, until Shane is trembling. "Tell me, Milyy, could you even fuck me if I let you? Look at me and answer." His tone is low and commanding, the challenge clear.

Shane’s eyes well up with tears, his lips trembling as he tries to form words, but then, a flash of defiance and stubbornness flickers across his face. He tries to push back, mumbling something about how he could do it, no problem, the barest spark of pride in his voice.

Ilya recognizes the hit to Shane’s masculinity, and for a moment, he wants to reassure him. Wants to say that none of this makes Shane less of a man, that bottoming doesn’t change his worth. He’ll tell him all of that later, when they’re curled together, and Ilya is stroking his hair in the aftercare that Shane always melts for, but right now the sight of Shane is so cute and pathetic that Ilya has to grab onto Shane’s shoulders just to keep himself upright; the intensity of Shane’s vulnerability nearly undoes him. The moment hangs between them, electric and unbearably intimate.

But right now, he needs Shane to admit it. He wants him to say he can’t, to confess that he needs Ilya to guide him, to give him his pleasure. Ilya squeezes Shane’s shoulders a little tighter, holding him upright, eyes locked on his. “You want to pretend you could, but we both know you can’t right now, can you malýsh?” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing, pushing just enough to make Shane squirm.

He smirks as he continues, “You think you could ever fuck anyone? This hole is how you get your pleasure.” He punctuates his words by reaching his arm back and going straight for Shane's entrance, rubbing again, and this time dipping the tip of his pointer finger inside. It's definitely not wet enough, and Shane gasps, though it seems more in surprise than pain.

Shane finally breaks just a little, a strangled, needy sound escaping him as he whispers, “No, I can’t. I need you.”

Ilya’s chest flares with pride and want, the words echoing in his mind and inflating his ego until he feels nearly drunk on it. There’s nothing like hearing Shane admit his need. Nothing that makes Ilya feel more powerful, more desired. He smirks, letting his gaze linger on Shane’s face.

“Of course not. How could you, when you want to stay small and sweet? You are not made for it,” Ilya teases, voice low and thick. “If you want to feel good, you need me. Nothing else compares, yes?”

Tears slip down Shane’s cheeks, and his voice is barely a whisper as he asks, “Is it bad? Am I bad for liking it?”

The question nearly undoes Ilya with its tenderness. He leans in and kisses Shane deeply, hoping the messy, consuming kiss will say what his words can’t. That he means every bit of approval, that Shane is good and wanted and his. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t let Shane look away, not even as their mouths part. Instead, Ilya gently brushes his thumbs under Shane’s eyes, gathering the tears, and looks him right in the face.

“No,” Ilya says softly but fiercely. “You are not bad for liking it. I think it makes you stronger. Better than anyone I’ve ever met, including me.”

Shane lets out a shaky laugh, half tears and half relief, and Ilya pulls him into a tight, lingering hug, holding him close for a long moment. Then, with one last gentle pat to Shane’s rear, Ilya turns to switch off the shower and helps Shane step out, wrapping him in a waiting towel and drying his limbs with slow, loving care.

After they walk back into Ilya’s bedroom, he directs Shane to sit on the edge of the bed as he goes to his dresser and pulls out a singular pair of sweatpants. He pulls them on, facing away from Shane (maybe putting on a little bit of a show. Sue him!) and then turns back and reaches for Shane's arms.

After pulling him up, he starts walking back out of the bedroom holding Shane's hand and doesn’t make it very far as Shane doesn’t move. Ilya looks back, and Shane looks confused. He asks, “Pants?” but Ilya just shakes his head and continues walking, only to be stopped again by Shane, who has now planted his feet on the floor and seems determined to grow roots.

He tries to sound extra put-upon and stern as he looks back. “I don’t think you need clothes right now. What would be the point? I would just take them off you again soon.” Shane's mouth gapes open, and Ilya can’t help the snicker that comes out. “What if I get cold?” he insists. “Well then,” Ilya soothes, “You will need to be big boy and tell me, and I will wrap you in a blanket. Otherwise, you will be cold and naked.”

When Ilya starts moving again for a third time, Shane does not stop him, and soon they are walking through the bedroom and living room, and Ilya pulls out a chair from his kitchen island and directs Shane to sit. He does, and Ilya moves to the other side of the island to get started on something to eat.

He asks, “You like tuna melt?” Shane looks back at him, a little incredulous, and replies, “You want to make me a tuna melt?” and Ilya feels his stomach twist in knots at the simple question. There’s so much he wants to do for Shane, so much more than just make him a tuna melt. He wants to take care of him, to make him feel safe and wanted, to give him everything he can. But instead, he softens the moment with a shrug, trying to play it cool. “I was gonna make one for me. I can make two.”

Shane just shrugs, “Sure,” and Ilya turns around to get the ingredients from the fridge, forcing himself to focus on the next small act of care, even as his chest aches with everything he can’t say.

He also pulls out a ginger ale and hands it to Shane, quickly turning back so he doesn’t have to see his expression.

Ilya moves around the kitchen like he’s done this a hundred times before, which he has. Maybe not a hundred times, but he has tried this recipe a couple of times since he last saw Shane, not wanting to fuck it up when he was finally able to serve it to the one he had been practicing for. Shane’s elbows are braced on the cool surface, his chin resting in his hands as he watches.

“Grillo’s,” Ilya says, opening the container and putting it back on the counter, with a satisfied nod. “Only acceptable pickle.”

Shane smiles. “You say that like it’s a rule.”

“It is rule,” Ilya replies, “It is from Boston. They are the best.” Ilya is already reaching back into the fridge. One container after another appears, stacked on top of each other. Tuna already mixed, bread stacked neatly, cheese wrapped in deli paper. Shane lifts his eyebrows.

“You just… had all of this ready?”

Ilya shrugs, unapologetic. “I like to be prepared. Also, tuna melt is important food.”

“Important,” Shane repeats, amused.

Ilya spoons the tuna salad onto two slices of whole wheat bread, careful and precise, spreading it evenly. He doesn’t rush. They talk about nothing in particular. Moving from practice to a bad movie Shane watched on the plane, to how Boston and Montreal winters somehow feel worse every year.

Ilya listens while he works, responding with half-smiles and soft sounds of agreement. He lays the slices on a baking tray and tops each one with a square of yellow American cheese, nudging it just right so it covers the tuna.

“Open-faced,” he says, glancing at Shane. “This is correct way.”

Shane laughs. “I trust you.”

The tray slides into the oven, and Ilya sets the timer before turning back to Shane. He walks around the counter and stops in front of him. He is close enough that Ilya can smell the faint soap-and-something-warm scent clinging to him.

Ilya felt something close to obsession curling through him as he realized just how much Shane now smelled like him. It was subtle at first, the clean, familiar scent of his shampoo, the hint of his body wash clinging to Shane’s skin. But as Shane leans into him, the smell becomes impossible to ignore. Ilya wants to drown in it.

It was a simple thing, really: Shane using his products, letting Ilya’s scent cling to him, soak into his hair and skin. But god, it did something to Ilya. It was a wordless, primal kind of claim. This man is mine, even if he could never say that out loud. It was the kind of thing that made his heart ache and his chest swell with a fierce, secret pride.

He found himself leaning in closer just to breathe it in, to take big, greedy breaths of Shane’s scent mixing with his own. Every inhale felt like a confirmation, a quiet, private victory. The world would never know what it meant, but Ilya did. He wished he could say it, whisper it against Shane’s ear or carve it into his skin with his mouth and hands, but for now, all he could do was let himself get drunk on it. On the proof of belonging, of intimacy, of something almost like ownership.

Shane was wrapped up in Ilya’s scent, marked by him in the simplest, most perfect way. And Ilya would have to be satisfied with that, at least for now.

“Come,” he says, nudging Shane gently with his hip. “We go to couch while we wait.”

Shane’s mouth tilts up, already knowing where this is going. Ilya takes his hand before Shane can answer, warm fingers lacing together, and leads him out of the kitchen.

They barely make it to the couch before Shane is tugging him down, hands grabbing onto Ilya's shoulders, and Ilya lets himself be pulled, lets his weight settle between Shane’s knees. The kiss starts unhurried, warm, and familiar, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Shane’s hands slide around his sides, palms flat against his back, pulling him closer. Ilya exhales into Shane’s mouth and deepens it, tongue pressing in, chasing that soft, breathless sound Shane makes when he gets exactly what he wants.

Ilya could barely keep the grin off his face, watching Shane’s hands grow bolder, more desperate and almost greedy with want. He could feel the hum of excitement himself, a vibrating, chest-tight anticipation that only grew every time Shane’s fingers lingered a little too long, squeezed a little tighter. Was it because Shane couldn’t find release on his own, not really, not with the cage locked around him? Did he need to feel Ilya, his body, his skin, right there in front of him?

Ilya’s mind spun with the possibilities. How sensitive must Shane’s skin be right now, denied for so long, nerves cranked up to high with no hope for relief? He imagined the ache, the way every brush of fingers must feel like a spark, and he couldn’t help but want to feed it, to make it worse and better all at once. He wanted to see Shane fall apart. Wanted to be the reason for every twitch and gasp, every longing, helpless little sound.

He watched Shane’s face, the way his eyes kept darting to Ilya’s, hungry and needy, and it made Ilya’s own pulse race. Shane needed him. Needed to touch, to be touched, to feel Ilya’s presence as something real and solid and inescapable. Ilya wanted to give him that, wanted to be the anchor in the storm. He wanted to be the only thing Shane could hold onto when everything else was just too much.

God, he was beautiful like this. Ilya wanted to drag it out, make Shane beg, make him realize just how much he needed Ilya’s hands, Ilya’s permission, Ilya’s everything. He leaned into the feeling, letting himself revel in the power of being wanted this much.

Ilya’s hands find Shane’s thighs, spreading them without asking, thumbs digging in hard enough to make Shane gasp. He feels it everywhere, the tension in Shane’s body, the way he arches up instinctively, searching for more.

“Yeah?” Ilya murmurs against Shane’s mouth, half-teasing, half-gone.

Shane answers by rolling his hips up, friction deliberate, unmistakable. Ilya groans quietly and kisses him harder, losing track of the room, the time, everything except the way Shane feels under his hands.

Shane’s fingers slip up into Ilya’s hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch.

And then…

The timer goes off.

Sharp. Loud. Ruining everything.

They both freeze for half a second before Shane laughs, breathless, forehead dropping against Ilya’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Shane says.

Ilya groans, resting his weight there anyway, lips brushing Shane’s jaw. “Very rude machine,” he mutters. He presses one last, lingering kiss to Shane’s mouth, slow and promising. “We continue later.”

Shane smiles, flushed and warm beneath him. “I’m holding you to that.”

Ilya pulls back just enough to look at him, already planning exactly how.

After Ilya brings the plates back into the living room, they settle side by side, knees brushing, plates balanced between them. Shane takes the first bite, still warm, and hums without thinking.

Ilya watches him with a small, pleased smile, like this, this quiet moment, this simple food, is exactly what he wanted.

“Yeah,” Shane says softly. “You were right.”

“About?” Ilya urged.

“These pickles are the best!”

Ilya feels immensely pleased at that. Glad he did something non-sexual that Shane liked.

Ilya felt a deep, secret pleasure in every small act of care he gave Shane. It was more than just affection; it was purpose, a grounding certainty that he was doing something right with his hands, his attention, his presence. Maybe Svetlana had been right all along. Maybe he really could be good at this. He liked taking care of people, liked the feeling of being needed, of being the one someone trusted enough to let down their guard.

He imagined it sometimes, in idle moments when he was alone: taking care of Shane not just tonight or next week, but for years. He pictured Shane older, softer, maybe a little grumpy in the mornings, and himself there to make coffee, rub his shoulders, lay out breakfast, and tease him out of his moods. He imagined them living together, sharing space and routines, and maybe...god, maybe even married someday, rings glinting on their hands as they moved through a life built side by side.

The thought hit him with a jolt, so sudden and sharp he almost laughed at himself. Married? That was not a thought he was allowed to have. Not now, maybe never. Still, he couldn’t help the way his mind wandered to it, the stubborn, hopeful part of himself sneaking in dreams where he got to keep Shane, care for him, for good.

For now, though, he just focused on the present: Watching Shane eat, making sure he was warm and content sexually. All he could take from this was a feeling of contentment in the quiet, simple act of looking after the man he so desperately wanted to call his own.

After they finish eating, Ilya is determined to get back to something that makes more sense. As the warmth of caring for Shane settled in Ilya’s chest, it was chased quickly by a cold, familiar wave of caution. He couldn’t let himself get carried away, not with thoughts of forever, not with the dangerous hope that maybe this could be real. He reminded himself that Shane was here now, in this moment, and that was all he could count on. Anything more, anything permanent was a fantasy that could only hurt them both.

He decided, right then, to close down the part of himself that wanted too much. He would not let his emotions bleed out and color the rest of their time together. He would not reach for more than Shane could offer or handle. Ilya would be what Shane needed: comfort, care, pleasure and safety. He would keep his longing sealed tight behind a wall, let it thrum quietly beneath the surface, but never let it show.

He told himself this was the only way to keep things good, to keep things safe. He could be strong for Shane. He could give just enough. No confessions, no talk of the future, no hint of the ache he felt every time he let himself imagine more. He could be the perfect sexual partner for now, for this brief sliver of time.

But even as he resolved to hold back emotionally, Ilya found himself unable to stay away physically. He moved closer, closing the distance between them until he was practically on top of Shane again, their legs bracketing each other, their bodies pressed together on the couch. For a moment, he just looked at Shane, drinking him in. He couldn’t believe Shane had willingly stayed naked just because Ilya told him to. It was intoxicating, and Ilya was feeling a bit drunk. Then he leaned in and kissed him. It started out slow, but quickly turned hungry and messy like before the timer went off. Their tongues tangling, teeth nipping, hands wandering over skin that was already buzzing with anticipation. Ilya couldn’t help but let himself get lost in it for a few moments, letting the kiss turn dirty and desperate, even as he tried to keep the rest of his feelings in check.

He forced himself to focus on the present, on every task and touch. He made himself gentle, attentive, playful. He gave Shane what he knew Shane could handle. Nothing less, but nothing more. And if his chest felt tight with the effort, if he ached with all the words he would never say, that was his burden alone to bear. The most important thing was that Shane would never have to carry it.

Chapter Text

Ilya drew in sharp, ragged breaths. His pulse pounded in his ears as he struggled for control. Even that desperate effort couldn’t stop Shane’s piercing eyes from catching every trembling inhale. Ilya thought he’d cloaked his nerves. But his shoulders locked in a taut line, gaze breaking away, jaw clenched so fiercely that pain radiated up his temples.

​

Most people assumed Shane ignored everything that wasn’t hockey, dismissing him as oblivious to people’s emotions, nothing but a hockey robot, but Ilya knew better. He’d seen how intensely Shane felt everything. Not just in the panic attacks, though those were something Ilya would never forget, but in the way Shane analyzed everything, always thinking, always searching for the right thing to say. Shane was careful, sometimes almost painfully so, weighing each word before he spoke, terrified of saying the wrong thing. Ilya recognized that in him, he knew what it was to live with your mind running circles around itself.

For Ilya, life had always felt like one big performance. He was used to living under a spotlight, an audience judging every move, most of them convinced he couldn’t act for shit, but at least he’d had a script to follow, even if it was often poorly written. Shane, though, seemed like he was doing improv with no ideas written down. Like he was making it up as he went along, so he overcorrected, analyzing every moment for any change or something he could pick up on. Ilya thought that was why he sometimes hesitated to show emotion; he was terrified of messing up his lines.

What Ilya wasn’t used to was someone caring so much about his feelings. The idea of someone thinking about Ilya's emotions at all, never mind handling them with such caution and care, was foreign to him. His own father’s voice still echoed in his head, bitter and cold, “Feelings are for the weak. You're not a faggot. None of my sons will be that weak.”

But Shane didn’t seem to care about any of that. He looked at Ilya like he was something worth protecting, worth understanding, even when it made things harder. Even when it was clear he didn’t know what to do with that understanding. Ilya wasn’t sure what to do with it either, but he felt something fierce and grateful bloom in his chest every time Shane tried anyway.

Shane noticed what mattered to him, what sparked his curiosity, and for reasons Ilya couldn’t grasp, he was one of those things.

Ilya often caught Shane watching him, especially when Shane thought Ilya wasn’t looking. His scrutiny was fierce and probing, like he was trying to decipher a mystery. Sometimes it was unnerving. Shane seemed to peel him back, layer by layer to something vulnerable, something Ilya wasn’t sure he wanted exposed, least of all to Shane.

​

Sometimes Ilya liked the feeling of being seen, but right now it left him exposed and cut open like each secret yearning was being laid bare under Shane’s scrutiny. His mind warred between the comfort of belonging and the fear of vulnerability. Moments before, it had almost felt as if he belonged to someone even if it was fragile and fleeting. The surge of exposure wavered back and forth with longing, and he couldn’t decide which sensation carried more weight now. The desire to be understood battled his instinct to hide, leaving him uncertain and conflicted.  

Outside the bedroom, they barely interacted. They had met when they were just seventeen, two ambitious kids thrown together on the ice, their first collisions as much about testing boundaries as competing for the puck. Now, nearly a decade later, they were twenty-six, their lives woven together in ways neither of them could ever have predicted.

In all those years, their time together had been fleeting, a handful of nights both on and off the ice, moments stolen between games and flights. Sometimes they texted in between, their conversations a blend of sharp chirps and quiet confessions. Publicly, they were rivals, easily slipping into the roles expected of them, with their banter and mock hostility (mostly from Ilya) serving as fodder for fans and media. No matter how much he tried to rile Shane up in public, he was always appeared as calm as ever (in private was a different story though 😈), but it gave them cover, a way to be close without anyone suspecting how much they actually meant to each other.

What always amazed Ilya was that, while he had spent so much time learning Shane’s body, memorizing every freckle, every shiver, every emotion flickering across his face, Shane had gone deeper, learning something essential and unspoken. Shane had gone and imprinted himself on Ilya’s soul, without ever asking permission, and Ilya doubted Shane even realized how completely he had done it.

That thought ached inside Ilya. Their routine was simple: sex, sometimes cuddling, then withdrawing at the first sign of feelings. Despite lacking the long shared history Ilya had with Sveta, he felt a unique connection with Shane, unlike any he had ever had with anyone else. 

The idea that what they had was only sex, that they were not truly together, gnawed at him until it threatened to unravel all his composure. He wanted to claim Shane, to let go of the secrecy and rivalry, and finally call him his own. But for now, all he could do was wish that Shane could feel, in every touch, just how much Ilya cared for him and how much more he wanted from them both.

​

Ilya felt a gentle pressure on his arm as Shane slid his hand just above Ilya’s elbow. Shane’s fingers were hesitant at first, but he gradually applied more pressure, as if he were physically coaxing Ilya to open up without trying to overwhelm him.

​

“Hey,” Shane said quietly, “what's wrong? What’s going on with you?”

​

Ilya stiffened. Every instinct screamed to shield himself. His mind whirled back to the first time he’d met Shane at the prospect cup, all those years ago. He had been so sure, then, that Shane was just another player trying to get in his head, psych him out before they ever hit the ice. When Shane had smiled shyly and said, "You’re a great player," Ilya had bristled, convinced it was a trick. That Shane was trying to mess with him to get get ahead. Trying to make Ilya second-guess himself. It hadn’t mattered that Shane’s eyes were earnest, that his voice held nothing but admiration. All Ilya could hear was the echo of his own insecurity. The suspicion that everyone was out to get him.

​

Even as the years passed and Shane did nothing but prove his sincerity over and over again, that wounded part of Ilya never completely healed. This realization stung, especially now, as vulnerability mixed with suspicion. It lingered in the back of his mind, the voice of a scared child barely five years removed from his mother’s death, raw and unsteady. 

Now, with Shane looking at him with concern, it was that same frightened teenager who lashed out, not the adult he was supposed to be. Paranoia prickled at the back of his neck, whispering that maybe Shane was only asking to disarm him, to win some invisible game. That thought activated his mental defenses, and words were tumbling out of him impulsively and harsher than he meant them to be: “Mind your business, Shane.”

​

His words shattered the air, jagged with self-loathing. Shame ripped through Ilya, burning in his pulse. One look at Shane’s face told him how badly he’d fucked up. For a split second, Shane looked like he’d been slapped; the color drained from his face, lips trembling, and he blinked hard like he might cry right there. 

Hurt was blooming so vividly Ilya had to look at his hands for a moment to make sure he hadn’t physically struck him. Shane’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open in a silent, stunned shape. His whole body recoiled, shoulders curling in as if he could make himself smaller against the verbal sting. The pain in Shane’s expression was so stark, so immediate, it made Ilya’s chest ache with guilt. He’d never wanted to make Shane look at him like that, like he was in real, physical pain.

​

The regret was immediate, shifting his panic to guilt. He realized in a rush that he was ruining everything. Seeing Shane’s remorse and pain hit him hard. Instinctively, he grabbed Shane’s hand, desperation trembling in his grip. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered, struggling with the weight of the moment. “It’s not you. I’m just tired. or something.” Even as he said it, he knew it was a flimsy excuse, but he was desperate to hide his panic and his feelings of failure from Shane.

​

​Shane obviously did not believe it. Of course not: he knew Ilya to his marrow, could sense when Ilya was trying to hide from him. “That’s not it,” Shane said, voice low and trying to stay even. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

​

Ilya’s thoughts whirled as he tried to avoid the ache inside him, but Shane’s gaze kept him anchored to the moment. The pull between hiding and honesty grew sharper; his fear shifted now to hesitation and longing. He looked at Shane, wanting to be truthful but unable to share everything, feeling the tension between what he owed Shane and what he could bear to say.

The internal debate was pointed: show his true self and risk pain, or retreat into safety and isolation. He felt like an animal in that moment, debating whether to show his belly to another animal who had caught him unaware. He had two choices: he could move onto his back under Shane, stomach up and vulnerable and bare himself, or he could protect his squishy parts and live to fight another day. He didn’t think Shane would attack the soft skin he showed, but he couldn’t be sure. Animals were unpredictable, and he needed to protect himself.

Though Ilya could see that Shane wasn’t going to let it go, and for a moment, he was tempted to shut down completely. But something in Shane’s steady eyes that were so open and stubborn made Ilya want to let him in, at least a little. He took a slow breath and decided to offer a half-truth, something honest, but that didn’t cut too close to the bone.

​

"It’s nothing you did," Ilya said softly. "Sometimes I just get… sad. Lonely. It sneaks up, even when things are good…even when you are here." He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m fine, though. I always am. It just hit me for some reason, but I'll be okay."

​

Shane looked at him, incredulous. "You? Lonely? You’re the life of the party. A million friends, always out at the club…"

​

Ilya let out a brittle, hollow laugh, cutting him off. “That’s just noise, Shane. Most of it is empty. It means nothing. I talk, I party, but inside…nothing. Empty. My only real friend is Svetlana. The rest…” He shrugged then continued, “My family is gone, or might as well be. Sometimes I feel hollow. Like nothing is inside. Even on nights, with the house full of people, I can barely breathe."

​

He risked a glance at Shane to see if he’d gone too far, but all he got was those kind eyes in return, so he continued. "So it’s nice to have someone here. Someone I can cook for, hang out with, just… exist with." He forced a self-deprecating smile. "Maybe that’s too much for… whatever this is. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. But I did."

​​

Ilya’s mind spun back to all the research he’d done since that first night, since this whole cage saga began. He spent so many late nights reading blogs, scrolling through forums and obsessively taking notes on what made a good dom. He’d wanted to be attentive, patient and steady. He’d learned about aftercare, about how to listen without judgment, about building trust and never using power as a weapon. He’d promised himself he’d be the kind of dom who made Shane feel safe, who could hold him together when things got rough. But right now, every instinct he’d cultivated was drowned out by panic and old fears.

​

He could practically recite the advice: Stay calm. Don’t make it about you. Don’t lash out. Always check in, always listen, always care. Yet here he was, feeling the bitter sting of failure. Instead of offering Shane comfort or security, he’d let his own ghosts take the wheel, pushing Shane away when he needed closeness the most. The realization landed heavy and cold. He wasn’t the dom he wanted to be for Shane. Not tonight, maybe not ever.

He looked down at his hands, nails digging into his palms. He fought the urge to fidget, resisting every impulse to take his words back. Heart pounding in his throat, he waited for Shane’s response.

​

Before Ilya could say anything else, Shane reached out and cupped Ilya’s cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear as he gently tilted Ilya’s face up. Ilya startled at the touch, his shoulders jerking reflexively, but Shane only smiled softly and drew him closer for a kiss. It was slow, warm and deeply reassuring. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that asked for anything in return; it was the kind that promised safety, that said, I see you.

​

Shane tugged Ilya down on top of him, their bodies pressed together in a messy tangle of limbs, and then he just held Ilya there, running his fingers through his curls, soothing and patient. The affection was overwhelming. It was almost too much, and Ilya felt the burn behind his eyes grow sharper, a lump swelling in his throat.

​

He blinked hard, fighting hot, stinging tears, uncomfortable laughter fracturing into uncontrollable sobs. As embarrassment gave way to panic, humiliation scalded his skin. It twisted inside, urging flight, but Shane’s arms clamped around him, anchoring Ilya as his pain threatened to drown them both. The shift from suppressed emotion to overwhelming vulnerability was sudden, leaving Ilya feeling adrift in an open sea.

​

“Don’t go,” Shane whispered, voice low and serious. “Just… stay. Please.”

​

And so Ilya stayed, letting himself unravel completely in the cocoon of Shane’s embrace. He cried himself out for long, aching minutes, the kind of tears that left his eyes swollen and his chest empty, Shane’s fingers always moving through his hair in slow, grounding circles, never faltering.

​

He didn’t know what this meant, not really, not for them. Anxious questions crowded in: Was this the end or the start of something else? How was he supposed to recover after this and act as if nothing had changed? What if Shane ghosted him, the way Ilya had done multiple times when things got too intense? The thought made Ilya ache, but a weary part of him almost welcomed it. His father’s judgment again echoed in his mind, making him feel weak and small, “lazy, always so lazy,” was on a loop in his head, but he couldn’t let him in. He couldn’t let his father, who was FUCKING DEAD, force him to make a decision about his life.​

​

Ilya had read about dom drop. Just a little, but this couldn’t be that, could it? Dom drop happened to people after intense scenes, after a rush of control and adrenaline, and an emotional slump when it was over. But they hadn’t even really done anything intense for hours and even then it wasn’t like he’d tied Shane up and whipped him. All he’d done recently was make Shane something to eat. Sure, it had felt good to take care of him in a gentle way after taking care of him in a rougher, more physical way, but that couldn’t explain this. Ilya wasn’t entitled to that kind of excuse.

​

No, this had to be something else. He was just being a big baby, letting his feelings spill everywhere. He couldn’t control his emotions. Never had, not really. He was his mother’s son after all; dramatic and soft and weak in all the ways he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be.

​

The gentleness of it undid him further; it was a complete reversal from the last time they found themselves like this. He wanted to feel guilty for needing so much, or weak for wanting comfort, but instead, he felt a strange, deep contentment, as if he’d finally stopped running from himself.

​

The memory flickered again, vivid as a bruise: that night not so long ago, when Shane had come apart in his arms. His eyes had been glassy with the aftermath of too much. Too much sensation, and too much surrender before he was ready. Ilya had wrapped his arms around him in the bath, whispering everything would be okay, smoothing Shane’s hair, anchoring him with quiet touches and soft words. He’d felt so sure of himself then, so capable, like the world had narrowed to the steady weight of Shane’s head on his chest and the slow, careful way he breathed until the tremors faded. Ilya had known exactly what to do, how to be strong, how to keep the pieces together for both of them.

​

Now, everything was reversed. Shane was the strong one, his hands sure, his voice quiet and comforting. Ilya was the one unraveling, held together only by the warmth of someone else’s arms. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

​

They stayed like that for long, silent minutes, maybe hours, Ilya couldn’t tell, but it lasted past his tears finally drying. Shane never said a word, never tried to fill the space with awkward reassurances or questions Ilya wasn’t ready to answer. He just kept his fingers moving softly through Ilya’s curls, delicately untangling the ones that had merged together and grounding him with every gentle stroke. Ilya gave in and let the world blur away, exhausted in a way that felt bone-deep. Eventually, wrapped up in Shane’s warmth and the steady rhythm of those soothing hands, he drifted into a restless sleep.

​​------------------------------------------

Flashback

Ilya stared at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he composed the message, grinning to himself.

Lily: After game, when we beat you, go home, clean and prepare yourself, then put it on and wait for me to tell you I’m there.

He knew Shane was probably furious with him after that cocky, taunting “when we beat you” line. Shane could be weird about trash talk, even though he always gave as good as he got. But tonight, Ilya couldn’t help himself. The idea was a live wire sparking under his skin. He was finally going to see Shane in the cage; he’d been dreaming about it since Shane called him. He had been obsessing over every detail, every possible reaction.

He wanted to push Shane, just to see how far he could go before he snapped, to watch him squirm and blush and try to hold himself together. The thought of it made Ilya’s blood run hot. He could almost taste Shane’s frustration, picture the way he had glared at his phone and typed out his indignant reply:

Jane: When we beat you, you might have to wait a while for me to get home because we will be celebrating so hard.

The moment Ilya saw Shane’s text pop up on his phone, he knew he had him. He could picture Shane’s face as he typed it: jaw set, maybe that stubborn tilt to his mouth, refusing to give Ilya the satisfaction of seeing how much he was affected even when he wasn’t physically there.

But Ilya could read between the lines. There was a tension in Shane’s reply, something tight and impatient. Ilya felt power curl warm and low inside him. It was intoxicating, knowing he could pull these reactions from Shane with just a few words, especially now, when the stakes were higher, the rules of their game shifting into something more exciting and unknown.

He could have replied with reassurance or acquiesced, but that wasn’t what either of them wanted. Ilya knew Shane thrived on the push and pull, the way Ilya could needle him just enough to make him bristle and ache at the same time. He wanted to see how far he could take it, how much Shane would let him get away with before he snapped or begged or both.

So Ilya made his reply deliberately teasing, the kind of message that would get under Shane’s skin and stay there, creating that competitive glint in his eyes. He wanted Shane off-balance, wanting, desperate for the next move. The anticipation was heady for Ilya as he replied:

Lily: We will see…

When the final buzzer sounded and his team took the victory, Ilya was triumphant, truly, brilliantly triumphant. Everything was falling perfectly into place. Ilya couldn’t help the surge of delight that flooded him every time he won against Shane, but tonight it was sweeter than ever. There was something about beating Shane, about outplaying someone so relentless, so determined to prove Ilya wrong, that made the victory sing in his veins.

That was what made it so exhilarating: Shane’s refusal to back down, his desperate need to show Ilya he could win. And yet, tonight, it was Ilya who smirked as he skated off the ice, chin up, eyes glittering with triumph. He caught Shane’s gaze across the rink, saw the flush on his cheeks, part frustration, part arousal and his smirk deepened. He could already imagine the way Shane would look later, stripped of all that bravado, waiting for Ilya’s next command.

It was almost too much, thinking about what would happen in just a few hours. Soon, Shane would be his, would follow every direction Ilya texted, obedient and eager, because he was such a good boy. The thought made Ilya’s chest ache with possessive pride. There was nothing like winning against Shane, nothing like knowing that, after all the competition and the fight, Shane would give in and, once again, be his good boy.

Ilya celebrated hard after the game, adrenaline still thrumming in his veins from the win. The chaos of the locker room swept him up: shouts, slaps on the back, music blasting, and victory burning sweet and sharp in his chest, making his heart race from pride. Yet even amid the thrill, another feeling was there, a tug beneath the excitement, a nervous, eager energy that had nothing to do with the team and everything to do with Shane.

During dinner, Marleau caught him glancing at his phone, checking the time, and nudged him with an exaggerated smirk. “What, got a hot date or something? Montreal Girl is making you grin like a whipped lovesick idiot.” The chirping only made Ilya roll his eyes, even as his cheeks flushed. He didn’t care. Let them tease him. He was too excited to see Shane, too wired to pretend otherwise. Every minute spent in the celebration was just another minute closer to being with his reward for the game, for the win, for everything.

By the time he made it to Shane’s place, his pulse was pounding for a whole new reason. For an instant after Shane ripped the door to his apartment stairs open, Ilya just stared, breath caught in his chest. Shane stood framed in the doorway, the golden light from inside turning his hair almost incandescent, haloing him in a way that made Ilya’s throat go tight. He looked like something out of a dream, beautiful and so real it hurt.

It was almost funny, the way Shane was so obviously flustered, cheeks pink, mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t quite remember what he wanted to say. Ilya lingered on the threshold, letting his eyes drink Shane in, feeling the giddy, vulnerable urge to laugh himself. He waited for Shane to invite him in, but impatience built in his chest, twisting into something urgent and tender. He needed to touch him, to close the distance, to feel Shane’s lips on his and ground himself in the reality of this moment.

The second Shane stepped aside, and the door closed, Ilya moved in, crowding him into the hallway, hands coming up to cup Shane’s face. He pressed their mouths together, desperate for reassurance, for the soft press of lips and the warmth of breath and the simple, stunning proof that this, Shane, here, with him was real.

​

Ilya could barely contain his excitement as he stepped into Shane’s apartment. He felt like he was buzzing, grinning widely, his whole body thrumming with thinking about what would happen. The way Shane fumbled with the lock to buy himself a few extra seconds only made Ilya’s heart beat faster. He loved seeing him this nervous, the flush on his cheeks, the way his hands shook just a little. It was so obvious that Shane was wound tight, and Ilya couldn’t help but find it endearing. He almost wanted to tease him for it, but the truth was he relished it. Every nervous glance, every unsure step made his groin tingle with pleasure. Shane was always so put together on the ice, so competitive and stubborn, and to see him like this, flustered and uncertain, made Ilya feel a possessive warmth deep in his chest.

​

Ilya barely noticed where he was going as he strode forward, his eagerness making him careless of his surroundings. He knew it would probably irk Shane, who liked control, but tonight, Ilya didn’t mind appearing a little reckless. He was too focused on being near Shane, on making sure everything went right. He wanted so badly for this to be good for him, to give him exactly what he needed. 

​

When Shane finally caught up to him and collided into his back, Ilya only laughed, steady and unmoved.

​

“Checking is a penalty, Mr. Hollander,” Ilya remarked, trying to get a rise out of him.

​

The contact just made him happier, like their nervous energy could be shared between them. He turned, smirking at Shane, and felt a rush of affection at how sweet and uncertain he looked, like a puppy desperate for guidance. Ilya couldn’t wait to give it to him. Shane brought out something protective and gentle in him, a desire to care for him, to make sure he felt safe and wanted.

​

Every part of him was alive with sensations, and he was keenly aware of how nervous Shane was. When Shane admitted, “I’m nervous,” Ilya took it to heart, determined to be gentle and steady to give Shane exactly what he needed.

​

Ilya walked towards him until they were right in front of each other, their legs touching. He tried to offer a reassuring smile. His voice came out soft but steady (thank god), grounding them both as he said, “It’s ok to be nervous, but remember I already know and still came. I understand this is new for you, it is new for me too, but I promise I won’t do anything you don’t like on purpose, but if I do, you need to tell me to stop, yes?”

​

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over Shane’s cheek, waiting for Shane to meet his eyes. "If you need me to stop or slow down, you just tell me. I’ll listen, I promise," Ilya said, letting the words linger, hoping they would settle the butterflies in Shane’s stomach, hoping Shane could see just how much he meant it.

​

He watched Shane’s tension ease just a little, and the sight filled Ilya with warmth. It mattered so much to him that Shane felt safe and wanted, that he knew he was in good hands. Ilya was determined to make this right, to speak softly and guide him through every step, giving him the reassurance and tenderness he needed.

​

After commanding Shane to lie down in the middle of the bed, Ilya watched him closely, every sense sharpened by the moment. His excitement was edged with something darker: possessiveness. He wanted Shane to know exactly whom he belonged to tonight. The thought made Ilya’s pulse pound, heat igniting deep and steady inside his chest.

​

Ilya had to get to Shane right now. He had to touch him, so he crawled to him on the bed and, after moving, he was perched over him and kissing him thoroughly. He slowly lowered himself onto Shane, using his full weight, and the groan of pleasure Ilya heard caused a jolt of pleasure to go straight down his spine and into his cock. The feeling of closeness filled Ilya with warmth, a heady mix excitement and affection. He couldn’t help but let slip a quiet murmur of “khoroshiy mal'chik.” For a moment, silence passed between them, and Ilya felt a flicker of nerves.

Would Shane ask what he’d said? Would he understand? When Shane finally looked up and asked what it meant, Ilya’s heart thudded with anxious excitement. He smiled, unable to hide how much it meant to be asked, and pressed himself even closer, almost as if to share the emotion through touch. He brought his lips to Shane’s ear and answered, voice low and intimate, “It means good boy. Am I correct in saying it? Are you going to be a good boy?”

As Shane surprised him with a swift and eager affirmation, the answer stumbling but sincere, Ilya’s nerves dissolved into happiness so bright it felt physical. He could not keep it inside and needed to show Shane how happy this made him. He pressed kisses to Shane’s ear, trailing down his neck, hoping his joy was obvious in every touch.

Ilya reached for Shane’s hoodie, his hands firm and sure as he started to pull it over his head. He did not hesitate or wait for Shane’s help, instead taking control and guiding both arms up to remove the garment himself. Before Shane had a chance to catch his breath, Ilya moved quickly, lowering himself and taking Shane’s right nipple into his mouth. With one hand, he grasped the other, rolling it gently between his fingers. Ilya felt fulfillment at Shane’s response when he arched off the bed, the intensity of his reactions feeding Ilya’s own excitement. He pressed a hand against Shane’s chest, steady but not forceful. “Stay still, please,” he said, the words coming out fondly, not meant as a real reprimand. He could not help but smile, genuinely enjoying the way Shane’s pleasure showed so openly.

Ilya watched Shane lift his hips, trying to entice him to start touching him again. The move made Ilya want to torment Shane just a little, and he felt a rush of excitement at the opportunity. He turned his face briefly to hide his smile, then leaning down, Ilya grabbed both of Shane’s wrists in one hand and wedged his legs between Shane’s thighs to hold him in place. “You must want punishment bad if you act like this.” The words came out with a playful edge, and the wicked pleasure of dominating Shane made Ilya feel almost dizzy.

He bent down and took Shane’s nipple into his mouth again, using much more teeth this time. The way Shane responded after arching his back into Ilya's mouth then slamming it back down to earth to get away contradicted his cocky attitude as he snapped back, “You call that a punishment?” He could feel his dick start perking up in earnest at the clapback.

Ilya tilted his head with a feigned look of confusion, playing up his surprise as he replied confidently, “Oh no, that was not punishment. I was going to wait till later, but since you seem so ready for it, we do it now, ok?” 

Ilya loved watching as all the confidence Shane had gained moments ago disappeared, his bravado vanishing as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. He loved seeing Shane try to act bold, only for the cocky look to flicker and fade as Ilya revealed the real punishment had not even begun.

Standing up on his knees, still straddling Shane’s leg, Ilya pulled his shirt off in one smooth, quick motion. He felt a surge of pride at how flustered Shane looked, loving the effect he had on him. The sight of Shane staring with his mouth open, but not acting on his desire because he had not been given permission to, made Ilya feel even more powerful and thrilled by the moment.

Ilya felt a sense of vindication as he smiled and moved off Shane, sitting beside him, his back resting against the headboard. There was something rewarding about guiding Shane through every step, feeling the energy shift as he followed his lead. He reached out and pulled Shane by the armpits, making sure he was sitting up, and leaned in close enough for his breath to tickle his ear.

Ilya hummed, letting the sound vibrate between them before speaking softly. “Here is what will happen. You will lie down with ass in my lap, and we will get punishment out of the way so we can do more fun things instead. Ok?” The control he was able to exude in his voice made Ilya’s pulse race, and Ilya watched with pleasure as Shane scrambled to follow his instructions, clearly flustered, but still so eager to comply. Wanting to make Shane comfortable, Ilya grabbed one of his many pillows and tucked it under Shane’s head before he lay down. The small act of care felt just as important as the dominance, and Ilya enjoyed the way it made Shane relax even as he anticipated what was to come.

With a steady hand, Ilya pulled Shane’s pants down so they rested just below his ass, careful not to remove them completely. Ilya let his hands roam over the curves in front of him, taking his time as he kneaded and massaged Shane. The sensation of control sent a warm pulse through him, and he found himself wanting to draw this out, to see how far he could push Shane’s anxiety. He continued speaking, his voice smooth and calm. “I think 10 is good number, yes?”

Ilya watched Shane, amused at how completely distracted he was by Ilya’s hands. It gave Ilya a small thrill to see the effect he had, and he enjoyed drawing out Shane’s confusion. When Shane finally asked, “10 what?” Ilya lightly tapped his hip to get his attention and again put on a look of confusion and replied, “10 spankings. That is…what is the word…succificent?”

Hearing Shane gasp and sputter, “You want to spank me?” delighted Ilya. He wondered if his English was correct, but did not care. He clearly had been understood regardless and he was a little proud of himself for surprising Shane. Ilya rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation, giving Shane a pointed look that quickly silenced him. He held Shane’s gaze for several tense seconds, letting the moment build between them and then he glanced down at his lap, at the skin on offer to him before laughing softly. “Yes, I want to spank you. Yes or no?”

Ilya knew both he and Shane were new to this, and that made every step feel more intense. Wanting to do things right, he had spent hours researching, reading articles, and watching tutorial videos late at night. Even with that preparation, he felt a nervous flutter in his chest, although he would never admit that to Shane. He needed to appear confident and in control, for both their sakes. Still, he could not move forward without hearing Shane give explicit consent. That check-in mattered more than anything else.

When Shane’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly replied “yes,” Ilya felt a wave of relief and affection. He smiled, pride and gratitude mixing in his chest, and pressed Shane’s chest gently into the pillow as a reward. “Good, malýsh,” he murmured, letting the tenderness in his voice show just how much he appreciated Shane’s trust.

Ilya lifted his hand for the first slap, feeling his own nerves tangle tightly in his chest. Even after all the research and videos he had watched, it was impossible not to worry if he would do this right. He started softly, the slap more gentle than punishing. Part of him was afraid to go too hard, not wanting to scare Shane or make a mistake. But when he saw Shane’s body tense then release, Ilya knew he had to keep going and trust himself.

He steeled his resolve and brought his hand down a second time, this strike much harder. The sound echoed in the quiet room, and Ilya was captivated by the way Shane responded. The gasp, the subtle arch of his back, the tension and release were intoxicating. He lost himself in the rhythm, alternating cheeks for three more slaps, letting the noise fill the minimalist space of the bedroom. Each reaction from Shane made Ilya’s pulse race, and he realized how much he loved watching Shane slip into this headspace, becoming softer and more pliant with every hit.

Wanting to soothe as well as challenge, Ilya massaged the spots he had just struck, his hands steady and caring. The combination of pain and pleasure was written in the way Shane moved and in the noises he made, and Ilya could not get enough of it. He let out a quiet chuckle, unable to hide his own excitement, then delivered two more hard slaps. He kept count in his head, making sure not to lose his place, determined to take care of Shane through every part of this new experience.

Ilya could barely believe how turned on he was, feeling the pressure of his cock rubbing against his jeans as Shane’s weight bore down on him. The way Shane tried so hard to stay still, trying to resist the urge to grind down, and failing, made Ilya’s desire burn even hotter. Every sound Shane made threatened to pull Ilya into wild fantasies about everything he wanted to do to him.

He imagined spanking him more until his ass was bright red and then fucking him on his hands and knees with his jeans still on so every time he slammed his hips into Shane he felt the rough texture of his pants against his sore cheeks. He thought about restraining Shane to the bed with his ass on perfect display and using a paddle until Shane was begging. He imagined Shane would be so far gone he couldn’t remember if he was begging for it to stop or for Ilya to continue. Then he imagines cumming on Shane's inflamed ass. The bright white streaks would stand out so beautifully against the red of his cheeks. He would then take the cum and feed it back inside Shane’s hole until all of it had been implanted so deep for safekeeping that it wouldn’t come back out.

He had to fight to stay focused on the present moment, determined not to let his imagination run too far ahead.

Wanting to check in, Ilya tapped Shane’s side and waited for him to lift his head. “Only three more. You want to continue?” he asked, needing to hear it out loud. When Shane squeaked out his assent, eyes dreamy and unfocused, it nearly undid Ilya. The look on Shane’s face and the trust in his voice made Ilya’s heart pound, and he smiled fondly before guiding his head gently back down to the pillows.

Ilya found himself wanting to drag out the last three, to see how much he could make Shane squirm with the prospect of what would happen. He used slow, teasing touches, letting his palm just barely shake Shane’s ass rather than strike. The way Shane’s muscles tensed and shifted under his hands was so satisfying, and Ilya relished the control he held. He watched with delight as Shane grew impatient, clearly on the edge of telling him to get on with it. Only then did Ilya deliver three sharp, decisive slaps, two quickly together and the last one landing near the center of Shane’s bottom, harder than all the previous ones. Ilya saw the way his whole body jerked, the breath catching in his throat, and felt a rush of pride at the effect he had.

Ilya immediately soothed Shane’s ass with strong but purposeful massage to both work out the muscles and prolong the stimulation. His hands moved in slow, wide circles, coaxing sensation and what he hoped was pleasure, if Shane's reactions were anything to go by, back into the places he had just punished. He could feel the heat and softness under his palms, and the gratification of seeing Shane melt into the touch was nearly overwhelming.

When he was sure Shane’s breathing had evened out, Ilya gently turned him over, shifting him so they lay side by side. For a moment, he simply looked at Shane, unable to hide the awe that swept through him. His heart felt like it might seize up from the sheer force of his love, and he was overwhelmed by gratitude that Shane let him do this, that Shane trusted him enough to give up control.

It struck Ilya how strong it made Shane that he could give up the control he so desperately clung to and give it to Ilya, who desperately wanted it. Ilya wanted to say all of this, to spill every feeling tumbling in his chest, but instead he just let the moment hang between them. In the end, he chose to keep it simple, letting his affection fill his voice as he said, “You did well. I am proud of how you took that.” For now, it was about the act, the trust in the action, not all the words he could have spoken.

Ilya did not wait for a reply. Instead, he slid down the bed towards Shane’s feet and, with one smooth movement, pulled his sweats all the way off. The sight of Shane completely naked sent a surge of want through Ilya, and he paused to look at him, taking in every inch. He let his eyes linger, appraising and hungry, enjoying how Shane tried not to squirm under the attention. Ilya was already thinking of what he wanted to do next. Before Shane could say a word, Ilya bent down and took Shane’s entire cock, cage and all, into his mouth, eager to show just how much he wanted him.

He took his time trying to reach as much of Shane's cock as he could, given its current predicament. He could lick at some from the sides and was able to get his mouth around the base pretty well. Though his hands and mouth were attentive and focused, he found his mind wandering to the little details that always seemed to catch his attention. He wondered why Shane had chosen this particular cage model, what it said about how Shane saw himself and what he wanted from Ilya. 

The curiosity gnawed quietly at him, mixing with the tenderness and possessiveness that always surfaced in moments like this. Deciding that Shane had been given enough pleasure for the moment, Ilya finally let his lips slip away and shifted to lie beside him, the question already forming on his tongue as he turned, voice soft and genuine, “Why did you choose plastic? Metal, I could reach more of you.” His voice was low and curious, genuinely interested in the answer but also a little teasing.

Shane gasped before replying honestly, “I didn't know if this was even going to be something I liked, so I didn't want to spend much money on it at first.”

Ilya looked at him with dark, intent eyes and felt a thrill at the vulnerability in Shane’s answer. He responded softly, “Then we get you one. For next time. I think you are past being not sure if you like it, yes?” The idea of picking out a cage for Shane was intoxicating. 

When Shane replied, “ok, sure,” Ilya yelled in happiness on the inside. In private, Ilya had already spent too much time searching for options, scrolling through sites and saving a handful he thought would be perfect. Imagining the moment he would get to slip one on Shane, with his full consent, had been a private fantasy for so long. Speaking it aloud and hearing Shane agree made it real in a way that sent a rush of heat and excitement through Ilya. The difference between dreaming about it in secret and sharing the thought with Shane was profound, and Ilya found himself almost breathless thinking about the future, when they would do it together.

They never really planned these things out, and it was always easier to pretend each time was a one-off. Still, the promise of something more lingered between them in those few words, and Ilya hoped Shane felt the same shiver of anticipation that he did.

Ilya could feel how hard he was, straining against his jeans, and he caught Shane staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. The sight sent a wave of arousal through Ilya, and he could see just how much Shane wanted him. The longing in Shane’s eyes was unmistakable. Ilya let a knowing smile curl on his lips, perfectly aware of what Shane was thinking, and he took a quiet pleasure in how obvious Shane’s desire had become.

He decided not to make Shane wait. With deft movements, Ilya unzipped his jeans and pushed both his pants and underwear down in one quick motion, freeing himself at last. His hand immediately wrapped around his own cock, stroking slowly, and he felt the heat and heaviness in his palm. He glanced at Shane, taking in the way he watched, captivated and unable to look away. The attention made Ilya feel powerful and wanted.

Ilya knew he was big, and he reveled in the confidence it gave him. It influenced how he played and how he took control in moments like this. That self-assurance was a part of every touch, every glance and he could see how much it affected Shane, fueling his hunger.

With one hand stroking himself, Ilya reached over with the other to Shane’s caged cock, letting his fingers trail and squeeze gently around the plastic. He leaned close to Shane’s ear and purred, “I love how it looks next to mine. How big I look, or bigger I look next to it. It is where it should be. Not having to worry about performing, just locked away and waiting desperately to be acknowledged. I like how sweet it looks wrapped up like that. Like a present just for me.”

Ilya could see the effect he was having on Shane, and it made him feel powerful, almost drunk on the control. He squeezed Shane’s balls with just enough pressure to keep him perched on the edge, loving the way Shane seemed overwhelmed and desperate for more. Ilya could tell Shane wanted to be good, wanted to please him, but his need was written all over his face. When Shane finally blurted out a tangled request to suck his dick, Ilya’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. He pretended not to hear, relishing the way Shane had to gather himself and repeat the request, this time more clearly. When Shane managed, “Can I suck your dick, please? I promise it will be good,” Ilya felt a surge of affection and desire.

He leaned in and kissed Shane intensely, pouring all his approval and hunger into the kiss until they were both breathless. When they parted, Ilya let his gaze linger, pretending to weigh the request, savoring the look he could see in Shane’s eyes. Finally, he nodded and said, “Yes, you can. Get on your knees on floor.”

As Shane scrambled to obey, knees knocking against the hardwood, Ilya’s protective instincts flared. He quickly reached out, catching Shane’s chin and holding him still, locking their eyes together. “Slowly, malýsh. While I might want to cause a little pain, I don’t want you to hurt yourself when you don’t need to. Understand?” Ilya watched as Shane nodded, but then shook his head the other way, making Shane freeze in confusion. Ilya let the suspense hang for a brief moment before softly clarifying, “I need to hear yes or no from you this time. Need to hear you understand me. Be good and do that for me, da?”

Ilya watched Shane process his words, pleased when Shane replied, “Yes, Ilya, I understand. I will try to go slower from now on.” Hearing Shane say it out loud made Ilya's chest swell with fondness and pride. He wanted to reward Shane for his effort, so he offered his thumb, slipping it between Shane's lips. The way Shane sucked eagerly, taking him to the root, sent a surge of heat through Ilya. He could feel his cock twitch, knowing how responsive Shane was, and he loved how Shane had learned exactly how to please him.

When Shane asked, still muffled around his finger, if he could suck Ilya's dick, Ilya felt a ripple of amusement and affection. He removed his thumb and wrapped his hand around his own cock, telling Shane to stick out his tongue. The anticipation in Shane’s eyes made Ilya feel powerful and wanted.

As soon as Shane obeyed, Ilya slid his cock onto Shane's tongue, savoring the wet heat and the way Shane welcomed him without hesitation. Ilya tightened his grip in Shane's hair, letting himself enjoy the sensation as Shane worked him with practiced skill. It was a heady mix of control and surrender, knowing he could guide Shane but also trusting him to take over in these moments. Ilya could not help the Russian that slipped from his lips, his voice rough with pleasure:

“Blyat, pryamo tebe v glotku. Molodets, voz'mi vse do kontsa. Sosi seychas zhe, chert voz'mi, ty menya ubivayesh', malysh.” Ilya knew Shane could not understand the words, but it did not matter. The look on Shane’s face told him he felt every bit of Ilya’s desire, and Ilya was certain Shane was close, just from the sound of his voice and the way he handled him.

Ilya felt his control deepen as he guided Shane’s movements, his hand tangled in Shane’s hair, setting the pace he wanted. The power in directing Shane like this sent a thrill through him, and he could not help but savor the feeling of Shane’s mouth around him. Soon, Ilya let his foot drift to Shane’s caged cock, toying with it in slow, deliberate movements. He saw the way Shane tried not to squirm, biting back desperate noises. Ilya loved knowing how close he could bring Shane, how easily he could push him to the edge and then pull him back. Just as Shane seemed about to lose control, Ilya withdrew his foot, delighting in the frustrated grumble that vibrated around his cock. A wicked laugh bubbled up as he watched the effect he had on Shane, enjoying every bit of the torment.

Without warning, Ilya tightened his grip in Shane’s hair and pulled him off his cock, holding him in place even as Shane tried to chase after more. Locking eyes with Shane, Ilya let his gaze smolder, wanting Shane to feel the intensity of his focus and control. He felt a surge of pleasure when Shane instantly stilled, submitting fully to him.

“Fuck, shlyukha. I would love nothing more than to cum down your pretty throat, but we have other things we need to do before that can happen.”

With that, Ilya guided Shane to his feet, bringing him close so they were eye to eye. He made Shane bend over, keeping him off balance on purpose, and then added with sly amusement, “And I told you, you do not cum without permission, and I didn’t hear you ask?” When Shane blurted out a shaky, quiet “please,” Ilya snorted, enjoying the vulnerability in Shane’s voice. He leaned in and blew softly on Shane’s ear, loving the way Shane shivered from the sensation, before replying, “No.” Then he gripped Shane a little harder, lifting and tossing him onto the bed so he landed face down, ass up, right where Ilya wanted him.

Ilya moved quickly, pushing Shane’s legs together and straddling them, his hands firm as he began to palm Shane’s ass with purpose. He could feel the heat from the earlier spanking and Ilya watched Shane’s body move beneath him, admiring the way he arched his hips and pressed into the pillow. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing Shane so desperate for friction but so willing to take what little Ilya allowed. Ilya felt a surge of possessiveness and affection, loving how much trust Shane placed in him. He let Shane rub against the pillow, knowing it would not be enough to push him over the edge. The sight of Shane’s need, so raw and open, made Ilya want to prolong the moment, to keep him teetering on the edge for as long as possible.

Ilya still had plans for Shane, and he was not about to let him cum yet. He gently stilled Shane’s hips, his hands firm as he spread Shane’s cheeks, admiring the view. Running his finger over Shane’s hole, Ilya hoped to find a slickness that would let him move forward, but instead, he found nothing. A small, wicked smile tugged at his lips as he brought his hand down in a quick swat, both to get Shane’s attention and to remind him who was in charge.

When Shane lifted his head, confusion etched across his face, Ilya let his voice become stern. “I thought I told you to prepare yourself. You didn’t listen? I should have checked before and given you 10 extra spanks for disobeying me. It won’t happen again.” Ilya enjoyed the way his words made Shane squirm, the flush on his cheeks proof of how much he cared about pleasing him.

He ended his sentence with another firm swat, savoring the deep groan it pulled from Shane before Shane rushed to explain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not do it, I just didn’t have time once I got home. I was trying to clean myself thoroughly, and by the time I got out of the shower, you had texted you were on the way.”

Ilya listened, but the apology did not sway him. He slapped Shane’s ass one last time, heat blooming under his palm, and cut off Shane’s words with a low growl. “That is not my fault, you can’t keep time, Hollander. I thought you liked rules, and you don’t follow a simple one? That's fine, it just means I get to do it however I like, ok?” He felt a rush of excitement at the thought, knowing Shane responded so eagerly to his control.

Shane seemed ready to keep apologizing, but Ilya watched him stop himself. Instead, Shane gave in, his voice softer, “Fuck Rozanov, you can do it however you want. Please, I’m sorry, but let me be good now and make it up to you now.” That willingness and vulnerability made Ilya’s chest tighten with fondness and pride.

He could not stop the small, approving sound that left his lips. “You will,” he murmured. He loved how Shane surrendered to him. There was nothing he wanted more than to take care of Shane and push him further, guiding him through new experiences together.

Ilya started slowly, letting his tongue move tentatively as he tasted Shane, wanting to gauge every reaction before going further. He felt a thrill each time Shane shivered or moaned, and it filled him with a sense of wonder that he was trusted with something so intimate. As he grew bolder, licking more firmly and letting his tongue tease Shane’s entrance. The way Shane surrendered under his mouth, every small movement or gasp, only made Ilya want to give him more.

Ilya could feel the heat building in Shane, and it made his own heart pound with excitement. He loved how much Shane responded to him, how open and needy he became. The trust in this moment was almost overwhelming. Ilya pressed his tongue more insistently, demanding entrance, and the way Shane reacted made Ilya’s desire flare even higher. He wanted to make Shane feel good, to show him how much he cared for him through every careful movement.

Plastering himself to Shane’s back, Ilya wrapped an arm around him, wanting to ground him in his presence. Sensing a wave of nervousness come over Shane, Ilya leaned in, nuzzling into his hairline and whispering gently, “You don’t have to be worried.” He wanted Shane to know he was safe, that there was nothing he would do without Shane’s readiness.

He continued, his voice soft but full of promise, “I will not do anything you are not ready for. I will make you feel good, promise.” Ilya’s affection spilled into every word, hoping Shane could feel just how much he wanted to take care of him.

The angle was awkward, but Ilya twisted a little to press a series of gentle, reassuring kisses to Shane’s lips. Each touch was a silent vow that he would handle Shane’s trust with the utmost care.

“One word and I stop. Always.” Ilya watched for Shane's nod, feeling a profound responsibility settle in him alongside the excitement. He wanted Shane’s trust to remain unshakeable. As he began to move down Shane’s body, Ilya took his time, planting kisses and gentle bites along every inch of skin he could reach. Every mark he left felt like a promise, one Shane would remember tomorrow. Ilya was already picturing the hickeys and bruises, Ilya thought about Shane seeing them later after he had left. He would look at them in the mirror and wouldn’t be able to stop from touching them and remembering who had put them there.

Ilya let his lips linger on Shane’s skin, feeling the heat of his arousal in every pulse and tremor. He could feel how desperate Shane was, his body straining and needy even as the cage kept him from relief. Ilya loved knowing he had this effect, that he could make Shane lose control with just his mouth and hands. He wanted to make Shane feel everything, to give him so much pleasure that it was almost overwhelming.

Ilya dragged his tongue in a long stripe from Shane’s balls, past his perineum, and up to his hole. He pressed his lips there, sucking softly, letting his teeth graze with just enough pressure to tease. Hearing the strangled noise Shane made only spurred Ilya on. He wanted to keep going until Shane was trembling, unable to think of anything but how good it felt.

He licked again and again, tongue circling and dipping, making everything slick and hot. Ilya savored every shiver, every gasp. He could feel Shane’s tension and desperation, and it filled him with pride to know he was the cause. Ilya’s senses were full of Shane. His taste, his scent, the way his body moved beneath him. He felt a deep tenderness and a wild hunger all at once.

Listening to Shane whine and shift between tension and relaxation, Ilya could not help but smile. He wanted to praise Shane, to tell him how incredible he looked in this moment. “Feels good, right? I can’t tell you how good you look. I don’t think I can find English right now, but Ty vyglyadish' prosto potryasayushche, i ya mog by zanimat'sya etim vechno!” The words tumbled out, a mix of awe and desire, and Ilya hoped Shane could feel the truth of them, even if he could not understand every word.

Ilya’s breath against Shane’s skin made him shudder, and Ilya reveled in the power of that response. He kept working Shane with his tongue, patient and relentless, determined to keep him right at the edge. He wanted to draw this out, to make sure Shane felt cherished and wanted in every possible way.

When he finally spoke again, Ilya’s voice was rough, thick with need. “C’mon, baby, open up a little for me.” He watched Shane closely, loving how willing he was to obey. “You want me inside of you, yes?” Ilya’s heart thrummed with anticipation, ready to take Shane further while holding him steady with every touch and word.

Ilya listened to the desperate sounds Shane was making, how responsive he was beneath him. He took pride in knowing he could make Shane come undone with just his mouth, and he enjoyed every whimper and shiver. When he pulled back and murmured, “Still so tight, malýsh. Let me loosen you up a bit,” his voice was heavy with affection and promise. He loved the way Shane trusted him to take care of him, to guide him through every sensation.

He reached to cover Shane, his body curling protectively around him for a moment before he reached into the nightstand for lube. Ilya did not need to ask where it was, he felt like he could read Shane’s mind in these moments, so in tune with what he needed. He closed the drawer quickly, choosing not to linger or search, wanting to respect Shane’s privacy and knowing how vulnerable this all felt.

Moving back down Shane’s body, Ilya pressed kisses and gentle bites along the way, savoring the taste of his skin. He paused to give Shane’s hole one more lingering, messy kiss, letting him know how much he loved every part of him, before he opened the cap of the lube.

He took his time warming the lube between his fingers, wanting every touch to be as gentle and considerate as possible. When he finally rubbed his finger over Shane’s entrance, he could feel the heat of Shane’s body and the way he trembled at the contact. The lube was warm, and Ilya hoped it made Shane feel safe and cared for.

The sounds Shane made in response, high and needy, almost like a kitten filled Ilya with tenderness and a fierce desire to take care of him. He watched Shane’s knees begin to shake, his body surrendering completely, and Ilya felt an overwhelming rush of love and responsibility. In this moment, all he wanted was to make Shane feel good, to honor the trust Shane had given him.

As he slipped his finger inside Shane, he relished the way Shane’s body welcomed every careful movement. Curling his finger, he beckoned Shane closer, taking pleasure in the sounds that spilled from Shane’s lips. The way Shane’s head rolled back, the bliss etched in his expression, sent a rush of pride and desire through Ilya. He tangled his hands in Shane’s hair, pulling just the way he knew Shane liked, wanting to give him everything he needed.

Ilya’s mind was already racing ahead, imagining what it would feel like to finally be inside Shane. Eager to push things further, he added a second finger, then a third, making sure to stretch Shane with care and patience. He watched for any sign of discomfort, but Shane was so open and relaxed that Ilya felt a surge of gratitude for the trust being given to him.

He kept up a steady tapping on Shane’s prostate, letting his fingers work with relentless focus. Ilya could tell when everything else fell away for Shane, when the desperation sharpened into silence and stillness. He felt powerful, responsible, and deeply connected in that moment. Wanting to see Shane let go, he murmured, “Will you make yourself feel good for me, baby? I know you can do it.”

The instant Shane heard those words, his hand moved down, reaching for his cock. Ilya just watched, knowing how close Shane was to the edge.

But before Shane could touch himself, Ilya’s hand shot out and stopped him, firm and unyielding. He wanted Shane to obey, to remember who was in control. “I thought you were going to be good,” he said, his voice low and commanding, and he saw Shane freeze, caught by the tone.

Ilya pressed Shane’s hand down against the mattress, keeping him pinned so there was no escape. His touch was hot, possessive, and absolute. “Not like that,” Ilya continued. “You know how you are supposed to do it. Behave or you won’t fucking cum at all tonight.” He wanted his words to linger, to remind Shane just how much he belonged to him in this moment.

Ilya could feel just how much power he held in this moment, and it sent a rush of satisfaction and awe through him. He felt Shane shudder beneath his touch, felt the way his words had landed. Ilya knew he would always respect Shane’s boundaries, that he would stop at the first sign that Shane wanted him to. But the way Shane obeyed, the way that simple phrase, “I thought you were going to be good,” stilled him, made Ilya feel an intoxicating mix of responsibility and desire. He wondered how he had become the one to lead Shane into this, to take him further than either of them had ever expected.

Ilya could see the competitive spark in Shane’s eyes, the way he always rose to meet a challenge. It reminded Ilya of why he was so drawn to Shane, how their connection was built not just on trust but on an unspoken dare to keep going deeper. When Shane took a shaky breath and pushed back into Ilya’s hand, Ilya felt the significance of the moment. He let out a groan, pride and hunger welling up as he slowly released Shane’s hand, keeping gentle guidance on Shane’s hips to help him find a rhythm.

Ilya lost track of time, too swept up in the way Shane was moving, the sounds he was making. He could hear Shane’s cries and babbling, his voice breaking as pleasure overtook him. Ilya felt his own heart pounding, his breath ragged as he ran soothing hands up and down Shane’s flanks, murmuring encouragement and praise. The emotional intensity was almost overwhelming, a mix of affection and heat that made Ilya want to hold Shane even closer.

He could feel how close Shane was, every muscle taut and trembling. Ilya pressed in, chest to Shane’s back, grounding him through the storm of sensation. He whispered, “I know, baby, ne ostanovitsya',” his own voice raw with need and devotion. Ilya wanted Shane to know he was not alone, that he was held and cherished in every way.

When Shane finally came, Ilya felt it like a wave passing through both of them. He held Shane tightly, anchoring him to the present, wanting his presence to keep him grounded in the aftermath. In that moment, Ilya was filled with a fierce, protective love, grateful to be the one Shane trusted to take him so far.

Ilya felt Shane trembling beneath him and sensed the deep vulnerability in the moment. It struck Ilya how much this intimacy meant, how profound the trust between them was. He wondered if Shane was crying, noticing the slight dampness on the pillow, and felt a fierce tenderness well up in his chest. Ilya thought about moving, giving Shane space, but the quiet, desperate plea for him to stay stopped him instantly. He let himself sink down, gathering Shane in his arms and settling their bodies close together, wanting Shane to feel safe and held. Ilya pressed in, feeling Shane melt under his weight, and realized just how much he never wanted to let Shane go.

For a while, Ilya simply held him, letting the silence stretch and the dizzy, peaceful feeling settle over them both. He brushed gentle kisses over Shane’s forehead and the side of his face, wanting every touch to be a reminder of his affection and devotion.

When he heard Shane giggle, Ilya smiled and asked softly, “What’s so funny?” Shane’s answer, “I forgot who you were for a second,” made Ilya laugh, warmth and relief breaking through the lingering intensity as he buried his face in Shane’s hair and joined in. In that moment, Ilya felt completely at home, full of love for the man in his arms.

​​​​------------------------------------------

When Ilya woke, the light in the room was dusky and golden, the sun already sinking toward evening. A sick weight of regret settled in his chest as he realized how long he must have slept. The hours had slipped away from them, precious time wasted when they only had until tomorrow morning. He should have been making the most of it, should have been holding Shane close, memorizing every inch of him, but instead, he’d had a breakdown and then passed out like a child.

​

He hated himself for it. He hated the weakness and the wasted time. Their time together always felt borrowed and fragile. It was never enough, and now he’d squandered the little they had. Instead of intimacy, he’d given Shane his worst self. Guilt gnawed at him, sharp and relentless, as he stared down at Shane’s sleeping face, soft snores rumbling in his chest. Ilya’s heart twisted at the sight, at this quiet, unguarded version of Shane, trusting enough to fall asleep with Ilya draped over him like a blanket.

​

But regret could only steal more from them if he let it. He leaned in, brushing his lips gently against Shane’s neck, letting the soft skin anchor him back in the present. If he couldn’t get back the time lost to sleep and sorrow, he could at least make up for it now. He pressed another kiss, this one lingering and a little rough, determined to wake Shane with something better, something physical, something that might let them both forget, for a little while, everything that hurt. Ilya let his mouth trail lower, coaxing Shane awake with lips and tongue, hoping that in this space, tangled together, skin on skin, he could reclaim the feeling of closeness and control he so desperately craved.

​

He knew Shane wouldn’t let what happened go, not completely. Shane didn’t function like that. Maybe he could get away without talking about it now, but it was just a matter of time until he brought it up. Shane would sit on it until it made him feel crazy, and then he and Ilya would have to discuss it. He wasn’t looking forward to that, but maybe he could move them somewhere safer and steadier, for now. Feelings were dangerous, but sex? Sex was safe. Sex was territory he could navigate, where he knew the rules and could make Shane feel good, make himself useful again.

​

So Ilya pressed another gentle kiss to Shane’s neck, then another, this one biting and Ilya could see the skin redden as he let it go. Shane didn’t open his eyes yet, but he let out such a beautiful sigh that Ilya knew he was moments away from waking. He then moved lower, trailing his mouth down to his chest. He lingered on his nipples, bringing one into his mouth and nibbling on it with pressure that was just this side of too much. Shane's gasp this time broke into a confused while as Ilya pulled the bud away from his body.

​

When Ilya looked up, Shane's eyes were wide, and his pupils were blown wide. He looked confused, but quickly got on board with what was happening and arched his back into Ilya’s mouth, but even as Shane arched into the touch, Ilya saw his eyes flicker with the urge to say something about what had just happened between them. Shane’s lips parted, like he might bring up Ilya’s breakdown, the raw ache from earlier hanging between them. But Ilya didn’t let him. He wasn’t ready to let the conversation turn to feelings again, not when he finally had something solid to hold on to.

Instead, he shifted lower, mouth finding the cool metal of the cage that cradled Shane’s cock. He took all of it into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive skin that peeked through the bars, savoring the way Shane’s breath stuttered and his hands fisted into the couch. Ilya sucked gently, feeling the soft skin and letting his focus narrow to sensation only. He focused on the heat, pressure and the taste of skin and steel. He hummed, satisfied, determined to pull Shane back into the present with him, using the language he knew best.

He took his time, lingering, learning, giving pleasure from the outside in every way he could. The cage kept him from touching Shane where he most wanted, but that only made Ilya more determined. He lavished attention along the edges, sucking at the metal, letting his tongue slip through every gap to tease the flushed skin beneath, drawing out every whimper and twitch he could. All he could do was work Shane up from the outside, kissing and mouthing at every sensitive place he could reach, turning frustration into anticipation. He applied just enough pressure to make Shane gasp, just enough movement to keep him guessing. Shane’s reactions came fast now, breath stuttering, thighs tightening around nothing, like his body couldn’t decide whether to beg or brace.

He pressed slow, deliberate kisses as he moved lower still, past the cage and Shane’s balls, until he was just below Shane’s hole. There, he paused, teasing circles with his tongue, feeling the heat of Shane’s skin and the shudder that ran through his body at the first touch. Ilya let his tongue press, firm and insistent, savoring how Shane’s thighs shook and the helpless noise that tore from his throat. It was a different kind of pleasure, so much sensation from the outside, so much denied and so much given all at once. He alternated between soft, barely-there licks and deep pressure, making Shane writhe, pushing him wild with need. Shane’s whole body trembled, every muscle taut, as Ilya worked him open with nothing but his mouth. Shane made a broken noise, sharp and needy, hips lifting without permission. His hands clawed at the cushions, then at Ilya’s shoulders, like he needed something to hold on to.

That...that...was what Ilya was chasing.

“Fuck,” Shane whispered, voice wrecked, like the word was dragged out of him against his will.

Ilya smiled against him, a quiet, satisfied smirk. He liked knowing he could do this, pull Shane apart with patience instead of force, make him feel everything without rushing a single second of it. He stayed there, unhurried, letting Shane feel it build, letting the anticipation do half the work for him.

But Ilya wanted more. He shifted even lower, settling between Shane’s thighs so he could give Shane’s hole his full attention. He licked at it, slow and thorough, then pressed deep, open-mouthed kisses there, working Shane open with patience and devotion. He wanted to memorize every fold of skin as much as he wanted to memorize every twitch, every shiver, every wild, broken sound Shane made. 

He let his tongue press in, circling and teasing the rim, lapping at him with long, deliberate strokes. Every time Shane pushed back, unrestrained and desperate, Ilya’s chest filled with a hot, possessive pride. He loved how he could push Shane to this edge, make him chase after pleasure that was just out of reach. Even caged, even denied release, Shane was trying for it, hips rocking up, greedy for more. Ilya could feel the heat and want radiating off him, and it made something inside him go molten.

There was a sweetness to the trust in Shane’s abandon, the way he let Ilya see him like this, desperate, needy and undone. Ilya pressed kisses all around his hole, worshipful and sincere, feeling a rush of excitement at the knowledge that this was for him, only him. Only he got to see Shane like this, to have him writhing and grasping, every bit of him laid bare. The feeling was overwhelming in the best way: pride, gratitude, want all tangled into a fierce happiness that thrummed deep in Ilya’s chest.

When Ilya finally lifted his head, breath warm against Shane’s skin, he looked up at him, flushed and unfocused, and felt that familiar rush of pride and want twist together in his chest.

​

“Good?” Ilya murmured, soft but sure. And Shane responded with an enthusiastic head nod that shook his whole body.

​

“You want my dick now?”

​

Shane nodded frantically, his big brown eyes wide and pleading, so earnest and hopeful that Ilya had to bite back a laugh. He looked ridiculous and heartbreakingly sincere at once, his puppy-dog gaze promising anything if only Ilya would give him what he wanted. When Ilya hesitated, Shane’s desperation only grew, he whined, high and breathless, rocking his hips up and back, trying to chase every last bit of friction Ilya might give him. The whines melted into sputtered, desperate words, almost incoherent with need.

“Please, Il…please, I’ll be good, I swear, just…please, I need it, I need you, I can’t…” The words tumbled out in a rush, each one more frantic than the last. “I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll be so good, just…please, please, let me have it, let me feel you, I’ll be your good boy, I promise, I promise.”

The way Shane begged, open, honest and utterly wrecked, made Ilya’s chest burn with pride and want. This was all for him. Only he got to see Shane like this, desperate and undone, every inch of him aching and eager. And Ilya, very deliberately, didn’t let him go.

​

Ilya took his time slicking himself up, letting Shane watch every deliberate movement. The whines Shane made only fueled his smugness, and those big brown puppy-dog eyes didn’t let up, wide and hopeful as ever. Ilya had to bite back a bigger laugh when he saw just how desperate Shane looked, embarrassment and want warring on his face. When Ilya teased him,  "I have to be hard to fuck you, yes? Don't be such a shlyukha." He caught the flicker of realization and remembered shame in Shane’s expression. Shane let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head at himself for how easily the word affected him.

But Ilya wasn’t about to let up. He grinned, enjoying the power, and when Shane’s whine turned wounded, he only leaned in closer. “No, no, not like that. If you want it, you have to beg for it. And I mean really beg. Words, Shane. Full sentences. Tell me exactly what you want, or I won’t do anything at all.”

He held Shane’s gaze, waiting, savoring the anticipation and the way Shane trembled under the demand, knowing this was the moment when he would have to give Ilya everything, honest, shameless, and completely his.

For a moment, Shane just gaped at him, breath coming fast, cheeks burning. Ilya could see how hard he was working to gather himself, how much effort it took to get actual words out instead of just needy sounds. Shane squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Please, Ilya," he managed, voice shaking. "I want you to fuck me. Want you inside me, please. I need you so bad it hurts, need you to fill me, to make me yours."

He paused, panting, like he had to catch up with his own desire before he could go on. "I'll be so good," Shane promised, desperate and sincere, forcing himself to meet Ilya's eyes. "I'll do anything. Want you to fuck me, want you to use me, want you to make me your good boy. Just, please, Ilya, please."

The words still came out in a bit of a stutter, a bit messy but honest, and it was enough. Ilya leaned in and gave him exactly what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Ilya needed to be in Shane's RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW. It was a compulsion that he had to honor, and it took him over so completely that for a moment he forgot he hadn’t opened Shane up beforehand, but as Ilya pulled Shane's ass off the couch and folded him in half and began rubbing his dick on his hole, an idea took hold. He grabbed the lube from the coffee table behind him and took a closer look at Shane's hole. Ilya would not describe it as closed up, but it wasn’t exactly wide open either (it would be, though, momentarily😈), but he could see the work he had done opening Shane up with his tongue had softened the muscles and he wouldn't be going in dry or anything.

​

Ilya thought about just going in without warning, but that was very much a fantasy thought, not an actual reality he would subject Shane to without discussion, or ever tbh. He was a greedy, selfish son of a bitch, but not here, not with Shane. So he grabbed the side of Shane's face lovingly to get his attention and then suggested two choices. “You can either let me add some lube to your ass and fuck you without fingers, or I can finger you before. There is no wrong answer. I will do either. The first one will make it a struggle to go in at first, but I do not want to actually hurt you, and you know your body.

​

Shane whined and replied, “Can’t you decide?” but it didn’t sway Ilya as he shook his head no.

​

Shane looked so cute like this, pliant and vulnerable beneath Ilya's touch. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. It seemed like he wasn't that present in the moment, lost in the haze of pleasure and anticipation, but even then, Ilya couldn't make the choice for him. He wanted to gather Shane up, to soothe and guide, but this was a decision Shane had to make for himself. Ilya watched him, giving him space, letting the moment hang between them, trusting Shane to find his own answer.​

​

As he waited for Shane’s answer, Ilya found himself marveling at the kind of courage it must have taken to be so open with another person about something so intimate and embarrassing like admitting you liked to lock your cock up in a tiny metal cage to feel a sense of control. If Ilya had discovered something like this about himself, he would have hidden it away, buried it deep so no one could ever see. Vulnerability had never come easily to him; the idea of letting someone else in on his secret desires would have felt impossible. Yet, despite the obvious embarrassment, Shane had worked through it and chosen to be genuinely open with him, a radical concept to Ilya.

A small, wounded part of Ilya had almost wanted to laugh it off or bully Shane when he had first been told. A younger version of himself might have done it to mask his own discomfort. But the impulse faded quickly, replaced by something softer. He realized that this may not have been the future he imagined for himself even a few months ago, but now, staring down at Shane and sharing this trust, he was so thankful that life had led him here.

“I want you to fuck me now,” shane declared, and Ilya wasn’t going to second-guess him when he did such a good job working his way through the swamp that must be his brain right now to give him an answer. “And you will tell me if it is too much? If it hurts for real?” Shane's smile was sweet and coy, almost innocent, which made Ilya mentally chuckle since the body below him looked anything but. He was covered in sweat and had such pretty bruises starting to form on his hips and thighs from where Ilya held him down while he ate him out.

​

And then that fucking cage. It was crazy to think this little thing had changed both of their lives so irrevocably that they couldn’t go back to how things were before. There would always now be a before and after the cage for Ilya. This tiny metal object made him feel crazy and obsessive just thinking about it. He wanted to worship it… and fuck he needed to take a deep breath so he couls focus back on Shane again.

​​​

“I’ll try, Ilya, I promise. How do you say that in Russian?” Shane asked.

​

Ilya huffed but replied fondly “ya obeshchayu.”

​

Shane repeated it, horribly, so Ilya told him three more times until he sounded passable.

​

Shane watched Ilya intently as he drizzled some lube on his cock and then had to close his eyes as Ilya took the leftover on his fingers and rubbed them on Shane's hole. He took his time. The idea of just going in with minimal prep was hot in theory, but he had meant what he said; he didn’t want to hurt Shane, so he went at a glacial pace, but they both moaned as the head of Ilya's cock finally entered him.

​

It felt so good like this. So tight he had to stop and breathe for a little bit, so he wouldn’t come with just the tip in. They had done that before, but now Ilya wanted to go deeper, flood Shane's insides with his cum. He wanted it to slip out of him over the course of days. Just when he thought he had cleaned it out a little more, it would slip through. The idea of playing the game tomorrow against Shane with his cum still inside made Ilya stop again for a moment, because FUCK, he was going to cum right now otherwise, but the whine he got from Shane made him continue, just slower than before.

​

​Once he was finally seated inside, they both took a deep breath. Ilya looked down at Shane's cage, and his hands went to it without him telling them to. He grabbed Shane's cock by the root and squeezed lightly, but just that was clearly a lot because Shane's eyes closed, his head tilted back and he let out the cutest whine, but that just would not do. He needed to see Shane's eyes. Needed to see every bit of pain and pleasure flit across them.

​

“Krasivyy mal'chik,” he cooed while lightly petting Shane's cheek, but never letting go of his cage. Shane's eyes peered open with what looked like a great effort, but he was now staring at Ilya like he was a soldier waiting for orders.

​

“Do you think you can keep your eyes on me the whole time?”

​

Shane shrugged, unsure, which Ilya figured would be his response since he hadn’t wanted to make any kind of decision in hours, but Ilya knew how to get him to react and smirked as he said,

​

“What if we play a game?”

​

Shane's eyes instantly sharpened, and he shook his head, agreeing without thought.

​

​As Ilya loomed over Shane, he studied the lines of tension still lingering in Shane’s body, the way his hands curled and uncurled restlessly at his sides. He knew Shane well enough by now to recognize that spark of competitiveness that lived in him and bled out into everything he did, the instinct that drove him to push harder, go further, and meet every challenge head-on. He knew because he was the same, but it was still funny, Ilya thought, how even here, bare and open, flushed with pleasure and want, Shane’s mind would latch onto any game or contest, desperate to win, desperate to prove himself, even when the rules were just something Ilya made up on the spot.

​

“How about this? I am going to fuck you, and every time you look away, I slap those pretty balls a few times.” He demonstrated by doing just that, letting go of Shane's cage, grabbing his balls and lightly tapping them. Not very hard, but enough that Shane grunted in pain, though he never asked Ilya to stop. He wouldn't do it so nicely once they started, but Shane didn’t have to know this yet. He continued, “If you can manage to close your eyes less than three times, then after I cum I will take the cage off and blow you till orgasm. How does that sound? You are good at games.”

​

Ilya found himself a little thrilled by it, the power he held to dangle victory just out of reach. He loved the idea of watching Shane try so hard, focusing all his energy on beating whatever small challenge Ilya set, only to be denied a win at the last moment. The way Shane’s frustration would mingle with anticipation, how he would tremble on the edge of satisfaction but never quite get there, made something dark and possessive coil in Ilya’s chest. There was a special pleasure in making Shane endure, in being the one who could both push him and hold him back, stretching out the denial until Shane was pliant and desperate, completely at Ilya’s mercy.

​

That knowledge, that Shane would always rise to the challenge, always compete even when the deck was stacked against him, added another layer to everything they did. Ilya cherished the thought that he was the only one who would ever get to see Shane like this: striving, struggling and ultimately surrendering, not to the game itself, but to Ilya.

​

Shane readily agrees, of course he does, and so Ilya begins by softly slipping out and slamming back in and predictably Shane's eyes closed. Ilya was expecting this, as his harsh movements had probably come as a surprise, but he acted shocked as he scoffed at Shane, whose eyes quickly came back to Ilya's, and he had to stifle a laugh as Shane looked annoyed. Ilya did laugh a little as he goaded, “You thought it would be easy, didn’t you? Silly boy, you are going to have to try harder than that if you want to cum.”

​

Ilya wasted no time and gave three slaps to Shane's balls, much harder than the practice ones he had done before. Shane yelped in pain, but he kept his eyes on Ilya the whole time. Ilya didn’t give Shane any time to breathe and immediately pulled his cock almost all the way out till just the tip was inside, and then took great pleasure in the feeling of Shane's silky walls squeezing him before again slamming back in.

​

Ilya managed a good rhythm for a while before Shane finally closed his eyes when Ilya rubbed his prostate in just the right way. This time, Ilya didn’t stop his hips, just grabbed Shane's balls and slapped. Shane involuntarily jerked away, causing Ilya's cock to slip out and Shane’s testicles to stretch even more, but Ilya just slipped back in and gave Shane two more slaps, though these ones Ilya had to admit were pretty weak in their strength to not push Shane too far, too fast.

​

Ilya could tell how hard Shane was trying to keep eye contact with him. It was so intense that Ilya almost had to look away more than once himself. The intimacy of it felt a bit overwhelming, and he felt like Shane was looking right through him. Eventually, it was too much, and Ilya finally had to take matters into his own hands. He knew he had won when he lifted Shane's leg and hit a particularly pleasurable spot inside him, causing Shane’s head to fall back, breaking the spell he had Ilya under. The look Shane gave him in that moment, eyes wide, filling with tears, lips parted, completely lost to sensation, was almost more pleasurable than anything they were actually doing.

​

Not wanting to waste a second, Ilya gave Shane his final punishment. He lifted Shane's balls and delivered three hard slaps to the soft skin right under them to keep him guessing, and watched with delight as Shane gasped and his hands went to his hair nearly pulling the strands out until Ilya grabbed them in his and brought their eyes back together.

​

Shane was gorgeous like this. His eyes were red with tears coming down and he was sniffling which made him look like a child that had just been scolded. It was so cute that Ilya couldn’t help but smile. “You are so cute, malýsh, you really think you were going to win, and now you are upset like a child who didn’t finish dinner but still wants ice cream.” At that, Shane's mouth became a thin line, and had to laugh this time because it was so cute. “Yes, my kotenok is so svirepyy, so ferocious.” At that, Ilya dropped Shane's legs and bent down to kiss him. Shane groaned as the movement rubbed Ilya's cock right over his prostate, and Ilya smirked, “Is that what it takes to tame you pitomets? A little rubbing and you become my sweet kitty again?” Ilya punctuated his point by undulating his hips and rubbing harder against that spot that lit up Shane's brain and caused him to go a little stupid.

“Are you going to be my good boy and make me feel good? Let me use your body to get off? It’s the least you can do since you lost our game. Shane wasted no time and was begging Ilya to “Yes, please, Ilya, please use me. I want you. Want your cum.” Ilya felt so much power staring down at Shane as he asked, “And you won’t waste any? You’ll keep it in like a good boy.” In this moment, Ilya was like a cat himself. A tiger that had just caught its dinner, and was now circling his prey, toying with them before he went in for the kill.

​

Shane, like the wonderful wounded lamb he was, instantly agreed. “Yes, Ilya, please. I want your cum, want it deep inside. Want it so fucking bad. Please give it to me.” And while Ilya loved giving Shane delayed gratification, he was selfish as fuck when it came to himself, and so he wasted no time shuffling off Shane, sitting on his knees and pulling Shane up with him so he was in his lap, facing him. It seemed Shane thought Ilya wanted him to put in the work, so he sluggishly lifted his hips, only for Ilya to grab them and proceed to pull him up so he was just barely on Ilya’s cock and slam him down. It took Shane's breath away literally. It was like Ilya's cock made it to his throat and was taking up his airway the way he gasped and sputtered.

​

Ilya was done playing games for the moment, and so he devoted himself instead to getting off as soon as possible. He could hear Shane above him, whimpering and whining about something, but Ilya’s entire focus had whittled down to how Shane’s hole squeezed around him. It was so perfect. Tight and hot and, fuck, fuck, fuck Ilya was cumming.

​

He took Shane's nipple into his mouth, so he didn’t say what he was really thinking out loud, but his mind had no issues talking to an audience of one, fuck Shane, fuck want to cum in you so deep and long that it spills out of you. Want to make your belly round with just my cum and imagine you pregnant with our baby, fuck, I love you, I love you, I love you. That last part caused him to bite down on the nipple in his mouth, and Shane arched so beautifully that it knocked him out of his own mind, and he looked up in awe at the angelic creature above him. He writhed so perfectly, wringing out the last bit of cum from Ilya before he could process it.    

​

Ilya is slow to put Shane back onto the couch and pull out, but as he does, he pushes Shane until his ass is sticking in the air and he is holding his legs. He tells Shane to “stay just like that, don’t move, I will be right back. If you move, you will regret it,” and had to laugh at Shane’s scoff as he left the room to head to his bedside table. He had bought the plug a while ago, didn’t remember when exactly, but it definitely didn’t correlate with the first time he thought about impregnating Shane, no siree, those were absolutely not related in any way, shape or form.

​

He grabbed the lube and headed back to the couch, where Shane was, of course, sitting perfectly still as he left him, though he looked a lot more annoyed than when he left. 😈

​

He sounded so sweet and unsure when he asked what Ilya had in his hands and Ilya wasn’t in the mood to deny his good boy when he had done exactly what he was asked to do and hadn’t moved an inch and the gasp that came from the man on the couch had Ilya feeling warm and soft inside as he snarked “You wanted my cum so badly, and I went through all those tests to make sure I could give it to you, so I don’t want to waste it, yes?” Shane agreed, but he looked hesitant, which stopped Ilya for a moment as he thought. That fucking eyebrow wrinkle was back, meaning Shane was overthinking something, and that would just not do so Ilya bent over Shane, taking his face in his hands and tried to coax what was eating at Shane out of him.

​

“What is wrong? You don’t want my cum now? You want to waste it, I could go get a washcloth right now if you would like?” Shane sputtered immediately, trying to back track, “No, Ilya, please, I want it, I’m sorry.” Those tears were welling up in big, fat drops that rolled down his cheek. Ilya moved in closer to kiss them before they slipped off onto Shane's shoulder. “Then what is wrong, malýsh, why are you crying?” Shane had to take a couple of deep breaths, undoubtedly trying to find the words.

​

The soft “I don’t deserve it,” caught Ilya off guard, and he snorted before he realized Shane was being serious. This self-sacrificing idiot really thought he didn’t deserve it because he lost a game that Ilya made specifically for Shane to fail? He tried not to sound incredulous as he quipped, “You think you were ever going to win that game? My sweet glupyy baby. So silly, you did exactly what I wanted you to do. So yes, you do deserve it. Now, be a good boy and take this plug before you lose any of your reward.”

​

He didn’t wait for Shane to answer, just reached back to grab his supplies, lubed the plug up and slipped it in easily. It was nowhere near the size of Ilya, but it had a flared base, and Ilya felt confident that it would do the job. He did tease Shane with it a little, sue him, he’s only human, pulling it out to the widest part before letting go and letting gravity do the work as it slid back in. Shane looked adorable while Ilya did it, his lip caught on his teeth, nose scrunching up, just like the kitten he was, as the plug settled again.  

Ilya reached back and unclasped his necklace, taking one side and sliding the key off. He could feel Shane's confused stare on him without even looking, but when he finally did, the uncertainty in Shane’s eyes making Ilya want to drag this moment out. Ilya loved this feeling of control and the charge between them. As he moved to unlock Shane's cage, Shane made a questioning noise. Ilya could imagine what Shane was thinking, I lost so why are you taking my cage off? Ilya's lips curled in a sly smile. When Shane finally asked why he was taking his cage off Ilya replied simply, "ruined orgasm and then right back in the cage," savoring the flicker of disappointment on Shane's face. Ilya did not waste any time. He stroked Shane just enough to bring him to the brink and right before Shane was about to squirt he let go causing Shane’s cock to bob and cum without any stimulation at all. Shane was crying again and Ilya took the distraction to lock the cage back on quickly and efficiently. Inside, Ilya felt a rush of satisfaction. He wanted this to feel as unsatisfying as possible for Shane. He loved every desperate look Shane gave him, every frustrated sound. It made Ilya feel powerful and impossibly fond of the man in front of him, wanting to keep him close and desperate...for now.

------------------------------

Flashback

Ilya lay perfectly still for a moment, savoring the warmth of Shane pressed under him and wished he could stay like this forever. Every instinct told him to remain exactly where he was, to keep holding Shane close and soak in the quiet afterglow. At the same time, he worried about his weight pinning Shane down, and not wanting to smother him or make him uncomfortable, he reluctantly shifted and started to roll away. The small, disgruntled noise Shane made in protest made Ilya smile, feeling a quiet joy at how much Shane clearly wanted him to stay right where he was.

​

Ilya began running his fingers through Shane's hair in what he hoped was a worthy apology. Shane moaned as Ilya gently took apart a small tangle, so he must be doing something right. Ilya was hyper-aware of Shane's comfort and the responsibility he felt not to push him too far. He wants Shane to know that they can stop at any time and that nothing bad will come of it. When he leans forward and says quietly, “Do you want to continue? We don't have to. We can be done if you want,” he means it completely. Ilya does not want to risk hurting Shane or making him feel forced. He feels content with what they have done already.

​

When Shane looks at him with that searching expression, Ilya feels a rush of tenderness and also guilt that Shane might be worried about disappointing him. Ilya laughs softly and shakes his head, trying to reassure him, “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. This was a lot for you. It is ok to be done.” Inside, Ilya just wants Shane to feel safe and to know that his comfort matters more than his hard-on right now.

​

Ilya watched Shane closely, noticing the exhaustion in his eyes but also the interest that had lingered. He felt a gentle anticipation in the quiet between them, wondering if Shane would speak his mind or retreat into silence like he was prone to do. Ilya had tried to be careful and attentive, hoping every touch would reassure Shane. When Shane finally turned to him and asked, “Do you want to fuck me?” Ilya was thrown off guard. Ilya felt a jolt of surprise at Shane's question. He had not expected Shane to be so direct, and for a moment, he could not hide his astonishment. Still, he tried to keep his eyes gentle and took a moment to compose himself, then offered a small, reassuring smile. “I always want to fuck you, but my question was, do you want to continue? I am…how you say, irrelevant to the answer.” Even as he said the words, he felt like if his dick could talk; it would be cussing him out right now. He wanted Shane so much, but he needed Shane to know he cared about his comfort above his own desire. He worried that his feelings might be too strong or too apparent, but he hoped his patience would make Shane feel safe.

​

Ilya watched as Shane leaned in to kiss him. He felt his heart trip in his chest at the sudden closeness and the deliberate decision Shane made. It was not just a kiss; it was Shane openly choosing to continue, and Ilya felt a rush of warmth and gratitude. When Shane looked at him with that teasing glint that Ilya wished he saw more, and said, “I wouldn’t say you are irrelevant. You’re actually pretty fucking relevant to this question,” Ilya could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips. The touch of Shane's hand on his cock startled him, making his breath catch and a string of low curses slip out before he could stop them. He had not expected Shane to be so bold, but the gesture filled him with desire and a deep appreciation for Shane’s growing confidence.

​

Ilya listened as Shane continued, “I want you to fuck me. Like I said before, cumming in this thing isn't the same as if I didn't have it on. It's not that pleasurable, so I think I could probably do it again.” Hearing that, Ilya felt a pang of concern, and he could not help himself. He was deeply curious about how Shane experienced the cage and wanted to understand every detail, but he was trying not to appear too eager.

​

He asked softly, "Is there no pleasure at all?" His concern was genuine, but he tried to keep his tone gentle. Inside, Ilya felt a swirl of fascination. He had read a little and watched a lot of porn involving male chastity since Shane first called him, but he wanted to hear it directly from Shane. How it made him feel. He found himself hanging on Shane’s every word, hoping he would trust him enough to share honestly. It mattered to him that Shane felt seen and safe, and he wanted to know what Shane truly felt without overwhelming him with his own enthusiasm.​

Ilya listened intently as Shane answered, “No, there is some.” He could hear the hesitation and complexity in Shane’s words, "But it's not simple like it is when cumming without it. Physically, it feels good, but not as satisfying as a regular orgasm. The feeling of pleasure is mixed with frustration and a bit of pain.”

​

Ilya knew this was not something Shane had spoken about with anyone else, and it made him jealous and protective of Shane when he imagined another man sharing this experience with him. He had to deliberately focus back on what Shane was saying as he continued, “It’s like I need to engage all the parts of my body and really focus before I can orgasm, but while sometimes I do actually orgasm, like with cum and stuff, sometimes I don’t, and sometimes I cum and don’t feel anything at all. It’s like that feeling you get in your stomach right before you orgasm doesn’t go away, and you're left feeling hornier than before. Does any of that make sense?”

​

Yes, everything Shane said made perfect sense to Ilya. When Shane admitted to using the cage, Ilya was surprised but not shocked. Shane was rigid and never handled change or emotions well. If he felt like his lust toward Ilya was getting in the way of hockey and his day-to-day life, of course, he would go to an extreme. That was just who Shane was.

​

Ilya thought about how Shane always needed control. He worked his body into submission with exercise and diet. This was just another way for Shane to try to control his body and his feelings for Ilya. While Ilya would never choose something like that for himself, he understood why it worked for Shane. Using the cage made sense to Ilya as a way for Shane to claim even a little control over something that felt impossible to manage. Ilya felt a mix of sadness and admiration. He wished Shane didn’t have to fight himself so hard, but he also respected the lengths Shane would go to for focus and discipline.

​

What had surprised Ilya, though, was that Shane had willingly given up some of that control to him, letting Ilya hold it for a while. That trust felt intoxicating and humbling. Ilya opened his mouth to start explaining everything that was in his head, the way it all made perfect sense to him, how he understood Shane’s need for the cage, the way control and trust played out between them, but before he could say any of it, Shane distracted him completely.

​

Shane’s thumb rubbed just under the head of his cock, and pleasure shot through Ilya’s body, scattering every thought. All his careful observations and questions vanished as pre-cum welled up, and Shane bent down to lick it. Ilya thought Shane looked so much like a kitten when he did that, slow and delicate, licking before taking Ilya into his mouth and sucking him down. For a moment, Ilya’s mind went white with pleasure. He could not think of anything except the feeling of Shane’s mouth and the sight of him between his legs. Ilya rolled onto his back to give Shane more access, surrendering to the sensation. When Shane finally took the head into his mouth and began to suck, Ilya’s legs enclosed around him, his feet resting on Shane's back, keeping him exactly where he was.

​

Ilya let Shane do as he pleased for a while, enjoying every second of the distraction. He could feel his mind trying to return to their unfinished conversation, but pleasure kept pulling him away. Eventually, Ilya made a decision, and he reached down and threaded his fingers through Shane’s hair, relishing the softness, and then he tugged, none too gently, loving the way Shane gasped and groaned at the sensation. Ilya wanted to be annoyed that Shane had so perfectly stolen his attention away from their talk, but he could not find even a hint of irritation within himself.

​

All he felt was a fond amusement and a deep affection for his little kitten. He pulled Shane up by his hair, wanting him close, wanting to get this show back on the road before he was distracted all over again, and Shane came willingly, even if he seemed a little annoyed at being stopped from continuing his mission of making Ilya cum with his mouth, if the huff he got when Shane’s face was finally pressed into his shoulder was anything to go by. Ilya provoked him as he spoke, “I thought you said you wanted me to fuck you? I can’t do that if I cum down that pretty throat of yours.”

​

IIlya looked at Shane, heat and affection swirling inside him. He wanted to savor this moment, to feel Shane's body and trust beneath his hands. He pulled Shane up so his head and neck stretched above him, then gently placed his right hand over Shane's throat. He wasn’t really squeezing; he was only holding him still, but he relished the control the gesture gave him. Ilya could feel Shane gulp, and he felt a rush of pride that Shane had let him do this, that Shane had given him so much trust. Ilya did not mind that Shane could not move or really talk right now as he leaned in, voice low and teasing, “Unlike you, malysh, I can’t cum multiple times while never getting hard, so you need to make a choice, do you want me inside your throat or inside your ass?” Even as he spoke, Ilya could see in Shane's eyes what his choice was, but he loved the way Shane melted for him and the way their game blurred pleasure with tenderness, so he asked anyway.​

Ilya knew there was never a real decision for Shane. The way he looked at Ilya’s cock had such a hunger to it that sometimes Ilya felt like he needed to shield himself from it, like Shane would devour it if Ilya wasn’t keeping watch. Ilya understood he was lucky in the dick department, not just in what he was gifted with genetically but in how he could use it. He loved that he could make Shane lose himself so easily with just his cock.

​

When Ilya loosened his grip just enough, Shane’s desperate whines spilled out, “Please fuck my ass, please, Ilya, I need it.” The sound of Shane’s voice, high and needy, sent another surge of lust that went straight to Ilya’s cock. Only he could draw these sounds out of Shane. Hearing Shane say it out loud only made Ilya’s ego grow larger. Still, he could not let Shane off that easily. He wanted to see Shane squirm. He wanted to dig into the humiliation, to break Shane down even more, because the way Shane’s chest flushed red with embarrassment was delicious to him.

​

He smiled, pulling Shane down to rest on his chest again, but not letting go of his throat. “Are you sure, Kotenok?” he asked, his expression devilish. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather lick my dick as you did before? You did it so sweetly. Maybe that should be your reward. Little licks for moyego milogo kotenka.” Ilya’s mind buzzed with arousal as he watched Shane shake his head, clear and determined. He felt a surge of satisfaction seeing Shane so desperate for him, needing him inside.

​

When Shane ground back against his cock, Ilya’s control slipped for a moment, and he instinctively let go of Shane’s neck, delighted by Shane’s boldness. His heart thudded in his chest as Shane’s mouth quickly found his throat, kissing and biting as if he wanted to leave proof of what was happening between them. The bite sent a hot spark through Ilya, and he bucked his hips, making his cock press harder between Shane’s cheeks. The pleasure was sharp and immediate. Ilya could only focus on the feeling of Shane’s teeth as they let go of his skin and the way Shane moaned against his neck. He marveled at how close and wild Shane became with him, how much trust pulsed in every touch.

​

Ilya could not help but tease Shane, his voice low and playful. “You really are my malen'kiy kotenok. Even bite like one.” When Shane managed to ask, “What does that mean?” Ilya grinned. He loved it when Shane asked him what his Russian words meant. It always made his heart feel full to see Shane so curious, and the exasperated look on Shane's face when Ilya told him the meaning never failed to make Ilya want to laugh and pull him even closer.

​

And so he was already anticipating Shane’s reaction when he replied, “It means,” he let his amusement color his words, “my little kitten, my sweet little kitten.” Watching Shane’s face scrunch up, Ilya felt like he was on top of the world. He loved the playful energy that always sparked when Shane tried to decode his Russian and the exasperation that followed.

​

He wanted to savor this moment, but he needed to be inside Shane like yesterday. He started to move his hips more insistently, determined to keep Shane flustered and needy. He wanted to see Shane above him, to see him desperate and eager, a beautiful writhing mess. That sight always set something off inside Ilya, a pride and hunger that only Shane could summon. So he coaxed Shane forward with his ultimate weapon, his voice, gentle but commanding. “How about you be my good boy, my good kotenok and take my cock and put it inside you. I want to see you work for it, yes?” He relished the way Shane’s body shivered at his words, loving how Shane always seemed to give in so sweetly, even if he took a little bit to get there. Gaining the trust of a scared animal always made for a more loyal pet.

​

Ilya could feel how much Shane did not want to move, the way he clung to the warmth of Ilya's throat as if it were home. Ilya adored that stubbornness, the little whine Shane gave when asked to move. But he also saw the hope flicker in Shane’s eyes when he called him a good boy again. That word always pulled Shane out, no matter how much he resisted. Ilya loved having that effect on him. He stroked Shane’s back gently, then said with a soft tease, “I know it's hard, but I do work all night, I am tired. Now it's your turn to show me you can be a good boy and follow directions, ok?” He finished by giving Shane’s ass a playful slap. He loved coaxing him out with just a few words.

​

Shane leaned over him to reach into the side table again and got one condom out, and he handed it over to Ilya, but he shook his head, refusing to grab it. “No. I said it's your turn. You want my cock, you put on condom.” Shane huffed in annoyance at that, but took the condom in his hand anyway, bringing one edge to his mouth, and he ripped it open without breaking eye contact. Ilya watched Shane handle the condom, feeling anticipation coil tighter inside him with every moment. When Shane finally slid the condom down over his cock, Ilya could not hold back the deep groan that tore from his chest. The feeling of Shane’s body pressing down, the first intimate contact, made his pulse race.

Ilya’s breath caught as Shane began to lower himself, and when he felt Shane shudder in pleasure, it sent a thrill through him. He could sense how good it felt for Shane after all the attention he had given him earlier with his mouth and fingers. As Shane sank down, Ilya became aware of the sharp, tingling sensation of Shane’s nails scratching up and down his chest. The little sting made Ilya grunt, and he let out a rough, amused, “Little claws.”

​

The kitten comparison really did fit. Shane was all bite and scratch, full of unpredictable moods. One moment, he was kissing Ilya so sweetly it made his chest ache, and the next, he was looking at Ilya like he was imagining blowing him up with his mind for not answering the door quickly enough. Shane could be so hot and cold, but Ilya thought it made every second they were together electric and real.

​

Ilya knew the kitten comment would stick with Shane, and he was certain Shane would find a way to punish him for it later, probably on the ice, but Ilya couldn't care less. He loved every bite and scratch, even if he would regret them tomorrow when he saw the marks. Feeling this alive with Shane was worth everything. He felt a rush of affection and heat for Shane, loving how uninhibited and present he was in this moment, letting himself be small and soft atop Ilya. Right now, all Ilya wanted was to feel every bite and scratch, every mark Shane left behind.

​

Ilya felt the sharp pleasure intensify as Shane slid down and raked his nails across his chest, leaving angry welts in their wake. He almost laughed at the stubbornness, but finally had to capture Shane’s hands in his own, stopping him from actually breaking the skin. Ilya held their hands together, feeling the strength and trust in Shane’s grip. Shane stayed determined and continued down until he was fully seated.

The stretch and the heat of Shane around him were nearly overwhelming. For a moment, they sat together in silence, breath mingling, and Ilya was grateful for the closeness and the pause. Wanting to encourage Shane and keep him moving, Ilya began to grind his hips slowly beneath him. The response was immediate, Shane undulated his own hips, working himself over Ilya just as he’d been asked. Ilya watched him with open admiration, savoring the sight of Shane taking control, grinding down instead of bouncing, their hands still tangled together.

​

From Ilya's point of view, he felt a powerful sense of connection as he looked up at Shane. His gaze locked on Shane, feeling as if he was being put in a trance. Ilya felt stripped of all the usual worries and burdens that pressed on him daily. Beneath Shane, he felt younger and free, almost as if he had been transported to another world where nothing mattered except the two of them in this moment. Ilya wondered if anyone had ever seen him like this before, unguarded, open, and real. The thought brought up that intense jealousy again, but he also felt a quiet awe at how Shane looked at him, and something inside Ilya softened, wanting to give Shane this side of himself that he rarely revealed.

​

Ilya watched Shane lift his hips and heard the grateful sigh that slipped out. The sight and sound made Ilya’s heart thud with affection and desire. He felt every movement, every tightening of Shane’s body around him, as if it were a secret message meant just for him. When Shane tightened even more, Ilya could not hold back the hungry groan that tore from his throat. The pleasure was so sharp and real that it made him want to lose control. He let his hand travel down and gave Shane a soft slap on his ass, unable to resist the urge to mark the moment with a touch that was possessive. Ilya relished the intimacy between them, how Shane never looked away, how every sigh and squeeze felt like a promise. He felt a fierce need to keep Shane as close as possible for as long as he could.

​

Ilya felt the intensity rise with every movement between them. He watched Shane ride him, saw the way Shane's body responded, and Ilya wanted to break through whatever walls Shane still had in place. He needed to hear it, needed Shane to say who he was in this moment. The urge was overwhelming, and with a sudden thrust of his hips, he demanded, “Who are you?” He knew he had promised not to snap his hips, but he could not help himself. The need to claim Shane fully and to see him give in was too strong. Ilya’s heart was pounding, his breath rough, and he felt a wild joy in the way Shane moved for him.

​

As soon as Shane sobbed, “I’m your good boy,” Ilya felt something break open inside him. That admission, that surrender, made his heart race and his desire flare even hotter. He could hardly hold back, instantly rocking his hips as hard as he could into Shane, desperate to give him everything he was asking for. Seeing Shane crying, utterly undone, made Ilya’s cock throb. He watched Shane’s thighs flex as he tried to move with Ilya’s thrusts, and Ilya eased his grip, letting Shane chase the perfect angle that made him tremble and gasp. When Ilya’s cock brushed against Shane’s prostate, and he saw Shane’s back arch, chest flushed and exposed, it was almost too much to take in, how beautiful Shane looked, how much he trusted Ilya with his body and his tears. IIlya could see Shane starting to struggle; his body was strong, but even the greatest athlete to ever live would falter under this much pleasure. He felt Shane grow softer and more pliable in his lap as his legs became too overworked, and it sent a thrill through Ilya that lit up every nerve. When Ilya realized he could not get the leverage he wanted, he was almost reluctant to let go of Shane’s hands. Lifting Shane up and pulling out drew a needy whine from him, and Ilya had to suppress the urge to settle Shane right back down, loving how much Shane wanted to stay connected.

​

Instead, Ilya flipped them and moved Shane onto his stomach, grabbing his hands again, this time near the elbows, and pulling him up so they were pressed back to chest. Shane’s arms flailed behind him, but Ilya held him up, supporting his entire weight. He loved how vulnerable this new position made Shane, how he took it all in stride and let Ilya hold him completely. The trust radiating from Shane was electric, and Ilya wanted to take care of Shane and savor every second of holding him like this.

​

As Ilya pushed back in, the new angle made both of the men moan, and the sound echoed between them like a promise. Ilya felt Shane’s hands grasping at his hips and ass, desperate for any kind of anchor, and the intensity of Shane’s need only fueled Ilya’s own desire. He loved how Shane clung to him, how every touch and squeeze grounded them both in the moment.

​

Shane is tight and perfect around him, and Ilya has to concentrate incredibly hard to resist the urge to start pounding mindlessly into the man below. Most of his body is pliant and loose, except for Shane's back and shoulders, which Ilya watches tense and relax as each thrust tears another little whimper past Shane's lips. Witnessing his pleasure, the pleasure that Ilya is giving him, even with the cage on, makes Ilya’s self-control start to unravel. He lets go of Shane's arms and quickly grabs his chest before he can fall. He brings him up, so they are now kneeling on the bed.

​

Ilya sets a maddening pace. He fucks into Shane with long, hard strokes before burying himself to the hilt and grinding into his prostate. He alternates his rhythm and listens for Shane’s reactions to his thrusts. Shane is a writhing, babbling mess with his mouth muffled in Ilya’s throat, which makes it hard for Ilya to decipher it all, but he thinks some of it is in French, or maybe Ilya is so far gone he is having trouble translating English. Shane is clawing at his hips. Ilya is now past the point of slowing down or teasing.​

“Cum for me, malýsh. Be my good boy, I want to feel you try so desperately to cum,” Ilya commands, voice gentle but firm as he thrusts as fast and deep as he can.

​

Watching Shane obey so suddenly sent a deep satisfaction through him. He could feel Shane’s back arch hard into his chest, and the sound of that long, keening whine as Shane came untouched made Ilya’s heart thud.. Seeing Shane climax again, even with the cage on, filled Ilya with wild hunger. Shane dropped his head to watch it drip out of the cage, which only spurred Ilya on.

​

Only when Shane finished, and his shoulders finally relaxed a bit, did Ilya finally let himself go, chasing his own release with a few desperate thrusts before coming deep inside Shane’s pliant body. The moment left Ilya breathless, grateful and fiercely in love with the man in his arms.

​

After a few moments of afterglow, Ilya pulled reluctantly out of Shane as gently as he could. The upper half of Shane's body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, like dead weight; his head hit the pillow, but his legs twitched back weakly in an attempt to pull Ilya closer, and the Canadian made an unhappy noise in protest.​

“Shh. I’ll be right back,” he soothes, brushing Shane's sweat-soaked hair off his face where it had become plastered to his forehead.

​

Ilya hurriedly ties off the condom and cleans himself in the bathroom before returning with a damp washcloth. Shane sighs as Ilya cleans between his legs, and then Ilya pushes one of his thighs under him until he can see Shane's hole. Shane is stretched out, pink and puffy from Ilya’s cock in a way he hasn’t been before. Ilya reaches out and touches his hole, almost petting him with his thumb, and Shane shivers from oversensitivity. Ilya wishes he could have cum inside Shane without the condom and pushed it deep inside so it would slowly slip out as he slept. Maybe make him wear a plug so it would stay in him until it was absorbed in his body. He had to walk away to get Shane some water before he got hard again just from that train of thought.

​

He moved quietly around Shane, cleaning him up with careful hands and holding a glass to his lips to make him drink. Ilya enjoyed taking care of Shane after such intense sex. He always liked these small rituals afterward, and he believed they grounded both of them. As he watched Shane drink, Ilya noticed a distant look in Shane’s eyes. Shane was not really looking at him, or at anything in particular. Ilya had seen him get a little foggy after sex before, so he didn’t think too much of it. He told himself it was just the intensity of what they shared, that after such closeness, it made sense to drift a little. Ilya felt protective, wanting to keep Shane close and safe in this vulnerable moment. There was a quiet pride in knowing he could be the one to tend to him, even if Shane did not seem fully present. Ilya hoped that with a little time and gentle care, Shane would come back to himself and they could share in the afterglow together.

​

After taking the washcloth back to the bathroom, Ilya climbed into bed beside Shane, where he immediately noticed something was wrong. Ilya heard a faint, unfamiliar sound, and it took him a moment to realize it was Shane’s teeth chattering. Concern pricked at Ilya as he watched Shane shift, tossing a leg over the edge of the bed as if he was about to get up. Ilya reached out, running his hands through Shane’s hair the way he always did to comfort him. Shane sighed at the touch, but instead of leaning in, he stayed distant. That little detail deepened Ilya’s worry. Something was off, but he tried to reassure himself. He knew Shane sometimes got foggy after sex, but this felt different; Shane was not really with him. A flicker of doubt crept in. Maybe he had gone too far, maybe Shane was upset and just did not know how to process it. Ilya found himself watching Shane closely, trying to figure out what he needed to do to bring him back.​

Ilya watched Shane with worry growing every second as Shane’s body shook, and fuck, was he shivering? He wanted to reach out and comfort Shane, but uncertainty tugged at him. He was afraid of making things worse if he used the wrong words. Searching for something neutral, Ilya defaulted to calling him "Hollander." It felt like safe ground, less intimate than pet names or even Shane’s first name. “What are you doing, Hollander? You are going to slip off the bed.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Ilya saw the way Shane stiffened and heard the pain in the grunt he gave. Ilya realized that the distance in his words had landed like a blow. He had meant to keep things calm, but instead, he had hurt Shane. Guilt twisted in Ilya’s chest. He wished he could take it back, wished he had just said what he really felt instead of hiding behind a name. He grabs him and brings him into his chest as he watches Shane mentally retreat further away, aching with regret.

​

Ilya watches helplessly as Shane aggressively pushes Ilya's hands aside, slipping out of his grasp while curling up on the edge of the mattress, pulling his knees to his chest in a tight fetal position. He looked small and fragile in a way that made Ilya’s stomach twist. Shane was murmuring something under his breath, words too quiet and jumbled for Ilya to catch or translate. It was like watching someone disappear into themselves, and Ilya felt a surge of panic at his inability to help. He wanted to reach out, to comfort Shane, but the uncertainty and the distance between them left him frozen for a moment, desperate for a way to bring Shane back to himself and terrified that he had pushed him too far.

​

Ilya grabs Shane again to try and calm him down, maybe get him to match his breathing since his is so quick, but is extremely taken aback when Shane starts kicking behind him to get away. This is not like Shane at all. Shane never resorts to violence on or off the ice, and seeing him like this twists Ilya's heart. Even as Shane tries to tenderize his knees with his feet, Ilya holds Shane close regardless. He feels a deep ache watching Shane like this and cannot believe how much it hurts to see him so desperate.

​

Shane starts yelling, his voice raw with panic. And then shouts to the room, “Leave me alone. Run away like you always do. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” and Ilya is so confused, but then Shane rolls around in Ilya's grasp so he is facing him and starts hitting Ilya's chest with weak but frantic fists. Ilya lets go because he is honestly a little scared of Shane right now.

​

Shane yells, "I feel like I am dying." Ilya tries to comfort him, whispering softly in his ear about how he is okay. He tells Shane he is here for him and that he is sorry for what he has caused. He did not mean for any of this to happen. Shane is losing steam and whines, "Why did you do this to me?" Ilya tries to soothe him, murmuring that it will all be okay after he gets some rest and telling him to sleep.

​

Shane goes limp in his arms, and Ilya can only assume Shane has fainted or something, but he is utterly freaked out and left hanging in the frightening silence that follows. He lets out a sob, he had been holding in since Shane first left his grasp, and all he can think about is how helpless he feels in this moment. Ilya is left holding him, feeling the weight of everything he cannot fix.

Chapter Text

Flashback

Ilya doesn’t know how long he stares at Shane’s body below him. He calls it Shane’s body because what happened didn’t feel like it was Shane doing it at all. It felt like it had happened to someone else, or as if the usually calm and collected Shane Hollander had been switched out, Freaky Friday style, with his polar opposite. Ilya has to keep watching Shane’s chest rise and fall to be sure he is still breathing; he’s so still, like a Roman statue, a man who layed down to nap and accidentally turned to marble. Even now, he’s gorgeous, and Ilya wishes he could tell Shane that. He wishes Shane was awake to hear it.

​

Ilya moves to lie beside Shane, shifting him slowly to keep him asleep. Besides a few sniffles, Shane doesn’t stir, which makes Ilya grateful, though conflicted. He wants to talk to Shane about what just happened, but he is afraid of what will come when Shane wakes up. Ilya doesn’t think he knows how to handle it.

​

Part of Ilya burns with anger at Shane for doing this. He wants to grab him, shake him awake, and demand an explanation. Why does he get to disappear into sleep and leave Ilya alone with the wreckage? Shane was weak.

Weakness wasn’t tolerated in Ilya’s world. In Russia, it was a liability. Weakness got you hit by your brother, chastised by your father. It led nowhere good, only to the dark place where Shane now squatted and where Ilya’s mother had gone to live permanently. That was not a place Ilya could follow. To survive, you learned to hide softness. Ilya did it so long that it became a shield. He’d learned letting anyone see you falter meant pain or pity, and he wanted neither. Even now, faced with Shane’s collapse, the lesson echoed: if you break, you might never put yourself back together.

He thinks about ordering a car and running like hell. This wasn’t his house; he could just disappear. Hell, maybe Shane would probably prefer it. Ilya tries to convince himself to leave, to let Shane wake up alone and pick through his own wreckage without an audience. Maybe it would be better for both of them to pretend this never happened, to erase the memory of tonight and go back to the safe distance they’d always kept.

Ilya pictured himself going out the door, disappearing into the comfort of his hotel room, where Marleau was probably snoring away right now. He could wash his hands of all of this. He could slip back into the safe, solitary version of himself who needed no one. It was tempting, so tempting, to just cut the cord and disappear. But even as he told himself it was for the best, something in him recoiled at the thought. The image of abandoning Shane gnaws at him, a wound throbbing in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or loyalty or just plain stubbornness, but the idea of abandoning Shane felt like a wound he’d carry with him long after he left.

Ilya then wonders if he should call 911 or whatever the fuck it was in Canada, or maybe drive Shane to the hospital himself. His mind starts racing: what if Shane never wakes up? What if Ilya’s done something irreversible by just sitting here? Maybe Shane is in a goddamn coma right now, and Ilya is just watching it happen, frozen, useless. And whose fault is that? He could call for help, but what would he even say? How would he explain why Ilya Rozanov was in his arch rival's apartment, and he is unconscious, oh, and they are both naked, and double oh, his rival has a fucking cage around his dick? Jesus Christ, his life was a bad joke.

If he’s going to take Shane to the hospital, he needs to take the cage off. He looks at Shane’s bedside table and doesn’t see the key. A jolt of panic zips through him, quick and cold. The key should be there, shouldn’t it? He’s sure it was there before. Or was his brain just making it up that it had been? He tries to keep his movements quiet, but his nerves make his hands clumsy as he starts searching. He lifts books, checks under the lamp and runs his fingers along the floor. His mind spirals: What if it’s lost? What if Shane hid it somewhere, and only he knows where it is? What if Ilya has to call someone for help and explain why he needs a key to take off a cage that is around Shane Hollander's dick? Each new scenario is worse than the last, his imagination painting disaster after disaster.

He slips into the bathroom, still trying not to make noise, but his heart is thudding so loudly he thinks it must be audible. His breath is short when he finally spots it: the small, gleaming keys sitting innocently on the bathroom sink. Relief floods him, weak and shaky. For a moment, he just stares at it, letting the tension drain away, before snatching it up and clutching it tight in his fist.

Ilya grabs the base of the cage and Shane just sighs and squirms a little which makes him pause in fear that he will wake but after a few moments Shane’s eyes are still closed and so Ilya turns the key into the lock and manages to take it off fairly easily. Shane instantly starts chubbing up but he doesn’t wake so Ilya ignores it as he shakily puts the cage and key onto his nightstand.

He again lies down but gets no peace as his heart punches against his ribs, thoughts ricocheting from one worst-case scenario to the next. He’ll be blamed, he’ll make things worse, he’ll say the wrong thing, and then they will both be plastered on the front page of every news site. He can see the headlines now:

ARCHRIVAL HOCKEY STARS CAUGHT IN SCANDAL: ROMANCE OR RUIN?

RUSSIAN ENFORCER AND CANADIAN GOLDEN BOY—MORE THAN JUST ENEMIES?

SECRET AFFAIR OF THE SEASON: HOCKEY’S BIGGEST RIVALS EXPOSED AFTER EMERGENCY ROOM VISIT

He could practically feel his phone vibrating with notifications, and he could see the endless scroll of comments. People would tear them apart. There’d be slurs, accusations, memes, speculation about who was “the man” and who was “the woman” in their relationship. There would be discourse on whether they threw games so the other one could win, and then a whole new slew of hate would erupt. There would be strangers dissecting every moment of their careers in search of clues. The word ‘gay’ would be thrown around like a grenade, as if it weren’t already a loaded gun in this league. They’d be forced out, paraded as examples of how the league is an ally to out players, or, more likely, as cautionary tales; they were not Scott Hunter. Sponsors would vanish, teams would distance themselves, and their careers would be left in shreds. It would be open season on both of them; nobody would let them forget, not ever. This one night would define them, not their goals or stats or anything that mattered. Just this. Just shame.

He could never go back home again. If this got out, if the world really knew, Russia would be closed to him for good. They’d hate him there, maybe more than here. In America, at least, he could disappear, maybe start over in a tolerant city, but in Russia, there were no second chances. No forgiveness for this kind of secret. He’d never see his parents’ graves again, never watch his niece grow up, never step foot on the soil he’d always called home. His brother, of course, wouldn’t be surprised; he’d assumed for years that Ilya wasn’t straight and used his fists to make his point clear.

Could Ilya really lose his homeland? He hated so much about it, the cold, the cruelty, the way it crushed softness out of a little blonde boy who was just starting out in the world, but it was still his. His roots. The language in his bones, the ghosts of his family. Could he give all that up? Could he really let go of the only place that ever belonged to him, even if it never loved him back? The thought hollowed him out, left him more lost than before.

Sweat prickles on his skin. His breath comes too fast, his hands restless. He cycles through options too quickly to grasp one, each idea ending in a dead end. The urge to flee is stronger than before, tangled with panic, shame and worry. He can’t tell if staying helps or makes it worse. It’s like he’s trapped in a box too small to breathe, every thought sharper, every sound louder.

And then there is Shane. Sleeping beside him while Ilya loses his fucking mind. He looks at Shane, really looks, and hates how beautiful he is like this, even now, even after everything went to shit. Before, had been perfect. Shane had been perfect: so responsive, so eager to please, so goddamn submissive in just the right way. Ilya had loved every second, and he thought Shane had too. They’d fit together so well it almost hurt, and Ilya had let himself believe, just for a moment, that this could last, that they could both have something good. But now, lying here, he tortured himself replaying those moments, searching for the fault line. What changed between him pulling out and sliding into bed beside Shane? Where had it all gone wrong? He felt like he was missing something crucial, some secret rule he’d broken without knowing.

Shane had said, “Leave me alone. Run away like you always do.” The words stung, but weren’t they both guilty? Hadn’t they both always left as soon as the afterglow wore off, always retreating before things got too real? Why was Ilya being blamed for this when Shane was just as quick to run? And when Shane had said he hated Ilya, had he meant it, or was he just lost in whatever darkness had swallowed him up? Ilya wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that Shane didn’t mean any of it, but doubt gnawed at him. He kept turning it over and over in his mind, desperate for an answer, but finding nothing but silence and the steady, maddening rise and fall of Shane’s chest.

Without an idea to go on, Ilya grabs his phone from his pants and googles sad and emotional after submissive sex, and the first result is Understanding Sub Drop: Navigating The Emotional Aftermath of BDSM.

He clicks the link, skimming through paragraphs about adrenaline crashes, hormones, neurotransmitters, and the body’s desperate attempts to find balance after a high. It doesn’t all make sense, he’s not a doctor, and the words get technical fast, but the gist is there: sometimes, after something intense, your body just can’t handle it and shuts down for a while. Reading it, Ilya feels a cautious relief prickling under his skin. Shane probably isn’t in a coma, just...overwhelmed. His body powered down to protect itself. That sounded a hell of a lot better than a medical emergency, even if Ilya wasn’t ready to rule out the quiet coma theory entirely. Still, this seemed more reasonable, something he could actually believe in. He kept reading, hoping the article would tell him exactly how to fix it, but at least he could breathe a little easier now.

The article suggested communication, which at the moment was a little bit useless since he couldn’t communicate with someone who was unconscious, but it also mentioned aftercare: comfort, reassurance and care. It sounded simple on the page, but for Ilya, it felt like a foreign language. Giving Shane pleasure? Sure. Riling him up, frustrating him, pushing his buttons on and off the ice? Absolutely. But comfort? Ilya wasn’t sure he was built for it. He’d never been taught how to offer that kind of softness, not in a way that mattered. The idea of holding Shane, soothing him, felt awkward, dangerous, like he might get it all wrong and make things worse. Maybe he wasn’t capable of it, not really.

And Shane, for all his bravado, wasn’t crazy about showing his emotions either. Ilya knew Shane would probably feel embarrassed and might kick him out before he even had a chance to try to comfort him or explain what had happened. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe neither of them knew how to be comforted, or how to give comfort, and this was just another thing they’d fumble through, bruising each other by accident.

Ilya brushes Shane's sweaty bangs off his forehead and sighs before running his thumb up and down his strong jaw. For a long moment, he just stays like that, torn between every wild urge to run and the stubborn pull that keeps him anchored here. Finally, he makes his decision, even if it’s a terrible one.

He slides down beside Shane, fitting their bodies together the way he wishes their lives could fit. Even if it’s a horrible idea, even if it means missing his flight back to Boston or facing whatever chaos is coming, he’s not going anywhere. They’re both staying right here, waiting for Shane to wake up, however long that takes. Maybe it’s self-sabotage, maybe it’s loyalty, maybe it’s something he doesn’t have words for, but Ilya doesn’t care anymore. He lets the world wait. He pulls Shane closer, tucking Shane’s head beneath his chin, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple, then another to his flushed cheek. The taste of salt and the sound of Shane’s breathing are the only things grounding him.

He shuts his eyes, letting exhaustion wash over him, hoping for a little sleep before the world kicks in the door and demands answers. For now, it’s just the two of them, messy, stubborn, hurting and alive.