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Ilya won't admit it, but he likes it when Shane takes control.
It's most apparent when Ilya is pressing Shane into a wall or a window or a piece of free-standing furniture. He's so distracted stealing kisses from Shane's lips and groping his pecs or his ass that it takes his breath away for a moment when Shane suddenly grabs onto his lapels or shirt collar or muscular biceps and flips them around. He gets this glassy look in his eyes, blinking dazedly at Shane for a moment before Shane dives back in to kiss him some more.
Ilya won't admit it, but Shane knows it's true.
It doesn't usually take Ilya long to get back with the programme—after a few seconds he'll have wrestled back control; pushing Shane to his knees or shoving him backwards until he trips and falls gracelessly on his ass, so Ilya can follow right after, prowling over Shane like a hungry tiger.
These moments happen so fast, and Shane is desperate to drag them out just a little longer. He loves being submissive for Ilya—he never wants that to change—but he wonders if, just once, it would be fun to reverse their usual roles.
Ilya would never agree.
They're on the bed, and in a brief moment of control, Shane ends up straddled across Ilya's hips. Their cocks rub alongside each other, the friction making both men shiver delightedly. Shane slides his hands up Ilya's bare arms, pinning them above his head and kissing his boyfriend like he's dying of thirst and Ilya is the last fresh spring on Earth.
He can feel from the tension thrumming through Ilya's body that he won't let this go on for very long. It's now or never.
Shane pulls back—not far, just far enough to meet Ilya's half-lidded eyes. He's panting softly, and licks his lips before he whispers, "Do you trust me?"
"Of course," Ilya says without a moment's hesitation, smiling softly up at him. "You are my man."
Shane feels his heart flip over in his chest. Ilya's already started flexing his arms in Shane's hold, trying to reach out and touch him, and Shane quickly presses down harder on his wrists. "Will you stay there?" he asks, his pulse fluttering nervously against the soft skin beneath his ear.
Ilya gives him a glance, one eyebrow quirked and an amused smile tugging at his lips, and after a moment he nods, once. Shane loosens his grip.
"And close your eyes?" Shane continues, sitting up properly in Ilya's lap, dragging his hands down the marble-cut planes of his boyfriend's chest.
"What are you doing, Hollander?" Ilya drawls, blinking slowly a few times, but ultimately keeping his eyes locked on Shane. He already feels vulnerable—his soft, hairy underarms exposed as he allows himself, for the moment, to be pinned down by Shane's words alone. He doesn't want to give up this last shred of his dominance—Shane would bet his life on it.
"Please?" Shane begs softly. "Trust me." He bites his lip, aware that the next sentence out of his mouth could be the end of his fun. "You can safeword any time," he whispers, "I just want to try something."
Ilya's eyebrows raise, and he unpins himself from his totally powerless position, leaning up on his elbows to get his face closer to Shane. He doesn't try to flip him, at least, so Shane takes that as a win.
"I do not safeword," Ilya says, calmly, his gaze fixed on Shane's.
"But you can," Shane explains, a thread of exasperation strung through his vocal cords. Ilya knows this. "Please, this is fun—it won't be bad for you. J-just… different."
"You will tell me plan," Ilya instructs, his dominance taking hold again, as it always does. It won't be long before Shane's the one on his back. "I will decide after."
That's it, then. Ilya won't agree. Shane was hoping to sneak the handcuffs around Ilya's wrists before his boyfriend clocked what was happening, and maybe, just maybe, Ilya would have allowed himself the pleasure of submission for a moment. A few moments. Long enough for Shane to pull out some of the surefire tricks Ilya uses to make him melt.
But the handcuffs are still in Shane's bedside drawer, and his hopes are dashed.
"It's fine," Shane shrugs, his shoulders dropping low as he lets out a soft, defeated sigh. He shifts his hips, grinding their distracted, slightly deflated cocks together, "What do you want to do?"
Ilya growls, and with a level of grace and athleticism that always knocks the wind out of Shane's sails, he swiftly flips them over.
On his back. In his place. With Ilya towering over him. This is how it's supposed to be, anyway.
"What I want," Ilya says, deliberately slowly, dragging out the words as his face hovers mere inches from Shane's. "Is you telling me your plan."
Shane sucks in a breath. He's held down in the exact same position as he had Ilya pinned in moments ago. He flicks his eyes to the nightstand, and Ilya immediately gets the hint.
"You are hiding things from me?" Ilya mutters playfully, leaning over to drag the drawer open. "Oh," he gasps in delighted surprise, lifting up the pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs, dangling them tantalisingly from one finger. "You were worried I would not like this?"
Ilya is already unlocking one of the cuffs with the little key waiting in the keyhole, eyeing Shane's wrists hungrily.
"They weren't for me," Shane whispers, though he keeps his hands pinned dutifully above his head. He's pretty sure they are for him, now.
Ilya's face goes through a flipbook of emotions—ones Shane has consciously taught himself throughout the years—confusion, fear, a brief flit of anger, back to confusion, and eventually landing on curiosity. "You do not want me to touch you?"
"That's not it," Shane feels himself flush. He didn't want to have to explain this. "I just want to try… being in charge. For one fuck!" He's desperate to cover his face, to hide his embarrassment in the skin of his forearm, but unlike Ilya, he can't bring himself to break the unspoken command to stay.
"You want to fuck me?"
"No!" Shane assures, a little too quickly. Ilya's face scrunches up into a new emotion that Shane can't read.
"Okay," Ilya shrugs, clambering off of Shane's hips and holding the cuffs out.
"Okay?" Shane parrots back, desperate for clarification. His arms twitch, torn between staying pinned and taking the cuffs Ilya is clearly offering him. He shoots a hand out to grab them, shuffling over on the bed as he sits up. His heart is pounding. "Are you saying—?"
"I am saying okay, Hollander," Ilya replies easily, like it's not a big deal at all. Like Shane's worked himself into a tizzy over nothing, again. Ilya gets himself comfortable on the bed, lifting his hands all the way up to curl around the bars, this time. His hard cock stands proud from his lap, drooping towards his belly under its own weight.
Shane hesitates.
"Do you not want?" Ilya asks, flexing his hands around the bars. "Was your idea."
"No, I—I want," Shane whispers, the cuffs shaking in his hand. "I just… need a minute to process, I think." He doesn't do well with sudden changes of plan, and this night has already flip-flopped back and forth between two extremes enough times to make his head hurt. He's back where he started, at least, and he does really want to try this.
Ilya nods his head with a fond smile. He knows Shane's anxiety—Shane's autism—like the back of his hand. He waits so patiently for Shane to get all his thoughts in order, not trying to rush him or take back control. "Breathe," Ilya reminds him, shifting a leg to bonk Shane's knee gently—a tiny touch that says I'm here, I'm with you, you've got this. Shane couldn't ask for a more perfect partner.
Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Shane blinks down at Ilya, finally ready. His boyfriend is laid out so pretty for him—all long, sleek lines, his body on full display. He reaches out to touch Ilya's abs, and the younger man twitches beneath him, the tension of holding himself back evident in every muscle in his body.
"You need to use those," Ilya murmurs, his hands tightening around the bars as his eyes flit to the cuffs in Shane's hand. "I cannot hold myself back like you do."
Yes, of course. Shane's hands tremble slightly as he loops the first metal ring loosely around Ilya's wrist. He bought cuffs with plenty of padding on the inside, but he still doesn't tighten them all the way. "Is that okay?" he murmurs, looping the chain behind a couple of bars in the headboard.
"I will tell you if it is not," Ilya promises.
Right, yeah. Shane steels himself, and secures Ilya's second wrist in place. "You will safeword if you need to?" he asks, his speech pattern almost picking up Ilya's slow, considered cadence as he places the key carefully on the nightstand. He didn't think he'd be so nervous to see Ilya rendered this powerless beneath him.
"Yes, Shane," Ilya laughs softly, uncurling his hands from the bars and gently stress-testing the restraints. They look like a cheap gag gift—Shane bought the ones which seemed most like sex handcuffs, and the pink fuzz around Ilya's wrists really sells that vision—but they're not cheap, and they're not easily breakable. Metal grinds against wood, and Ilya nods, satisfied.
Shane feels like he's having sex for the first time as he timidly reaches out a shaking hand towards Ilya's chest. Having control for a brief moment is fun, exhilarating, even, but… it's a lot of responsibility, actually. Ilya is watching him, so patient, acting so submissive for Shane, giving him his time to let him try.
"You should get on top," Ilya suggests quietly, "I want your kisses."
It's not quite the same as when Shane is begging frantically for Ilya to touch him, but it's something. An instruction, which his brain is predestined to follow.
He situates himself over Ilya's hips, rocking slowly against his boyfriend as he leans down to capture his lips. He slides his hands up into Ilya's soft hair, groaning quietly into Ilya's mouth as the friction of their cocks shoots happy hormones out through his core.
"Lube," Ilya whispers, and Shane nods.
He's not sure he's very good at this, but Shane really wants to try—to make this good for Ilya the way Ilya always makes sex mindblowing for him. The lube is within reach, and Shane leans up to drizzle it over both of their cocks.
"Good boy," Ilya whispers, unable to help himself, and Shane can't help the happy little thrill that zings up the back of his neck at the praise.
Shane wraps his hand around both of them—as best he can, anyway—and rocks his hips. Ilya groans softly, his arms flexing above his head, and Shane lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. The fact of the matter is, Shane is good at sex. He's had enough practice, and he knows exactly what makes Ilya tick—he's just so out of his element that his anxiety is running rampant in the back of his head, making him doubt everything he does. Seeing Ilya react, instinctually, rather than intentionally, gives Shane the boost he's been craving.
"You like that, huh?" Shane whispers, feeling his face flush as he presses his lips to Ilya's again, cutting off any chance of a response. His hand glides over their cocks between their bodies, his hips rocking against the motion.
Ilya releases a steady stream of groans into Shane's mouth, his head tilting back on the pillow and his hips twitching against Shane's careful movements.
This is nice, but Shane knows what will really get Ilya going.
He pulls back slightly and presses their foreheads together, his breath coming out in soft huffs against Ilya's face. Ilya meets his eyes. "I want you to fuck me," Shane whispers, no need for volume when Ilya is so close, when Ilya is paying rapt attention to every word that passes Shane's lips.
The sound of metal on wood startles Shane, and he lifts his head to see Ilya's arms straining against his restraints.
"Ah, ah, ah," Shane teases gleefully, running his clean hand up the underside of Ilya's arm, delighting in the twitchy shiver it sends through him. "You can't touch."
Ilya loves fingering Shane—the way Shane instantly melts for him, how easily Shane's greedy hole will take two, three fingers, the heady anticipation of knowing what comes right after—but what he loves more, and almost never allows himself, is watching Shane finger himself.
"I want to touch," Ilya moans, the pink fluff shuddering as his arms try desperately to reach for Shane.
"You get to watch," Shane murmurs, coating his fingers in way too much lube as his gaze gets caught by Ilya's hungry eyes.
He's not much of a performer, in bed. But Shane doesn't have to put on an act as he reaches behind himself, still straddling Ilya's hips, and slides his middle finger inside. His head tips back of its own accord, a loud moan torn from his throat as he brushes against his prostate.
Ilya's dick twitches under Shane, and the handcuffs rattle.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Shane begs, rolling his hips against the movement of his finger, his dick drooling a sloppy mess of precome, which drips steadily down against Ilya's stomach.
"I am thinking," Ilya drawls, his eyes half-lidded as he watches Shane work, "that you are very pretty." The cuffs jangle, and Shane finds himself torn between watching Ilya's face and his tense, shaking arms. "I want to touch you very much."
"But it's good?" Shane whispers, doubt rearing its ugly head.
"It is good," Ilya confirms, his gaze locking on Shane's arm, tucked neatly behind his back. "Put another finger in."
Ilya can't resist taking charge a little, and Shane can't resist a direct order.
It's obvious, when he does. Shane's hips buck into nothing, his dick begging for friction as he spears himself on two thick fingers. "Fuck, Rozanov," he moans, tilting his head back to the sky, "it feels so good." Shane rocks forward, leaning heavy on Ilya's chest with his free hand. He squeezes harshly against the muscle, rubbing over Ilya's nipple with the palm of his hand, mirroring what Ilya so often does to him.
"Mmm, you are good boy for me," Ilya rumbles with a shudder, bucking his hips up against Shane, "I will like it very much when you ride my cock."
Shane leans back down, his whole body rocking against Ilya's as he scissors his fingers in his hole, spread open even further by the angle change. He considers adding a third finger—properly prepping himself for Ilya's thick cock, but he doesn't entertain the thought for long. He's already impatient, and he won't deny that he likes the ache of Ilya pressing into his not-quite-ready body—the way his muscles adapt and strain to allow him in anyway.
"You look so hot," Ilya growls, straining his neck to kiss Shane's cheek, his chin, anywhere he can reach. His arms rattle in their restraints as his body fights to take back control that he willingly gave up. He rolls his hips, rubbing himself off against Shane's quivering abs. "I want you."
"You can have me," Shane promises, sliding his fingers out of his hole with a shuddery little moan and wrapping them around Ilya's cock instead, spreading a mess of lube around between their bodies. They're already basically in the right position, Shane just has to shift upwards and angle Ilya's cock until the head is pressed to his tight, fluttering pucker.
Ilya plants his feet behind Shane and lifts his hips, pressing long and slow up into Shane's stationary body.
They let out a simultaneous groan—loud, deep, in tandem—and Shane drops his forehead to Ilya's shoulder, taking a deep, relaxing breath as his hole is forced open on Ilya's impressive girth.
"Can't—haa—can't help yourself, can you?" Shane teases softly, sucking in little sips of breath as Ilya starts to rock up into him. "Can't let me, oh, be in charge."
Ilya stills. "I am sorry," he says, lowering his hips back to the bed, quickly followed down by Shane's so he doesn't slip out. "I am trying. For you."
"Oh, baby," Shane murmurs, feeling his heart sink. He thought he was teasing, but maybe his tone of voice didn't come out the way he wanted it to. He slides his clean hand up Ilya's chest, up his neck, to cradle his cheek. "I didn't mean it like that. It's so hot that you're still trying to do what comes naturally to you. Please don't stop."
Ilya smiles, a little awkward. "I thought I was learning," he says, "to be submissive, from you." He shrugs his shoulders, the cuffs making a quiet noise above their heads, "I don't think I am very good."
"I don't think I'm very good at this part, either," Shane admits quietly, "but I think I've gained a greater appreciation for what you do—this shit is hard."
Ilya smiles, bigger this time, leaning up to kiss Shane's lips. "Not for me," he says.
Shane's eyes dart to the little key sparkling on the nightstand. He sucks in a breath. "Do you want to fuck me, hard?"
"More than anything," Ilya replies, flexing his hips under Shane's weight.
Shane's hand reaches out for the key, and Ilya makes an approving little hum. He only gets one side unlocked before Ilya is in motion, his hands moving quick as a flash to Shane's hips, the cuffs dangling from his right wrist.
"My turn," Ilya growls, flexing his leg and flipping Shane onto his back with a thump, his cock still buried deep in the recesses of Shane's body. His kisses are hungry, starved, and he steals them breathily from Shane's lips as his hips start to thrust in earnest.
God, it's so much better like this.
Shane lifts his legs up to curl around Ilya's waist, giving his boyfriend a better angle to fuck him from. "Ohhhh, fuck, Ilya," he breathes, lifting his arms to curl around the bars of the headboard, feeling his biceps flex as Ilya's strong thrusts drive him further up the bed. His back arches up off the mattress, and Ilya's hand curls underneath, warm in the small of his back, dragging Shane's body around like a ragdoll as he obliterates Shane's insides.
"I want you on your knees," Ilya gasps into Shane's ear, biting down harshly around his lobe. Shane winces, and Ilya sucks apologetically, laving his tongue over the indentations. That'll be a fun one to explain to his teammates. They know about Ilya, but what they really don't need to know is just how freaky things can get behind closed doors.
"Do it, then," Shane begs, letting go of the headboard. It sends a filthy thrill through his body every time Ilya picks him up and tosses him around like he weighs nothing at all.
Ilya's face is gone, determined, horny, and dominant, and that's the last thing Shane sees before Ilya pulls out and flips him face-down into the mattress.
Shane whines desperately at the loss, but he doesn't have to wait long. He feels his hips being dragged up off the bed, the metal cuff bashing into his right thigh as Ilya slams home, dragging a broken-off shout from Shane's slack mouth.
Shane's head is pushed down into the bedding with a firm hand as Ilya crowds his body over Shane's, biting kisses up his spine and across his shoulder, his hips pounding away into Shane's eager hole.
The sparks of pain from Ilya's teeth only serve to turn Shane on more. His core clenches against the onslaught, need tugging at the base of his dick, and he finds himself whimpering pathetically into the sheets. "Can I touch myself?" he begs, his words muffled through layers of expensive bedding, his hands curling into the sheets beside his head.
"No," Ilya answers simply, the hand on the back of Shane's head folding into a fist. It doesn't come as a surprise when Ilya tugs harshly on his hair, dragging Shane upwards until he's balanced on shaky arms, trembling like a newborn foal. "Nasty little boys don't need a hand," Ilya snarls, harshly scratching the nails of his free hand all the way down Shane's back until he's holding on tight to Shane's hip. "Nasty little boys come untouched."
Shane moans desperately, feeling his cock jump underneath him when Ilya pulls on his hair again, little sparks of pain shooting through his scalp as his head is dragged backwards. "Fuck, Ilya," he gasps, letting his body rock with Ilya's unrelenting thrusts, closing his eyes against the unbelievable thrill of a thick cock pounding against his prostate. "It won't take long."
"Slut," Ilya growls, the hand in Shane's hair sliding down to form a firm grip around Shane's shoulder, dragging his boyfriend back onto his cock with every thrust. His other hand moves back up Shane's torso until he's palming Shane's pec, his nails digging into the soft skin there.
The hand on his sensitive nipple is what sends Shane over the edge. He lets his arms give way beneath him, his body curling in on itself as pleasure rocks his core. "Ohhhhh," he moans into the sheets, his body shuddering as his cock jerks once, twice, and starts spitting sticky white come all over his chest and torso. "Fuck me, Ilya," he says on an exhausted breath.
He's about to add something else when Ilya replies: "I will."
Ilya's hand slides down Shane's messy chest, wrapping around his cock to drag out his aftershocks, making a delighted noise when Shane twitches and jerks, overstimulated. His hips slam into Shane, and it doesn't take long before he stills, spilling his seed deep into Shane's insides. "Fuck, Shane," he moans, curling himself along Shane's spine, wrapping both arms around his torso as his hips roll, giving as much of himself to Shane as he possibly can.
They collapse to the bed with an exhausted huff, breathing heavily.
Shane is the first to speak. "Jesus Christ, Ilya," he laughs, turning his head to face his boyfriend.
Ilya trails a gentle hand down Shane's spine, and Shane can feel a sharp ache when Ilya crosses the path he'd dragged with his nails. "I am sorry for this. What is English saying? I was carried away."
Shane can't help but smile fondly. "I liked it," he whispers. "I don't know how I'm going to explain it to Hayden and the boys, but—"
"They do not know you are a slut for my cock?" Ilya asks, seeming genuinely surprised. "I think it is quite obvious."
Shane snorts a laugh, hiding his face in Ilya's sweaty armpit. "Who taught you to speak like that?" he murmurs, kissing the bulging bicep beneath his head.
"Shane Hollander."
"Oh, yeah," Shane murmurs, rolling over until he finds Ilya's still-bound wrist. He lifts the dead weight of Ilya's arm, inspecting the cuffs hanging from it. The key is no longer in the lock, no doubt lost amongst the bedsheets.
Shane bites his lip, holding back a smirk. "It won't be so obvious when you turn up to next practice like this," he teases. "What will the boys say when they see Ilya Rozanov wearing a fuzzy pink handcuff? Maybe they'll see a different side of me."
Ilya shrugs, pulling Shane back into his arms with a soft, dismissive laugh. "I do not think so."
Shane sighs, allowing himself to be dragged, relaxing happily into Ilya's hold.
"Fine," he murmurs stubbornly, petting the soft pink fuzz with his thumb, "we can use them on me, next time."