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2026-02-19
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all I wanna get is a little bit closer

Summary:

“I always like this better when you do it,” Shane says, panting a little as he works himself open on his own fingers.

“I could,” Ilya insists, and his nails are digging so hard into his palms it hurts. “Just untie me and I will—"

Shane shakes his head. “Not a chance,” he laughs breathlessly. “How often do I get to see you like— oh, fuck— like this?”

OR:
Shane ties Ilya up and rides him. That's it, that's the fic.

Notes:

I wrote Ilya tying Shane up and then this idea wouldn't leave me alone. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but oh well, at least it exists now.

this is for all the people on threads who commented and convinced me to post this.

Work Text:

In hindsight, this was maybe— probably— a bad idea.

The ropes aren’t tight enough to cut off circulation, but they’re just tight enough to be a bit uncomfortable. Ilya tests the give of them and swallows hard when he realises just how little he can move his hands away from the headboard.

And normally this isn’t his thing, being on this side of the ropes, but Shane had stumbled his way through the request and Ilya couldn’t say no to the eager look on his face. He can’t say no in general, not where Shane is involved, and anyway, he’s yet to do anything with him so far that hasn’t been painfully hot.

But he really wants to touch Shane right now.

Shane glances over at him periodically from across the room where he’s taking off his clothes and folding them neatly. He’s blushing a little, but he has a determination in his eyes that Ilya associates with the seconds before he scores a goal. But now all that intensity is focused on him.

Shane finishes undressing and, if the situation was different, if his hands were free, Ilya would be standing up and pushing him to his knees right now. His muscles tense as he instinctively tries to reach for him anyway, the ropes digging into his skin just enough to hurt.

Shane fixes him with an amused, knowing look and crawls onto the bed, settling down in between Ilya’s spread legs.

“Need something?” he asks innocently, leaning forward to press gentle kisses down Ilya’s chest and stomach.

“Hollander—" Ilya groans, breaking off when Shane leans down to nuzzle his cock through his thin, black underwear. He lifts his hips in a desperate plea for Shane to take them off of him.

Shane takes pity on him and eases the boxer briefs down his thighs, licking a hot stripe up the underside of his cock as soon as it’s free. A pathetic groan is dragged from Ilya’s throat when Shane takes him into his mouth and moans around him.

“Fucking— christ, Hollander—" Unable to wind a hand into Shane’s hair, he grabs a fistful of his own, tugging on it the way Shane likes to when they’re fucking. It’s not even close to the same, doesn’t send the same sparks down his spine, but it’s something.

Shane pulls off and looks up at him, eyes dark. “You look so good like this,” he says, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe his own eyes. “Want you to fuck me.”

He lifts two fingers to Ilya’s mouth. Ilya opens immediately, sucking on Shane’s fingers desperately, coating them with spit. He makes a pitiful noise when Shane pulls them away that turns into a loud groan when he reaches behind himself.

“I always like this better when you do it,” Shane says, panting a little as he works himself open on his own fingers.

“I could,” Ilya insists, and his nails are digging so hard into his palms it hurts. “Just untie me and I will—"

Shane shakes his head. “Not a chance,” he laughs breathlessly. “How often do I get to see you like— oh, fuck— like this?”

“Let— let me see then,” Ilya says desperately. “Let me watch you open yourself up to take me.” For a second, he’s sure Shane is going to tell him to fuck off. When they meet up like this, Shane always eventually hits the point where his anxiety and self consciousness melt away and he gives in to whatever feels good. But Ilya usually has to work a bit to get him to that point.

Not tonight. Shane’s eyes widen for just a second and he blushes, but then he gives a shaky little nod and turns around. He buries his face in the crook of his left arm, his right still working behind him.

“Oh, fuck,” Ilya breathes, watching Shane’s fingers as they disappear inside himself. “Hollander….”

Shane makes frustrated little noises as he fucks himself on three fingers, and Ilya knows it’s because the angle is all wrong. He’s not used to having to do this for himself; it’s one of Ilya’s favourite parts, making Shane fall apart on his fingers. ‘Let me take care of you, sweetheart,’ he wants to say, but Shane made it clear that that’s not happening. Not tonight, no matter how much Ilya asks.

His mouth is fucking watering as he watches Shane, though, and he has to clench his jaw to keep from doing something stupid, like begging to fuck him. It’s an exquisite kind of torture.

His breathing has turned rough and ragged by the time Shane pulls his fingers away and turns back around to straddle Ilya. He grabs the lube from the bedside table, pops it open, and drizzles some onto his palm.

Ilya hisses through his teeth when Shane’s cold hand wraps around his cock, but Shane doesn’t even give him a second to adjust. He strokes Ilya hard and fast, making his toes curl.

“Going to come, моя любовь,” he groans, then mentally berates himself for the slip up. Shane doesn’t seem to notice his mistake, thank fuck, but Ilya’s face heats up anyway. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe. He’s in trouble here— he’s admitting far too much, whether or not Shane is aware of it.

He watches as Shane leans forward, lines himself up with Ilya’s cock, and starts to sink down slowly. Too fucking slowly, Ilya thinks, and in seconds, he’s trying to catch his breath while Shane rocks his hips gently, taking him just a little deeper.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Ilya mutters, head falling back against the headboard. “Ты меня просто убиваешь.”

“God, that’s good,” Shane groans, dropping his head to Ilya’s chest once he’s fully seated against his hips. Ilya can’t help but agree, even though he wants nothing more than to rock his hips up, fuck up into Shane until he cries. Instead, he sits still, lets Shane adjust, and tries to control his own breathing.

Shane lifts up a bit, then grinds back down, and just like that, Ilya’s breathless again. Shane rides him slowly and Ilya can tell he’s trying to find the right angle to—

“Oh, fuck,” Shane whines, and that’s it, he’s definitely got it now. He’s making the prettiest noises as he lifts up and sinks back down, hitting his prostate on every thrust. And Ilya desperately wants to grab onto his hips and fuck him stupid, wants to flip them both over, hold Shane down, make him take it, but he also wants to keep watching Shane fuck himself slowly on his cock.

‘That's it,’ he thinks. ‘Use me, sweetheart. Come all over me.’

Shane leans forward to catch his mouth in a clumsy kiss and Ilya groans, sucking on his bottom lip.

“мой хороший мальчик,” he mumbles into Shane’s mouth. He’s losing his mind and his English, but with the shit he wants to say to Shane right now, that’s probably for the best.

“Rozanov,” Shane slurs, sounding drunk. When he looks up at Ilya’s face, his eyes are unfocused and wet. “Fuck, you feel so good inside of me.”

Ilya grits his teeth against the words he wants to let out. Badly timed declarations and pet names that are practically confessions. He might as well just cut his heart out and hand it over to Hollander.

“Gonna come,” Shane warns, oblivious to Ilya’s struggles, riding him a little harder.

“Not yet,” Ilya grits out, as if he’s in any position to be ordering anyone around right now. Still, Shane whines and forces himself to slow back down, panting. Obedient as ever.

“So fucking good for me,” Ilya praises, watching Shane shudder at the words.

“Rozanov,” he gasps again, back arching, and Ilya wishes desperately that he could touch him. Drag him in by his hair for a messy kiss. Hold onto his hips. Touch his face. He never realised exactly how much he touches Shane until now, when he can’t, when he’s not allowed.

It isn’t until he hears wood creaking that he realises how hard he’s straining against the ropes. He forces himself to relax and stop pulling; the last thing he needs is to break the bed. Instead, he plants his feet against the mattress and rocks his hips up, just hard enough to surprise Shane into a choked off moan.

He half expects Shane to reprimand him for it, but Shane just leans forward to kiss him, finally, finally tangling his fingers in Ilya’s hair and pulling.

“Come on, Rozanov,” he goads breathlessly, touching Ilya wherever he can reach. “You can fuck me harder than that, can’t you?”

Ilya practically growls at that, hips snapping up to meet Shane’s automatically. Shane cries out, nails digging into Ilya’s chest and Ilya feels like he’s slowly losing his fucking mind. He fucks up into Shane as hard as he can from this position and Shane just takes it, collapsing forward onto Ilya’s chest. His cock is leaking precome between them and he’s sobbing into Ilya’s neck, begging for more.

“Untie me, sweetheart,” Ilya tries again, pulling at his restraints. “Fuck, let me— let me take care of you, Hollander, it will be so good, just let me—“

He’s cut off by a muffled cry and a sudden wetness on his stomach as Shane clenches hard around him and comes.

Shane starts trembling almost immediately, and Ilya doesn’t know whether it’s from aftershocks or overstimulation, but he wishes he could touch him, hold him, pet his hair while he comes back down.

Shane seems to have the same idea, because he reaches for one of the ropes tying Ilya’s wrist to the headboard. Ilya stops moving entirely, trying to let Shane work the knot loose. His hands are shaky and uncoordinated, fumbling with the rope for a moment, and then, mercifully, one of Ilya’s hands is free. He immediately wraps it around Shane, stroking his back gently as Shane tries to loosen the other knot.

Once both his hands are free, he grips Shane tightly and rolls them both over.

“Fuck me,” Shane begs, even though he’s still shaking. “Please.”

Ilya makes up for lost time by running one hand through Shane’s hair, using the other to grip his jaw, and leaning in for a filthy kiss. Shane immediately opens for his tongue, making little noises in the back of his throat that have Ilya rocking his hips forward without meaning to.

Shane pulls away, panting. “Please, Rozanov, I need—“

“I know what you need,” Ilya replies easily. He always does. He grips Shane by the hair just tight enough to make him gasp and slams his hips forward on the next thrust in.

“Oh, holy shit,” Shane groans, back arching off the bed. “Fuck, again, please.”

Ilya obeys gladly, setting a rough pace, pounding into Shane until he’s rendered him completely speechless, until he’s reduced to nothing but fucked out noises— gasps and moans and sweet, overwhelmed little sobs.

His hands trail down to Shane’s hips, gripping hard enough to bruise his fingerprints into the skin. Judging by the way Shane’s half hard cock twitches with interest, he enjoys the little bite of pain.

“So fucking perfect,” Ilya mutters, and Shane whines. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” Shane gasps, and reaches between them to wrap a hand around himself. “Keep talking, please…”

“You like hearing how good you are?” Ilya asks. Shane nods frantically, unnecessarily, like Ilya doesn’t already know every single one of his kinks. “You like me telling you what a perfect slut you are for my cock?”

Shane cries out at that, hand speeding up between them, and he nods again. “Fuck, Rozanov— so fucking good—“ His free hand comes down to cover Ilya’s on his hip, holding on tightly. Ilya turns his hand over so Shane can hold it properly.

“Are you going to come for me again, Hollander?” he asks. Shane grips his hand harder.

“Gonna come for you,” he echoes, voice breaking around the words.

“только для меня,” Ilya replies, and god, that thought might not be the best one to have, but he can’t help but hope it’s true. Hope he’s the only one to get to see Hollander like this, spread out and begging to be fucked.

He shakes his head a little to clear it. He needs to focus on Shane right now, not the other people he may or may not be letting fuck him.

Shane is shuddering now, and Ilya knows he has to be close. He knocks Shane’s hand out of the way and replaces it with his own. Shane digs his nails into Ilya’s hand as Ilya starts stroking him hard and fast. Precome leaks steadily down Shane’s cock, slicking the way, and not for the first time, Ilya wishes he could fuck Shane and suck him off at the same time. Overwhelm him with sensation, make him come down Ilya’s throat while he’s sobbing from being fucked ruthlessly.

“Oh— oh, fuck,” Shane whines, and Ilya knows, without a doubt, that he’s about to come again. His back is arched and he’s alternating between gasping for breath and not breathing at all, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners.

“That’s it,” Ilya murmurs. “So pretty when you come for me.”

Shane chokes on a sob as he comes again, adding to the mess on Ilya’s hand. Ilya lets go of his oversensitive cock, but he keeps fucking him through the aftershocks.

Ilya can’t help himself— he sucks two of his own messy fingers into his mouth and finally lets himself come, the taste of Shane on his tongue.

Shane’s eyes open after a moment and he looks up at Ilya with a soft, dreamy smile. “Should tie you up more often,” he slurs, “if it makes you fuck me like that.”

“Mm, I can fuck you like that any time you want,” Ilya promises, and when Shane reaches for him, he leans down to kiss him, slow and sweet.

“But, um,” Shane adds after a minute, coming back to himself a little. “Did… did you…?” He struggles with the question and Ilya takes pity on him.

“да. Yes. I liked it very much. Though it was torture not being allowed to have my hands on you.”

Shane groans and nods. “It was for me too,” he admits. “I love when you touch me.”

‘I love everything about you,’ Ilya doesn’t say. Instead, he hums quietly and nuzzles into Shane’s neck, pressing little kisses and bites there that make him purr.

“Shit, gotta… gotta stop,” Shane mumbles finally, pushing Ilya away. “If we go again, I might actually die.”

“Pity,” Ilya says, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I was going to make you get on your knees for me in the shower.”

Shane’s eyes widen for just a second, then he gives Ilya a shy little smile.

“I could be convinced,” he says, pretending to consider it. “But you’ll have to carry me to the shower. I don’t think my legs will work right now.”

Ilya grins at him. It’s a win-win situation.

“Deal.”