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Shane really needs the money. Grad school isn’t cheap and rent doesn’t pay itself, especially not in Boston. It’s how he’s found himself in his particular line of work, servicing rich assholes who want a clandestine fuck every once in a blue moon.
Sex work isn’t glamorous by any means, but it’s consistent and it pays the bills. The company he works under, unlike many others, is higher-end and discreet, with plenty of checkpoints that keep Shane from ever feeling truly unsafe.
He doesn’t exactly feel comfortable, though, as the second handcuff ring tightens around his left wrist. His arms are fastened above his head through the bar of the headboard, his supine form laid out atop the plush duvet on his client’s king bed.
His client is some finance sleazeball, one of the usual suspects frequenting his weekend schedule. The man is older, maybe mid-50s, and certainly isn’t ugly. It helps, Shane supposes. He’s clearly maintained a steady fitness routine, and his salt-and-pepper hair suits him. Shane doesn’t really dwell on it.
The man’s eyes rake hungrily over Shane’s naked body, hand reaching out to brush over a nipple. Shane lets out a breathy moan at the stimulation, his chest always having been one of his most sensitive spots. He’s half-hard already, a combination of the restraint and the steady touches to his chest.
The man—Mike? Mark? Matt?—laughs in response to Shane’s moans.
“Already worked up, honey?” He asks, no warmth in his tone despite the sweet pet name.
“Feels s’good.” He whimpers, pitching his voice up in the way his clients usually love.
The man opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by a sharp pounding on the front door, loud enough to register from down the hallway and behind the closed bedroom door.
With a sharp groan, the man peels himself away from the bed and throws his discarded button down haphazardly back over his shoulders.
“One second.” He grumbles, leaving Shane naked and cuffed to the bed as he leaves to investigate the late-night visitor.
There is quiet for a moment, before Shane hears voices increase in volume, reaching a yell, and a sickening thud punctuates the tense air. Shane yelps at the sound, icy fear traveling up his spine as unfamiliar voices begin calling to each other. He doesn’t hear his client’s voice anymore.
He doesn’t realize that tears have filled his eyes until a figure appears in the doorway, blurry and unfocused. The newcomer speaks, and Shane’s blood runs colder.
“Wow, Mitch left me a little gift.”
The intruding man’s voice is icy and sharp, wrapped in a thick Russian accent that, horrifyingly and unhelpfully, goes straight to Shane’s cock.
Blinking the tears out of his vision, Shane sees that the new man’s gaze is cold and calculating, eyes assessing Shane’s body in a manner not dissimilar to Mitch’s own moments before.
This time, however, Shane feels genuine fear. He doesn’t miss the holster on the man’s hip holding what appears to be a very real gun.
“P-please,” Shane whimpers, voice thick as tears begin to cloud his vision again, “Don’t hurt me, I don’t know anything. I didn’t-“ A sob tears its way out of his throat. “-I didn’t do anything.”
The man, surprisingly, softens. He remains imposing, but the cold mask of his features loses its tight edge.
“Shh, мышка,” He soothes, stepping closer until he’s right next to the head of the bed, pausing to run a hand down Shane’s damp cheek, “I do not wish to hurt you. You just look so pretty like this, all laid out for me.”
Shane takes a shaky breath, his tears beginning to dry but his body still trembling under the man’s intense gaze and touch.
“W-What are you doing?” Shane gasps as the man’s hand begins to trace a path from Shane’s cheek down the side of his neck and over the top of his shoulder.
“Would be such a shame to waste this, no? Pretty little mouse stuck in a trap. Maybe big, scary cat will find him.”
Panic threatens to overtake Shane as the man’s hand continues its lazy exploration of his torso, running over his pecs, down his side, across his abs. There’s something else, though. Hot desire pools low in Shane’s gut, against all of his better judgement and instincts.
He’s only human, and the man is absolutely gorgeous.
He appears older than Shane, though not by much, probably in his early thirties. His sharp eyes are a rich hazel, dancing in the low light of the room. His hair falls in brown-blonde curls that have been slicked at the sides. He smells of cigarettes and expensive cologne, an intoxicating mixture that Shane quickly finds himself growing drunk on. His voice is a sensual caress that washes over Shane and assuages his basest instincts for survival.
Shane would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a thrilling lick of arousal. The man must know it would be a lie too, considering Shane’s cock lies fully hard against his stomach.
“What would the cat do to me?” He finally asks, and for the first time, the man smiles. It’s not warm—far from it, actually. The grin is chillingly powerful and frighteningly victorious. Shane’s cock twitches.
“Oh, baby,” The man purrs, and Shane can’t help the small whine that escapes his lips at the lascivious tone, “I would make you feel so good. I would fucking ruin you. Better than poor Mitch ever could.”
Shane’s blood runs colder at the mention of Mitch. He’d somehow forgotten that that’s how he’d ended up here. He’s in Mitch’s bed, for god’s sake, while the man himself is presumably what? Getting murdered as Shane gets hard for his intruder? Fear and horror hit instantly in a nauseating combination.
“I’m scared.” Shane murmurs pathetically, and Ilya pauses the movement of his hand.
“да, you should be.” The man states simply. “I am very dangerous man. But I will not hurt you, little one. If you want me to stop, you tell me and I will go. Will even let you out of the cuffs first.”
Shane takes a breath, but the man keeps talking.
“But, if you tell me to stay,” that infuriating smirk returns to the man’s face, “I will fuck you so good that you will never want another man again. You tell me, sweetheart.”
“Shane.” He doesn’t really know why he says it, but he keeps talking anyway. “My name is Shane.”
Maybe it’s survival instinct, his hindbrain desperately trying to humanize him so that the intruder will hesitate before killing him. Or maybe it’s a desperate, visceral need to have the man closer.
“Ilya.” The man says in return, and suddenly everything feels a bit more human for Shane, too.
“I…” Shane hesitates, before making up his mind. “I want you to stay, Ilya.”
He doesn’t know why he says that, either. What the fuck is he thinking, inviting a murderous stranger to fuck him while he’s handcuffed to a bed?
It’s so stupid. It makes no sense. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. He should be terrified of a strange, dangerous man touching him while he’s at his most vulnerable–naked and handcuffed with no one knowing where he is. Instead, he feels nothing but hot, dizzying arousal.
In all of Shane’s darkest fantasies, the most twisted perversions that he’s conjured alone in his bed, one hand on his cock and the other fucking into his hole, he never could’ve imagined something remotely close to this happening in real life.
Ilya had said that Shane was a gift for him, but Shane thinks, hysterically, that it may be the other way around.
Ilya’s responding smile is nothing short of predatory as he takes in Shane’s answer, takes in the heaving of his chest and the twitching of his cock.
“Oh Shane,” he drawls, voice laced with dizzying condescension, “This is going to be fun.”
Slowly, so torturously slowly, Ilya begins to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Shane’s mouth waters as tanned skin is revealed inch by painstaking inch, dotted with moles and smattered with inviting tufts of brown-blonde hair. As Ilya pulls the shirt from his shoulders and drops it to the floor, Shane drinks in the bulging pecs and hard lines of Ilya’s torso.
“Fuck.” He whimpers, and Ilya chuckles meanly.
“See something you like, little mouse?” He asks, unbuttoning his slacks before climbing onto the bed to straddle Shane’s hips, leaning down on his hands to hover above Shane’s face.
Shane tugs against his cuffs, his first real attempt to break out of the restraints, before whining in frustration at their lack of give.
“Wanna touch you, please.” He murmurs, looking up at Ilya through his lashes with his best puppy dog eyes.
Ilya tuts, lifting one hand to pinch Shane’s hardened nipple.
“Don’t be greedy, baby.” He chides, and Shane whimpers at the sensation of Ilya’s fingers and the cruel edge to his voice. “Want to take my time with you tonight.”
He continues to roll Shane’s nipple between his dexterous fingers, switching to the other once he’s satisfied with the first’s sensitive puffiness.
“More, please.” Shane moans while squirming desperately, and Ilya freezes Shane with a single look.
“Are you forgetting who’s in charge here, Shane?” Cold mask slipping just slightly as he asks with a hint of exasperation in his voice. Shane pales, suddenly so helpless in his position.
“N-no sir, you’re in charge. I’m sorry.” He whines, eyes wet and apologetic. “I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”
Ilya’s groan is guttural, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. His gaze changes into something Shane can’t quite read, before leaning down to finally capture Shane’s lips in a brutal kiss.
Shane lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeal, before melting into the intoxicating sensation of Ilya’s tongue working dominantly into his lax mouth.
Ilya’s kiss is just shy of devouring, his tongue sliding against the roof of Shane’s mouth and the backs of his teeth with bruising force. It could by considered a somewhat bad kiss if it weren’t so fucking hot.
Unsurprisingly, Ilya dominates with his mouth the same way he has with his words and his body. Shane is unable to do anything but submit to it fully, taking all that Ilya offers and providing small sounds of pleasure in return.
When the kiss slows, Shane takes the opportunity to suck lightly on Ilya’s tongue before it slips from his mouth. When he is left empty again, he chases the taste of cigarettes and spearmint.
“Good fucking boy.” Ilya growls, and Shane’s entire body shudders.
Ilya settles on his elbows above Shane, leaning down to kiss and suck at the sensitive skin of his neck.
Shane lets out a particularly high-pitched moan when he feels subtle bursting of blood vessels under the suctioned grip of Ilya’s teeth. Ilya pulls back with a satisfied smirk.
“You going to let me mark you, baby? Let me bite you and bruise you, let me claim you?”
Shane’s back arches at the thought. He realizes, with striking clarity around the fog of lust, how badly he wants it. He wants Ilya’s teeth marks on his neck, his hickies across his chest, his fingertips imprinted into his hips, his handprints on his ass and his face.
“Want you to claim me, Ilya. Bite me, hit me, please.” Shane begs, words slurred together in a desperate plea.
Ilya’s eyes go molten, his tongue running across his teeth hungrily. Without another word, he rears back and slaps Shane across the face with enough force to whip his head to the side.
Shane cries out, the heady mixture of pain and pleasure blurring his vision. He looks up at Ilya with hooded eyes, and sees awestruck reverence staring back at him.
“Dirty fucking boy.” Ilya growls, before grabbing onto Shane’s tender, reddened face. He squeezes at Shane’s jaw until his lips part, leaning down to spit squarely onto his tongue.
Shane moans, long and low, looking up with a question in his eyes that Ilya reads immediately.
“Swallow, baby.” He answers with a condescending pat to Shane’s cheek.
He swallows dutifully, humming contentedly as the minty, sharp taste of Ilya coats his tastebuds and throat once again.
Shane is achingly hard, cock leaking pitifully against his stomach. They’ve barely done anything, Shane’s cock still utterly neglected, yet he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. Ilya doesn’t appear to be faring much better, judging by the sizable bulge inside of his rumpled dress pants.
“I-Ilya, sir-“ Shane whimpers pathetically, and Ilya strokes a hand over the freckles on Shane’s cheek with a soft hum.
“Does my needy baby want something, hm?” He asks, voice dripping with condescension and concern.
“Want you to touch me.” Shane whispers, voice soft and broken. Ilya’s hand slides along the tacky skin of Shane’s sweaty chest, running down his quivering side.
“Stupid little mouse, I am already touching you. This is not enough?” Ilya tuts, shaking his head as he speaks.
“Feels so good, thank you sir. Just want-“ He trails off, biting his lip and glancing off to the side, avoiding eye contact with the man above him.
Ilya doesn’t allow Shane to look away for long, though, his hand returning to Shane’s chin to wrench his head back forwards.
“You look at me when I’m talking to you, Shane.” He grits, all softness gone. “And you use your words like a good boy. Now tell me,”
A pause, and a languid grin.
“What” Slap. “Do” Slap. “You.” Slap. “Want?” Slap.
Shane is crying now, hot tears running in fat rivulets down his burning cheeks. He chokes on a moan that morphs into a sob, struggling to maintain eye contact with Ilya’s cold stare.
“W-want your cock!” He finally cries out, voice thick and mangled. “Want you to fuck me, sir, please.” He begs, feeling dirty and defeated and so fucking turned on that it aches.
“There you go, малыш.” Ilya coos, running a thumb over Shane’s slick bottom lip. “Such a good boy, asking for my cock so nicely.”
Shane sucks the thumb into his mouth, moaning at the welcome intrusion. He hums happily around the thick digit, feeling how it grows slick against his tongue.
“Oh,” Ilya breathes, genuinely delighted, “Just need something in that pretty mouth, huh baby?”
Shane nods around Ilya’s thumb, continuing to suckle contentedly until Ilya slides it free a moment later.
“Why don’t I give you something even better to suck on, да?”
Ilya doesn’t give Shane a chance to answer before he is climbing off the bed to shed his pants and briefs, finally exposing his cock to Shane.
Shane blanches at the sight of Ilya, huge and hard as it bounces up to slap against his toned stomach. His cock is, for lack of a better term, gorgeous. Not only is it longer than Shane has ever seen, but it’s thick and uncut with a prominent vein running along the underside. A drop of precum is visible where the head is exposed, and Shane’s mouth waters at the thought of tasting it.
“Ilya-“ He cries out, so desperate that he can feel it in his gums, his mouth begging for the chance to stretch around the delicious length.
“Ask nicely, baby, and I will let you taste.”
The plea rips out of Shane in an instant. “Please, sir!” He practically yells. “Please let me taste it, want it in my throat. Fuck my face, sir, please.” He begs, tears threatening to spill once again.
“Needy baby.” Ilya says around a chuckle. “Crying so pretty just to taste my cock. Do you think you’ve earned it?”
“Yes! Been good for you, sir, please let me.” Shane cries pathetically, and Ilya shushes him instantly.
“Begging so perfectly, such a perfect boy. You can have it, baby.” He murmurs as he moves up Shane’s body, bracketing his knees around Shane’s shoulders.
Faced with Ilya’s length just inches from his mouth, Shane strains his neck against the tightness in his shoulders, reveling in the way those measly few inches bring his lips a hairbreadth away from Ilya’s cock. His tongue slips from his lips to lap at the head, shuddering at the taste of Ilya blooming across his tastebuds.
Ilya huffs out a laugh laced with possessive fondness, hand reaching down to thread its way into the strands at the back of Shane’s head. The other braces against the headboard as he nudges his hips forward to bump the head of his cock against Shane’s lips.
“Open, мышка.” He murmurs, appearing momentarily dumbstruck by the speed of Shane’s obedience, his plush lips immediately parting with his wet tongue resting against the bottom. Shane can’t help his eagerness, desperate to take as much as Ilya will give him until it overwhelms every one of his senses.
Ilya slips his hand from the back of Shane’s head across his cheek, two fingers pressing lightly against his waiting tongue. Shane gurgles obscenely when those fingers push further into his mouth, nudging the spot where his tongue dips back into the opening of his throat. It’s everything and not enough all at once.
As if sensing Shane’s growing desperation, Ilya finally pushes forward, removing his fingers and steadily feeding inch after inch into Shane’s slick mouth. He groans as the head of his cock meets the resistance of Shane’s throat, pressing minutely forward to test its give.
Shane sucks in a ragged breath through his nose, willing his body to relax enough to allow for Ilya to push deeper into his body. He focuses on clearing his mind of its racing thoughts, allowing his brain to go mushy at the edges while zeroing in only on the presence of Ilya around him. His hand in Shane’s hair, his cock in Shane’s throat, his thighs surrounding Shane’s body in a twisted embrace. A keening whine fights its way out of Shane’s blocked throat.
A broken string of Russian words tear through the space when Shane finally raises his gaze to meet Ilya’s, his eyes wide and glassy. Ilya must see the utter submission on Shane’s face, because he takes the opportunity to pull Shane’s pliant head down even further on his cock.
“Perfect, slutty fucking mouth.” He grits out, grip growing impossibly tighter in the roots of Shane’s hair. “Gonna fuck your tight little throat, yes?” He asks, and Shane does his best to nod emphatically despite the utter lack of agency over his body.
He’s completely at Ilya’s mercy, helpless to stop the man. His arms are useless, his legs lay limply behind Ilya’s imposing frame, and his mouth is too occupied to allow for any type of speech. Ilya is impossible to escape. Once again, he registers that he should feel terrified, yet all he feels is the jerk of his own cock.
Ilya must recognize the sentiment too, though, because he pulls back slightly, much to Shane’s chagrin.
“If it is too much, you bite. Just a little, don’t get fucking bratty with me, Shane. But give me your teeth if you need me to stop, okay?”
Shane blinks up at Ilya, still unable to access his mouth to speak. Instead, he gives a slow, experimental shift of his jaw, enough to press his teeth lightly into the rigid shaft of Ilya’s cock.
“блять, fuck!” Ilya curses, body jerking at the sudden sensation. A few other Russian words, presumably expletives, leave Ilya’s mouth as he runs a hand over his face.
Shane crumbles, realizing with horror that he’s been bad. A bite was supposed to be a last resort, and Shane had used it against Ilya–had hurt him without meaning to. With logical thinking gone and only his fuzzy thoughts present, Shane feels tears flood his eyes. His whimpers shake his chest around Ilya’s cock.
Ilya is quick to cradle Shane’s face, pulling back enough to just leave the first two inches of himself resting against his tongue. He must know, somehow, that completely removing his cock from Shane’s mouth would be an even worse rejection and a heartbreaking denial of his needs.
He shushes Shane gently, stroking his cheek. “Yes, sweetheart, that was perfect. You are such a good boy for me. Do that if you need me to stop, okay?”
Shane sniffles, blinking away the tears that had not quite fallen from his eyes. He nods with a furrow in his brow, still waiting patiently for Ilya to finally surge forward and destroy his throat.
He is not left waiting long, as the cold veneer covers Ilya’s face again and his tender touch turns demanding, yanking Shane’s face forward with no warning. Shane’s throat spasms around the intrusion before softening, his nasally gasps morphing into deep, rhythmic huffs as Ilya begins to fuck his face in earnest.
The feeling is instantly all-consuming, leaving Shane nothing but a misty cloud of scattered perception, thoughts only on Ilya Ilya Ilya. He takes and takes and takes, feeling the obscene stretch of his own throat as Ilya brutally carves out space for himself inside of Shane’s body. The sickening squelch and click of his own throat is so deeply satisfying that Shane finds himself rutting his hips up in the air in search of friction.
Ilya is a man possessed, fucking into Shane’s throat with a reckless abandon that renders him nearly speechless, only able to grit out rough curses in English and incomprehensible strings of Russian syllables.
“Perfect fucking mouth.” He grits out, hips snapping forward over and over again in a relentless, unending rhythm that leaves Shane utterly wrecked beneath him. “Made to take this cock, huh? Made to be my pretty little cocksleeve.”
Shane moans around the girth of Ilya’s cock, tears flowing steadily down his cheeks and combining with the mess of spit gathering on his chin and at the corners of his mouth. Ilya fucks Shane’s own tears into his mouth with every drive forward. It’s musky and salty and filthy and Shane fucking loves it.
He loves it even more when Ilya gathers his wits enough to continue spilling filth out into the open air.
“Could keep you like this all day, tied up and waiting to take my cock in either of your slutty holes whenever I want. Can’t wait to feel that tight fucking ass around my cock, going to fucking ruin you, Shane.”
At that, Shane finally allows his teeth to graze the sensitive skin of Ilya’s cock. He curses again, but immediately pulls back. A sickening squelch and trail of saliva follows the extrusion, and Shane gasps for air.
“Ilya-” He groans out around a tongue and throat full of sand, and Ilya runs a reverent thumb through the wetness collecting right below Shane’s mouth.
“Look at you, baby, such a fucking mess for my cock. So pretty, sweetheart. Is that what you wanted?”
Shane moans again because Ilya is right. It was exactly what he fucking wanted, but now he wants–no, needs–more.
“Wan’ you to fuck me.” He whines, hips grinding rhythmically up into the frictionless air.
A sickening crack echoes through the bedroom as Ilya’s hand meets Shane’s cheek.
“Greedy fucking bitch.” He snarls, and Shane curls in on himself with a whimper. “I fuck your throat so good and you don’t even say thank you. You just want more and more like a desperate fucking slut.”
The cry that leaves Shane’s throat as searing pain spreads across his face is regretful and pathetic.
“Sorry, sir!” He gasps out. “Thank you, sir, thank you for fucking my throat.” He’s proud of the amount of words he’s able to string together, ignoring the raw edge to his ruined voice.
“Good boy, my baby. That’s more like it.” Ilya rubs his cock against the reddened skin of Shane’s cheek, the pain narrowing to a point against the warm, velvety skin of Ilya. Too soon, though, Ilya is pulling away from Shane, leaving him cold and in desperate need of contact. His cock aches, shaft rock hard and balls full and tight.
“Please, Ilya.” He whimpers. “Please touch me, need you so bad.”
Ilya chuckles coldly with a shake of his head. “Are you sure you can take me, baby? Might break that tight little hole.”
Shane is overcome with a competitive drive to succeed–to be good. In this moment, with his brain soft and his senses heightened to register all things Ilya, it’s all he needs. If there’s anything in the world that Shane loves, it’s a challenge. Something to accomplish and excel in.
“I can take it, sir, I promise.” He assures, smiling dazedly as Ilya begins to shift down Shane’s body.
Ilya pushes at Shane’s legs, thighs coming nearly parallel to the bed as Shane’s waiting hole is exposed to the thick air of the room.
“Look at this slutty little hole, practically fucking winking at me, Shane.” Ilya growls, pushing his face forward to nose at the spot just beneath Shane’s balls. He mewls at the sensation, Ilya’s breath hot against his sensitive opening.
Ilya runs his tongue experimentally along the skin above his hole, and Shane cries out. Ilya’s tongue is hot and intentional, insistent as it finally makes contact with where Shane needs him most. Immediately overwhelmed, Shane is helpless to do anything other than moan and writhe under Ilya’s skilled motions.
He begins by licking around Shane’s entrance, slowly probing against the tight resistance to loosen his hole marginally with each pass of his tongue. Every so often he transitions to sucking greedily, wet and hot pressure that arches Shane’s back off of the bed. Shane grinds his hips down against Ilya’s tongue, gasping breaths stuttering as he grows increasingly desperate.
“Fingers-” He cries out, finally. “-Need your fingers, sir, please.”
Ilya is quick to pull back and survey Shane’s undone form, face screwed in pleasure and body trembling. “Does this greedy hole need to be stretched, baby?” He asks, and Shane nods forcefully.
“Mmhmm,” He whimpers, “Need it, need you.”
Ilya, ever merciful, obliges immediately. He grabs the bottle of lube from Mitch’s bedside table and makes quick work of slicking up his hand, two fingers pressing at Shane’s entrance.
“Gonna make you cum like this first.” He states, slipping his middle finger into Shane’s waiting hole. The stretch is gentle but insistent, providing Shane with a delicious sense of fullness. “Gonna make you cum on my fingers before you get my cock.”
Shane realizes that it won’t be that hard for Ilya to achieve. He’s been so tightly wound from the second Ilya walked in, his orgasm looming on the horizon for embarrassingly long. The humiliation of knowing how quickly he’ll cum from Ilya’s fingers is heady and hot.
“Yes, sir, please make me cum.” He cries, and Ilya takes the opportunity to slip another finger in alongside the first. The increase in pressure knocks the wind out of Shane, and he is unable to catch his breath before Ilya is nudging insistently at his prostate with practiced precision.
“Oh fuck-” Shane punches out, and Ilya grits out a cruel laugh as he continues his abuse of Shane’s most sensitive spot. Every once in a while, he scissors his fingers to stretch at Shane even further, but most of his efforts are spent bullying Shane’s prostate until he is panting and writhing and right on the edge of exploding.
“Gonna cum!” Shane moans, hole clenching rhythmically around Ilya’s fingers. The tight coil of arousal in his lower gut threatens to snap at any second, pulled taught and hot like a live wire.
“Fucking do it.” Ilya snarls, lips pulled in a cruel smirk. “Fucking cum for me, baby. Give it to me.”
With those words, Shane detonates. His cock, aching and untouched, jerks violently as he shoots rope after rope of thick cum up his own abdomen. It hits his chest and abs before petering off into two final, lazy spurts dripping down the head.
He sighs shakily, one arm reaching up from where it had been locked in Ilya’s hair to drape across his face. With his vision obscured, he doesn’t see Ilya rub excess lube onto a third finger and quickly work it into Shane’s hole along with the other two.
Shane cries out, oversensitive and sore, but Ilya doesn’t stop. He rubs languidly at Shane’s prostate, the walls of his channel, as Shane thrashes above him.
“I-Ilya-” He hiccups around a sob, “Can’t, too sensitive, please.” He begs, but Ilya is relentless.
“I don’t fucking think so, Shane. You’re mine, sweetheart, my toy. I’m not fucking stopping.” It’s sick and twisted and so cruel, but neither Shane nor Ilya seem to care. Thick moans, broken uh, uh, uh sounds, escape Shane’s red-bitten lips as he lies defenseless against Ilya’s abuse. His spent cock twitches but doesn’t yet begin to fill, the pleasure edging on unbearable pain. It’s so hot that Shane almost can’t take it.
“Ready to take my big fucking cock, малыш?” He asks, and Shane nods around another sob.
Ilya extracts his fingers from Shane’s convulsing hole, a welcome reprieve, to retrieve the condom sitting on Mitch’s bedside table. He slips it on and slicks his hard, red cock up with more lube. Grabbing onto Shane’s hip with one hand, he uses the other to notch the head of his cock against Shane’s entrance.
The first push of his hips is blinding, the insistent thickness of Ilya’s cock threatening to split Shane right up the middle. He cries out in a mix of pain and pleasure that threatens to choke him.
“Shh” Ilya shushes, suddenly gentle, running a tender hand along Shane’s tear-soaked cheek. “That’s it, baby, open up for my cock. I’ve got you.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” Shane stutters out, unable to open his eyes. “Just need a minute, please.” He begs, and Ilya hums in agreement.
“Take your time, sweetheart, just wanna make you feel good.” The kindness juxtaposed against Ilya’s domineering cruelty mere moments before is enough to have Shane’s cock fattening back up against his belly. He groans, allowing the overwhelming fullness to fill his gut with fluttering arousal that overtakes the initial discomfort.
“Ready.” He finally mumbles, and Ilya rubs a finger next to Shane’s eye, coaxing them open. He can’t imagine what Ilya sees in his eyes, some combination of desire and exhaustion and glassy submission.
“Ready for me to move, baby, hm?” He asks, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Shane’s lips.
“Want you to fuck me, sir.” Shane confirms, and Ilya smiles bright and unbidden.
“Good boy, Shane, gonna give you what you need.” It’s all the warning Shane gets before Ilya is pulling back and shoving his cock into Shane with mind-shattering force. His pace is relentless but targeted, maintaining control while taking Shane apart with brutal efficiency. Each pass of Ilya’s cock sends shockwaves through his body from the searing point of his prostate.
It’s like nothing Shane has ever felt before, the all-encompassing sensation surrounding him, every cell in his body alight with the feeling of Ilya taking him apart and putting him back together over and over again. He is nothing more than putty in Ilya’s hands, a ventriloquist dummy held upright and alive only by the cock spearing into him at a brutal pace. That same cock punches throaty, breathy noises out of him with every pass.
Utterly brainless, Shane allows himself to float in the ether. He thinks of nothing but the feeling of his arms above him, the cock inside of him, his own cock leaking as it slaps wetly against his abdomen with the force of Ilya’s thrusts.
Every time before, when Shane had been fucked in any odd position–on his back, on his hands and knees, on top, on his side–he had felt good, sure. But never like this. Never like he was being rewritten and unbound and changed at the most fundamental level.
One thought surfaces through the muggy haze: Ilya is ruining me. Nothing will ever compare to this.
The thought drives an anguished cry from his lips, a hot flood of tears filling his eyes.
“Shh, baby.” Ilya coos, reaching a hand forward to brush away the tears before sucking the fingers into his own mouth to taste them. Jesus Christ.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart, huh? Cock is so good you’re crying for it?”
Shane shakes his head frantically, and Ilya’s pace stutters. He slows to a lazy grind of his hips forward, never fully pulling out but giving Shane a break from the relentless jackhammering.
“Shane? You are okay? What is wrong? Let me help you, baby.” He encourages, and Shane feels more hot tears slip down his cheeks.
“Just-” He whimpers, shaking his head again. “-Just don’t want it to end. Want it like this forever. You ruined me, Ilya.” A shuddering sob shakes his chest, eyes still glassy and unfocused as they take in Ilya’s concerned expression as it melts into one of adoration.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Ilya growls, thick and indulgent. “Never gonna want another cock again, huh? Always going to wish it was me fucking you open like this.”
He picks up his pace again, fucking back into Shane like he has something to prove. Shane almost laughs at the notion, knowing that Ilya has already fucking proven it.
“This is my fucking hole, Shane. Going to fuck you so deep, mark you so good that you never forget who you belong to.”
Shane cries out wantonly, babbling a stream of affirmative nonsense, a sweet chorus of yes yes yes that melts like chocolate into the thick air.
“Tell me, мышка. Tell me who you fucking belong to.” Ilya demands, and when Shane hesitates, a hand smacks hard across his cheek.
A pained cry punctuates the air before Shane, sobbing and panting, whimpers out his answer.
“You, sir, I - fuck - I belong to you. My hole is yours, Ilya.” It’s too hot, it’s too much. Shane is going to die. Shane is going to cum.
“P-please, Ilya,” He whines out, “Need to cum. Please can I cum?”
He begs shamelessly, desperate for Ilya’s approval, desperate for the man above him to let him cum.
“Ohh fuck.” Ilya grits out, sweat dripping down his temple and between his pecs as he continues to piston into Shane. “Cum, Shane, cum on my fucking cock.”
Another untouched orgasm tears painfully through Shane’s body as he jerks weakly under the force of Ilya’s body. Fresh spend joins the cool, drying streaks already painting his torso. His mind slips deeper under the crashing waves around him, leaving Shane wrung out and boneless.
He isn’t surprised, however, when Ilya barely slows his pace. He was expecting this, but it still cleaves him right in half. Each pass of Ilya’s cock over his brutalized prostate has him crying out weakly, barely clinging to consciousness as Ilya continues to pillage his body. His limp cock flops with every thrust, the impact against his stomach sending lightning-bolt stings through every nerve ending left unshattered.
“I’m not fucking stopping, Shane. You’re going to take everything I give you and you’re going to thank me like a good boy, isn’t that right?” Ilya sneers, practically gloating over Shane’s helpless body.
“Th-th-thank you, sir.” He stutters, barely audible over the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the wet squelch of lube, growing foamy from the unending friction of Ilya’s cock against his hole.
“Wish I could take this condom off and cum so deep in your ass that you’d fucking taste it.” He grunts, and Shane realizes that it’s more to himself than to Shane. Regardless, his eyes roll back at the prospect of it.
Eyes closed, Shane doesn’t see the hand snaking up his body until he feels it wrap around his throat. His eyes snap open at the light pressure Ilya places at either side of his neck, and the moan that tears from his raw throat is obscene.
“Harder.” He begs, and Ilya smiles predatorily down at him.
“Such a fucking slut, baby. Perfect, pretty fucking slut, all mine, блять.” He curses, and tightens his grip on Shane’s neck. The fuzziness already clouding Shane’s vision grows, and he writhes under Ilya’s grip desperately.
“I fucking own you, Shane. You are mine.” He grunts through gritted teeth, and Shane can only moan weakly as drool begins to slip from the corner of his mouth. He’s lost all control of his body, and feels a surge of panic when Ilya removes his hand from Shane’s throat to wrap it around his spent cock.
“Ily- Wha-” He stutters out as Ilya begins to stroke Shane, a contrasting gentleness against the force he drives into Shane’s hole with. The tender touch, however, feels like fire against his overwrought cock.
“Can’t.” He sobs, but Ilya only laughs and continues his lazy pace. Shane’s traitorous cock twitches, but a new, alarming sensation begins to overtake his arousal.
“Ilya-” He gasps sharply, “-Gonna, I might-”
“What, little slut? Going to cum again?” Ilya asks, but he’s wrong. Shane shakes his head desperately, fighting his restraints to get out of Ilya’s grip.
“Gonna- Might- Gonna pee.” He cries, pathetic and humiliated, a sobbing mess under Ilya as he fights against the overwhelming, unending pressure he feels everywhere in his body. He expects the man to stop, to pull back, to just fucking slow down, but he doesn’t. He only smiles with all of his teeth, eyes gleaming with a possessive edge.
“Fucking do it, Shane. You think I give a fuck? You think I wouldn’t fucking love to fuck you so hard you piss all over yourself?”
The overstimulation is too much, it’s too overwhelming. Shane can feel the last of his agency slipping away just as Ilya’s cock presses directly against his prostate and instead of pissing, Shane cums. A third shattering, nearly-dry orgasm that overtakes him wholly. He just catches the shocked look on Ilya’s face, just feels the stuttering of Ilya’s hips as he, too, begins to cum, when Shane, mercifully, passes out.
-
He awakens an indiscriminate amount of time later, sinking slowly back from unconsciousness into the warm, steady pressure at his side. There are hands on him, running reverently across skin that still tingles and buzzes with a candied numbness. He tries to focus his attention on the touch, sending bits of awareness to the meat of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his forearms, the delicate skin of his tender wrists.
Hushed words drift by, gentle as a breeze, and Shane’s mind reaches for them, popping each little bubble and allowing the spray to wash over him.
“Come back to me, sweetheart.”
“Did so well for me, such a good boy.”
“Will take care of you.”
Shane blinks his eyes open and meets hazel ones looking back at him, nothing but soft adoration held within. Shane smiles lazily at the sight, humming softly through the gritty thickness in his throat. He’s fuzzy all over–in his brain, on his skin, in each of his organs. Everything floats through the air in a lazy swirl, Shane as light and free as a feather.
The man next to him shushes gently, taking one of Shane’s hands and squeezing comfortingly. It’s that deliberate touch that allows Shane to realize that his hands have been freed from their restraints. The accompanying soreness in his shoulders and wrists hits immediately, and he whimpers softly.
“Hurts.” He murmurs, and a look of combined sadness and regret fills Ilya’s eyes.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” He whispers, rubbing more intentionally at the reddened skin of Shane’s wrist. “Is my fault, I should have taken them off sooner.”
But that’s not right, not in Shane’s mind. He’s flooded with memories of the past several hours, and he thinks about how hot it had felt being restrained while the man of his dreams took him apart over and over again, with Shane helpless to stop him. The pain is worth it, he’s certain. Plus, the way Ilya is taking care of him now feels indulgent and he loves it. He tells Ilya as such.
“Greedy boy.” Ilya teases, nudging against Shane’s neck with his nose, his tone holding none of the sharpness that had punctuated those same words earlier in the night. He presses a gentle kiss to the skin there, taking a moment to breathe Shane in.
Shane, head now clear enough to allow for rational thought, hesitates. He’s too comfortable with Ilya, this stranger who had been involved with, at the very least, a kidnapping, and who had just fucked him within an inch of his life moments after meeting him.
Ilya must feel Shane stiffen, because he pulls back to assess Shane’s expression.
“You are thinking very loud, Shane.” He states simply, maintaining his gentle tone as if not to frighten Shane further.
“I just…” Shane begins lamely, breaking eye contact to look off somewhere else in the room. The room that belongs to aforementioned maybe-kidnapped man that they had commandeered into an impromptu sex dungeon. Shane feels nauseous.
“I don’t know you, Ilya. And to be honest, I’m still scared of you.” Shane dares to glance back at Ilya and immediately regrets it, seeing the unmasked hurt fill his face before hardening into a forced, cold indifference.
Despite his hesitation, Shane continues. “But I want to know you, and I want to not be scared of you. And maybe that’s even worse, that despite this objectively fucked up situation, I really, really want to know you.” Shane takes a deep breath, before asking “Is that okay?”
Shane watches as a series of emotions crosses Ilya’s hard, handsome face before a hopeful smile slowly creeps along the corners of his mouth.
“Of course that is okay, Shane. I want you to know me, and I want to know you.” It’s Ilya’s turn to take a steadying breath, reaching up to fiddle with the cross chain hanging from his neck before continuing. “This is not, I am not…” He trails off, suddenly appearing very nervous. The range of emotions Shane has seen from him in the past few minutes is refreshing, humanizing a man who had seemed so collected and imposing for the entirety of their previous encounter.
“I work in security.” Ilya finally states, and Shane can’t help the soft oh that escapes his lips.
“In fancy clubs and also in private security for important people. But my brother, Alexei, does work that is not, eh, ‘above board.’” Shane likes the way Ilya’ accent curls around those last two words, lips forming the syllables deliberately, as if he’d heard them before but hadn’t yet tried them on his own tongue.
Shane has to focus, though, on what Ilya is saying. His brother’s work is illegal, and Ilya seems to be implying that he works for his brother doing “security.” He has a feeling their definitions of security may differ, if Mitch’s fate is any indicator.
“And you do… Security… For your brother?” The question hangs in the air for a long, tense moment.
“да, yes, sometimes. For big or important jobs like this, he trusts me to lead. I do not like it, but-” Ilya’s voice suddenly thickens, and Shane is horrified to see wetness forming at Ilya’s lashline. “-He is my only family, and I do not know how to have him in my life without this.”
Shane’s heart clenches, suddenly seeing a glimpse of Ilya for who he really is under the mask that he’s tried to showcase outwardly with striking clarity. Loyal, steadfast, and broken. The inch of space between them is suddenly cavernous, and Shane bridges it by reaching for Ilya’s hand, running his thumb over the backs of Ilya’s scarred knuckles. The sigh that Ilya lets out instantly at the contact, as if the tension is suddenly released from him like a deflated balloon, warms Shane’s skin.
“I’m sorry to tell you all of this, Shane.” He whispers, an unexpected shyness in his tone, and Shane feels his stomach twist.
“Please don’t apologize, Ilya, I’m sorry that you’re in this situation.” He offers in an attempt at comfort, and Ilya offers him a small, sad smile in exchange. “I told you that I want to know you, and that means all of you.”
“I told you that I want to know you too, Shane. Will you tell me something about you?” Ilya asks, and Shane makes note of the subject change. He’ll be sure to get back to Ilya’s own life later.
“Well, I’m a bit boring.” Shane starts, and is startled by the loud, genuine laugh that barks out of Ilya from somewhere deep in his soul. Shane slaps a hand over his own chest, trying to calm his suddenly-racing heart, before breaking out into peals of laughter as well.
“Why-” He gasps out between giggles, “-Are you laughing?!”
Ilya only laughs harder at that, and the absurdity of it all feels strangely domestic.
“Shane!” He cries out, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “I find you naked and handcuffed to an old man’s bed, I fuck you so hard that you pass out, and now you tell me that you’re boring?”
And, yeah. He’s not wrong. Maybe boring isn’t the right word for Shane, at least not right now.
“Okay, okay,” Shane finally concedes, “My, er, work, definitely isn’t boring. But I only do this to pay for grad school. I’m getting my master’s at B.U. and needed to find something that fit my schedule and paid well enough to help cover tuition and rent.”
Ilya stared at Shane for a long moment, eyes calculating. “Yes, Shane, that makes sense.” He states, before an exasperated smile crosses his face. “But a boring person would get a job at a restaurant. You became a sex slave.”
An affronted gasp leaves Shane’s mouth as he slaps a hand against Ilya’s chest.
“I’m not a sex slave!” He practically squeals, and Ilya cackles again. “I’m an escort, okay?!”
Ilya continues to laugh over Shane’s protests, pulling him against his chest to laugh directly into his scalp, tickling the skin of Shane’s head. When he finally calms down, he reaches up to run a hand through Shane’s sweaty hair. There’s a weighted, quiet moment, before Ilya finally speaks again, voice timid again.
“Shane, I-” He begins, and Shane feels him gulp thickly, “-I would like to take you on a date, for real. If you would want that. I really hope you want that. But I know that how we met is not, uh, traditional. Normal. So I don’t know if you would want-”
“Ilya.” Shane cuts off his ramblings, a stupid smile spreading over his face. “I would love to go on a real date with you.”
He feels Ilya’s chest deflate under him.
“Really?” Ilya asks with an endearing combination of hope and joy.
“Yes, of course. You’re right, this isn’t exactly traditional, but I meant it when I said that I want to get to know you.” Shane hesitates, as the elephant in the room looms large in the corner. “But I, I can’t say I’m not still a bit scared, knowing what you, well, do. For your brother.”
Ilya sighs, and Shane regrets the words instantly. He should’ve known that he’d fuck this up before it ever even started.
“I will stop.” Ilya states simply after a tense pause, and Shane pulls back from his place against Ilya’s shoulder to survey his face. “For you, I would stop.”
“Ilya, no.” Shane whispers, mustering every ounce of conviction into his words. “I know this is how you stay connected with your brother, I wouldn’t ask you to lose that.”
“Shane, listen to me. I know I do not know you yet, but I plan to. And I plan to be better for you. I want to be someone that you can feel safe with, that you can trust, if you will let me. Someone that you can bring home to your family and feel proud of. If our date goes well, then I know you will not want your boyfriend to be out fucking killing people on the weekends.”
Ilya’s speech is beautiful, but one part in particular gives Shane pause.
“My boyfriend?” He asks, hesitant. Ilya smiles softly, and Shane sees an uncharacteristic blush paint his cheeks pink.
“I mean, yes, I think so. One day, if you would want.”
Shane leans forward to press his lips to Ilya’s, a tender kiss that melts into something deeper. A languid, unhurried slide of their mouths that pulls soft, contended sounds from both of their lips. When Shane finally pulls away, both men panting softly and smiling widely, he answers.
“I would want.”