Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts, as most things do with them, at a con-ed session. Ilya’s been on a kick recently of going to con-ed sessions only vaguely related to actual medicine, so in the last few months he and Shane have been to courses on everything from HAZMAT to urban search and rescue. He doesn’t understand what Ilya’s getting out of them—Shane personally feels like it’d be more useful to go to sessions with content related to their actual jobs. But Ilya seems to enjoy the variety, and Shane finds them interesting enough, so it’s fine.

The class they’re at today is a rope rescue course. Shane uses the word ‘course’ loosely—it’s nowhere near comprehensive enough to qualify them to take the actual certification exam. Nor does it even meet the requirements for them to qualify as being ‘rope rescue aware.’ Shane tells himself that regardless, it’s a good introduction to a topic that was barely brushed on in the course of their paramedic education.

As part of the class, all participants were given a length of rope to practice tying knots on, and Ilya’s taken to it like a fish to water. This, in and of itself, is not the problem. 

The problem is that Shane cannot for the life of him take his eyes off Ilya tying these fucking knots. He knows he needs to be focusing on his own rope, knows it probably looks weird that he’s barely even tied a single bowline like they’re supposed to be doing, but it’s so fucking hard to focus when Ilya’s fingers are so nimbly twisting loops together, flexing his forearms as he tightens the working end. 

Shane’s absurdly enraptured. It’s just rope. Ilya’s just tying, like, boy scout-level knots on ugly neon orange rope. There’s no reason Shane should be this unable to tear his gaze away from Ilya’s hands. Which, he’s noting, are no longer moving. 

Shane feels his face grow hot before Ilya can even open his fucking mouth. Despite the fact that it’s been over two years of getting caught staring at Ilya, Shane still feels just as embarrassed every time it happens. He looks up, and yeah, there’s Ilya, with his stupid smug smirk plastered across his face. 

“See something you like?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Go fuck yourself,” he replies, looking down at his own rope. How the fuck is he supposed to do this again? Make a loop and then go through it? 

Shane’s still trying to recall the directions when Ilya goes, “If you like it so much, maybe I should tie you up.” He says it completely casually, as if he hasn’t caused all logical thought to leave Shane’s brain with a single sentence. 

Shane hadn’t been thinking about that. He just thought Ilya with the ropes was hot. But now he is thinking about it. And, well.

Ilya has pinned him down before, and Shane is quite unfortunately always deeply into it when it happens. He’s had thoughts of being restrained before, too, but just like, with handcuffs or a belt or something. not with something kinky like ropes. 

With ropes, though, Ilya could tie him up completely. He’d be fully at Ilya’s mercy. Shane wouldn’t be able to resist or fight back even if he wanted to. Ilya could probably tug him around using the ropes, manhandle him into position without Shane being able to do a single thing about it. 

Oh, fuck, Shane’s really into this. He’s going to have to jump into traffic, immediately. He cannot be realizing how badly he wants to be tied up by his boyfriend during a fucking con-ed session. Absolutely not.

Said boyfriend is currently raising both of his brows at Shane’s failure to respond to him. “So you do want that, Hollander?” he asks, knowingly, and nope, Shane can’t have this conversation right now. Or ever, he thinks, but especially not with people they work with in the room.

“Shut the fuck up,” Shane replies, maturely. And then, to get Ilya off the topic before Shane explodes from either lust or shame, “I bet I can tie more knots than you can in the next five minutes.”

“It's been five minutes already, and you haven’t tied a single knot,” Ilya points out. 

Shane narrows his eyes at Ilya. He’s right, but Shane’s not going to let that stop him. “Are you scared, Rozanov?”

“Fine, Hollander, you’re on.”

Ilya wins, of course. Shane puts up a good fight, but he doesn’t have any Boy Scout knowledge to try and fall back on, because he was too busy playing hockey to do any of that. And look at where that got him, Shane thinks, not without a hint of bitterness. Twenty-seven with a fucked-up hip, not a pro hockey player but instead losing at a knot-tying competition he instigated himself. Shane tries to shake it off. It’s not that big of a deal. His leg’s just been bothering him more than normal lately, and it’s starting to annoy him. That’s all. He’s fine.

Shane’s inner turmoil doesn’t change the fact that Ilya’s the victor, though. As his ‘reward,’ he demands that they stop for fast food on the way home. 

Shane tries to put up a fight. They have perfectly good food at home. Food that Shane can actually eat, for one. But Ilya’s insistent that he wants going to fucking Wendy’s to be his prize. So Shane begrudgingly takes them through the drive-through so his boyfriend can clog his arteries with a baconator, fries, and a frosty. 

Ilya spends the entire drive back trying to cajole Shane into eating a fry. which he fucking knows Shane can’t eat right now—there’s way too much sodium and they're drenched in oil—so why he keeps trying is beyond Shane. By the time they make it back to their place, Shane’s so annoyed, the whole rope thing slips his mind completely.

Unfortunately, Shane is unable to forget for long. He’s been trying to deal with his new… awareness… of what he wants in a very mature, reasonable manner. Which is to say, he hasn’t been thinking about it. Or, more so, he’s been trying really hard not to think about it. This is difficult to do when Shane’s dating a fucking menace, who seems to have somehow convinced the instructor to let him take home a length of rope to practice knots on.

The rope he has isn’t even fucking long enough to do anything with, Shane doesn’t think. It could wrap around him like once, maybe. Knowing this, however, doesn’t help when Ilya uses his fucking teeth to tie off a knot he’s making around his own wrist. Shane misses a whole fucking goalie fight during the game he’d been trying to watch because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ilya.  

He doesn’t even know what Ilya needs all the practice for, is the thing. When Shane asks, he says he’s not planning to sign up for any further rope technician courses, so it’s not that. He’s tried just straight up asking what the fuck he’s doing, but Ilya shoots him down every time with a different answer.

“They did not have Boy Scouts in Russia, I am catching up.”

“What if we get stuck in the woods, and knowing how to tie a lark’s head knot is the only thing that can stop us from eating each other?”

“It is practice for when we get a dog.” Shane hadn’t even known Ilya had wanted a dog, so he filed that one away for later.

Shane’s least favorite reply comes when he offers his wrist to use after watching Ilya struggle to tie a knot off on his own ankle. Ilya shakes his head and says that he “doesn’t want to shatter Shane’s weak bones.” Shane knows Ilya means it as a joke, but he sits there fuming anyway.

His hip has been fucking aching for days following a rough extrication that required carrying a patient up and out of a basement. He fucking knows his bones are shit, okay, he knows his hip is fucked.

He’s not sure Ilya knows how fucked it is, though, since they almost never see each other on shift anymore. A few months back, Shane’s service decided to completely rework their schedule. Now, Shane’s back on days for the time being, while Ilya still runs nights on the response unit. Ilya had tried to switch to days as well, but none of the other medics had been willing to move shifts. Plus, with him working occasional weekdays as a casual instructor at the local college, Shane understands why staying on nights would be easier for Ilya.

It’s been fucking hard, though, going from seeing Ilya at home and frequently at work to their new schedules. There are days now when they fully miss each other, Shane coming home after Ilya’s left, or vice versa. Both of them have been hoping it’s temporary, but it’s been three months of them not being able to work together with no sign of resolution on the horizon.

In a way, he’s grateful for it, though, because it means Ilya hasn’t seen Shane’s new post-call ritual of having to put a heat pack on his leg to dull the ache. Shane also doesn’t know what the fuck he’d do if he walked into the ER and saw Ilya there, practicing knots on the job. He thinks that might actually be the final straw that leads to him combusting.

This continues on for multiple agonizing weeks, until Shane has a shift that ends with him getting covered in the fluid his last patient had been seeping from her legs. Just helping her stand up had gotten his pants damp with it, since she had decided that the best way for her to regain her balance would be to press her entire body against Shane’s.

In his desperation to get home and shower, Shane had broken his usual rule of not leaving until all his charts were done. And it’s not until he makes it home that he realizes he left his laptop plugged in, charging at the station.

So now he’s at home with a chart he has to get done and no way to do it. He could do it on his phone, but the dated charting system they use doesn’t have a functional mobile layout and relies heavily on pop-up windows, which is a bad experience on desktop and an even worse one on anything smaller than an iPad. So he will not be doing that if he can help it.

When Shane gets out of the shower, he goes to find Ilya to ask if he can use his laptop to chart. He finds him sprawled out on their bed, eyes closed and snoring softly, seemingly in a coma. He looks peaceful, and Shane knows his overnight had been rough, so Shane lets him sleep.

Besides, they’ve both used each other’s laptops before for various reasons, so Shane has no real qualms about taking it from Ilya’s bag without asking. He seats himself on the couch with it, and slides his reading glasses on his face while it boots up. Eventually, Shane’s face-to-face with Ilya’s wallpaper: a calming depiction of a snarling grizzly bear running through what appears to be a volcano. Shane doesn’t know what else he expected.

He signs in without issue and is immediately greeted with a browser tab open to some site called shibariacademy.com. Shane has no idea what that means—he assumes it's similar to Khan Academy or something. But he doesn’t give it a lot of thought, whatever Ilya wants to get up to is his own business.

This resolve to mind his own business lasts all of a second—just as long as it takes for him to try to open a new window and see the nine additional tabs open to different sites with titles like “shibari rope guide” “double column restraints” “WikiHow to Tie Up Your Lover (14 Steps)”, and then a handful of searches with terms like “how to get out of ropes” “nerve damage” “do raptors work on rope?”

Of course Raptors work on rope, Shane thinks, they can cut through fucking football padding. And then, wait, what?

He drops his gaze back to the contents of the page that’s been left open. On closer inspection, it appears to be similar in concept to Khan Academy, but if khan academy was for people interested in learning how to tie other people up. Sexually.

Is this why Ilya’s been tying so many knots recently? Does he want to tie Shane up, too?

Shane knew he hadn’t been subtle when Ilya asked if Shane wanted to get tied up, but they had no further discussion on the subject afterwards. So frankly, Shane hadn’t even considered it as a reason behind Ilya’s new rope obsession.

Obviously, he knew the ‘needing to know how to tie knots to avoid resorting to cannibalism’ excuse was bullshit. Shane didn’t think it was that. But Ilya’s usually pretty open with like, sexual stuff. He’s always the one who’s making lewd jokes, or trying to get in Shane’s pants in public, or showing up at home with random fucking dildos he gets from who knows where. Whether or not Shane enjoys using the dildos is besides the point. The point is that Ilya’s never shy about bringing up sexy things he wants to try with Shane.

Shane forces himself to open a new window before his brain can spiral too hard or his dick can get too interested. He needs to finish this chart as soon as possible. Luckily, there’s nothing that’s more of a boner killer than the garish blue background of their PCR system.

He manages to distract himself with thorough documentation of his patient’s +4 pitting pedal edema, but once he’s locked the chart out and closed the window, he’s again stuck staring straight at Ilya’s research.

Shane, obviously, has been thinking about being tied up. It’s been hard not to, with Ilya spending all his free time the past few weeks trying to become an adult Boy Scout. But he hasn’t really had any idea of what that’d actually look like until now, as he’s poking around the sites Ilya’s had open. In his mind, he supposes he was imagining some kind of crude setup, rope looped and knotted haphazardly around his body.

Whatever Ilya’s looking into, though, looks almost elegant. diamonds weaved across chests, rope harnesses created around hips, he scrolls through pages of example ties, absolutely fascinated.

Shane’s mental image changes, from one where he’s wrapped in rope like a comic book damsel in distress, to one where he’s tied up in an elegant display, fully exposed and sitting pretty for Ilya, and wow. Okay.

Shane closes Ilya’s laptop before he can lose any more time to fantasies, when his real boyfriend is just one room over. He sets it on the couch, and wanders into the bedroom to see if Ilya’s awake from his nap yet. To Shane's surprise, he is—he’s sitting up in their bed, tapping idly on his phone. He looks up when Shane walks in, and Shane never knows what to do when Ilya gazes at him like that, so soft and full of affection.

Shane has nothing to say that’s not just pure mush, so he simply climbs into bed and swings a leg across Ilya’s lap. Ilya shuffles upright a bit more, resting back on the pillows shoved up against the headboard.

“How did you sleep?” Shane asks, settling himself on Ilya. Ilya starts running his hands up and down Shane’s thighs as he gets comfortable.

Ilya makes a face before he answers. “Had weird dream. Went to call where patient was fish man,” Ilya says, voice, and English, rough with sleep.

“Fish man?”

Ilya nods. “Man legs, fish body.”

“Was that his emergency?”

“No, was having heart attack,” Ilya says, matter-of-factly.

Shane wonders if you could even do a 12-Lead EKG on a fish, or on a fish-man. Where would a fish man’s heart be? “Where did you put the leads?” Shane asks, because now he’s curious.

Ilya gives him a look of pure disbelief. The effect is offset by how soft he looks in the moment, fresh from his nap and underneath Shane, but Shane still huffs in response anyway.

In lieu of defending his (valid) interest in fish electrocardiography, he leans in and presses his forehead to Ilya’s. As he does so, Shane’s reminded he still has his reading glasses on. When he tries to reach up to take them off, he’s stopped by Ilya grabbing his arm.

“No,” Ilya protests. “Keep them on.”

“I don’t know why you like them so much,” Shane replies. He really doesn’t understand Ilya’s infatuation with his glasses. He thinks he looks like a dork in them, but more than once, Ilya’s seemed so turned on by them he’s been unable to keep his hands off Shane.

Ilya squeezes where his hand is holding Shane’s arm. “You look so pretty in them,” he tells Shane.

Shane sighs, but there’s no heat behind it, and he makes no further move to take the glasses off. “You’re the worst,” he says, and then, “I love you.”

He means to bring up what he found on Ilya’s laptop, he really does, but Ilya’s giving him the softest, sweetest smile now, and Shane just has to kiss him. Shane’s sometimes convinced there are magnets in Ilya’s lips; he’s so drawn to them all the time. He presses a soft kiss to the curve of Ilya’s lips, and when he tries to pull away, Ilya follows with a noise of protest. Shane prides himself on his self-control, but that always seems to fly out the window when he’s with Ilya, so he’s leaning back in immediately.

As usual, one kiss leads to more, Shane chasing the way Ilya sucks on his tongue, bites at his lips. They spend a while lazily making out like that, with no real intent. For as worked up as Shane got himself earlier, right now, he’s more than content to stay here in Ilya’s lap, kissing his boyfriend endlessly. He’s hard, but it’s not his primary concern until he shifts in just the right way, and he can feel Ilya, hard in his underwear too, press against him. The pressure against his clothed dick has him gasping softly into Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya seems to take this as permission to start rolling his hips up against Shane’s, which Shane isn’t going to complain about when it feels this good. He grinds back down on Ilya, and they both groan at the feeling. Normally, by this point, one of them will get impatient, and this time it’s looking like it’s going to be Ilya, who’s panting into Shane’s mouth and trying to tug Shane’s sweats down his hips.

Shane, though, is content with rutting against Ilya like this for longer, so he refuses to lift his hips up so Ilya can push his pants down all the way.

It’s not until Ilya groans, almost whinily, “Hollanderr,” against Shane’s lips that he decides it's time to actually do something about both of their erections.

“And you call me the needy one?” Shane teases as he takes Ilya’s dick out of his underpants, before tugging his pants down enough to expose his own cock. He wraps his hand around himself, giving himself a few lazy strokes, enjoying himself as he spreads his own precome across his shaft. He doesn’t feel shy about it anymore, getting himself off in front of Ilya, not when it’s evident how into it Ilya is by the twitch of his cock as Shane moans.

Ilya’s holding onto Shane’s waist, his eyes locked on Shane, apparently happy to keep doing and saying nothing. Shane shuffles forward a bit until he can grind his dick up against Ilya’s. It’s not quite frictionless yet, but it still feels good, and Shane wraps as much of his hand as he can around both of them, keeping them pressed together.

And then Shane’s languidly thrusting against Ilya, searching out more of that friction, the sensation of their cocks sliding against each other. He leans down to press kisses everywhere he can reach on Ilya’s face, and then moves down his jaw to his neck. By the time Shane’s lips reach the base of Ilya’s neck, Ilya’s started bucking his hips up as well, and Shane feels so fucking good, almost overwhelmed with it, that he bites down where he’d already been sucking a mark. He doesn’t stay there for long, letting his teeth graze across the column of Ilya’s neck, but then Ilya starts playing with one of his nipples, and Shane sinks his teeth into Ilya again.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane moans against Ilya’s skin, tightening his grip on their cocks where it had gone lax. Ilya groans in response. Where Shane had previously been enjoying enforcing the unhurried grinding, he’s now starting to feel the curl of desperation in his gut. So he starts trying to pump his hand along both of their dicks. It’s easier said than done, since neither of them cared enough to get the lube out, but they’ve also been hard enough for long enough that both their dicks are covered in precome (mostly Shane’s), and it makes the glide just the right side of painfully rough.

Shane wraps his other arm around Ilya’s neck and grabs a fistful of curls, which earns him a throaty “yeah,” and another sharp buck of Ilya’s hips.

“Come on, Ilya, give it to me,” Shane grunts. Ilya lets him tug him forward by the hand in his hair, and he connects their mouths in another messy kiss. Shane sucks on Ilya’s tongue as he tries his best to focus on getting them off, grinding down against Ilya as he pumps his fist over their lengths.

Shane knows Ilya’s coming when he starts frantically rutting into Shane’s hand. “Ngh, Shane,” he groans, drawn out between their lips. He keeps his grip tight as Ilya shudders, and he watches as Ilya covers himself, Shane’s cock, and Shane’s hand in come.

As soon as Ilya’s done coming, soft and lax under him, Shane gives into his overwhelming need to taste Ilya, have him in his mouth, and slides two fingers, both covered in Ilya’s come, past his lips. He laves his tongue over them, cleaning them off. The taste is as salty as ever in his mouth, but Shane doesn’t mind—when he’s like this, blissed out on pleasure, high on Ilya’s touch, he’ll moan at the taste.

Shane’s so focused on his fingers in his mouth, he doesn’t realise Ilya’s recovered from his own orgasm, not until he’s wrapping his hand around Shane’s cock. Shane makes a muffled, breathy noise at the touch. The sensation’s almost too much, Ilya’s hand is completely dry and rough on Shane’s aching, sensitive dick, but it feels so good, and Shane’s so worked up, so close to coming that he bucks up into it anyway.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ilya murmurs. “I’ve got you.” And he does, he’s got Shane, he’s taking care of Shane the way he always does. It’s that thought that has him pulling his hand out of his mouth so that he can replace his fingers with Ilya’s lips.

Shane’s thrusts are erratic as he fucks Ilya’s hand, searching for his own release. Ilya bites down on Shane’s lip, and with one more stroke of his hand, Shane’s coming with a ragged moan, pleasure seizing in his gut as he spills over Ilya’s fist.

Shane rests his forehead against Ilya’s as he catches his breath.

“I love you,” Ilya tells him, voice dripping with affection. 

Ilya manages to fall asleep not long after that, somehow, despite having woken up from a nap an hour prior. Sleep doesn’t come nearly as easily to Shane, who’s stuck lying awake, thinking. He didn’t get the chance to ask Ilya about what he found on his laptop between cleaning up, talking about Shane’s day at work, and then Ilya passing out again. He can’t get it out of his head, though.

He just wants to know why Ilya was keeping it a secret. He could have been trying to surprise him with it, Shane supposes, but for some reason that doesn’t feel like the right answer.

They play around with toys, and fuck in all kinds of positions regularly. But since the time Ilya’d fucked Shane through three orgasms, they haven’t done anything nearly as intensive. That’s not to say it’s not intense every time they fuck, Shane frequently feels overwhelmed with the intensity of his lust for Ilya.

But they haven’t done anything like that since the single time, a few months ago. In the aftermath, they’d talked about it, because it seemed like it had really freaked Ilya out. It really scared him, he had told Shane. He had been so worried then that it makes sense, Shane thinks, that faced again with the prospect of possibly hurting Shane, Ilya’d take it seriously.

Ilya’ll put research into it, make sure they do it right, because Ilya doesn’t want to hurt Shane. But as Shane thinks about what that means, something starts building in his chest, pinning him down like a lead weight.

Ilya doesn’t want to hurt Shane, but Shane keeps asking him to anyway.

It occurs to him that he’s never asked Ilya if he wants what Shane wants. Has Shane been so self-centred that he hasn’t even been considering whether or not Ilya actually wants to do the same things he does? Ilya’d been into it last time in the end, but it also took weeks of thinking for him to agree to do it in the first place, and he’d had a rough time immediately after.

Shane knows Ilya would do a lot for him. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop being floored by just how much Ilya’s willing to do for him.

Last year, he and Ilya had been speaking with the instructor of one of their con-ed sessions, who made a comment on Ilya not being around as much lately. When Shane had questioned what he meant by that, Ilya had tried to laugh it off. But the instructor went on to say that he used to see a lot more of Ilya, because there was a year when Ilya had attended every single session.

All Shane had needed to do was take one look at Ilya, who looked almost embarrassed, and he was able to put the dots together. He had to excuse them both from the conversation soon after that, drag Ilya into the nearest bathroom, and get him off then and there.

Even now, months and months after finding out, thinking about how Ilya’d been going to weekly con-ed without fail just to see him makes Shane nearly too emotional to speak.

But Ilya gets so worried about hurting Shane, about being good for him, that he’s beginning to worry he’s doing things he doesn’t want to, just because Shane wants it. Has he been hiding that he’s not interested in the same things Shane is? Because he thinks that’s what Shane wants?

They’ve been together for long enough, and have done enough together, that Shane’s no longer completely ashamed of his urge to, well, submit, for Ilya. There are times when he still wishes he could do a better job keeping it together around him, where he wishes he were less desperately easy for Ilya. But then Ilya will do something mindblowingly hot, like coming home after a shift and casually mentioning that he successfully recognised long QT syndrome on a 12-lead, and treated the patient’s subsequent arrhythmia with magnesium sulfate. And what is Shane supposed to do when he hears that, other than drop to his knees nearly immediately?

In general, though, Shane’s much less ashamed of his desires than he was when they first started fucking around in hospital bathrooms together. Ilya makes him feel comfortable wanting. And it’s not that he thinks Ilya doesn’t want him—sometimes, Shane swears Ilya’s default state is ‘horny’.

But to be held down and used like a toy, to be tied up and surrender control completely, to want Ilya to take, and take, and take, even when Shane’s begging him to stop—these aren’t normal things to want, are they?

Shane’s supposed to be boring. He knows he’s boring. The thing that Ilya tells Shane most, second only to the fact that he loves him, is that he’s boring. Shane worries, sometimes, that he’ll be too boring for Ilya. Maybe he worried so much about being boring that his brain overcompensated and made him like this, instead. And that’s why he wants these things that he knows aren’t normal? Maybe that’s it, and Shane’s not actually a huge fucking freak?

Regardless of why Shane wants what he does, he’d like to hope Ilya’d tell him if he didn’t want something. However, he’s also aware of the fact that Ilya hides things from Shane if he thinks Shane won’t like them. Shane’s not a good liar, and he’s not good at hiding things. As a result, he ends up being more or less completely transparent to Ilya. But then Ilya’s not transparent back, for one reason or another, and Shane ends up missing the problem because Ilya doesn’t tell him, and then Shane feels awful about it.

There are a million questions rattling around Shane’s brain. Is this one of those times? Are there signs he’s been missing that Ilya doesn’t want this? Is he the one pushing Ilya too far? Is Ilya scared to say no to him? Shane thought he wasn’t kinky at all, but no, god, Shane’s actually a fucking freak, isn’t he?

Shane recognises that he’s beginning to panic, so he rolls over onto his side, meaning to get out of bed and start pacing the living room or something. Maybe go for a late-night run, try to burn the anxiety off. Maybe if he runs hard enough, he can leave whatever’s wrong with him behind.

He’s stopped from getting up by an arm flung haphazardly over his waist. He pauses, and then Ilya’s rolling over onto his side as well, curling up against Shane’s back. Ilya presses his face into the nape of Shane’s neck, and he can’t stop himself from relaxing into the touch.

“Mmngh,” Ilya mumbles, eloquently. There’s some unintelligible Russian, and then he’s asking, “What is matter?”

Not for the first time, Shane wishes he were better at Russian. He’s been trying to learn, to surprise Ilya. Even though when he’d brought it up in the past, Ilya’d said that he hadn’t been back in so long that he saw North America as his home now.

But it’s evident by the way that he defaults back to Russian when he’s tired, or angry, or really turned on, that it’s still his mother tongue. That Shane hasn’t been working harder on learning causes more guilt to fester, curdling low in his chest.

He tries to shake the feeling off so that he can answer Ilya. “Nothing, go back to bed,” he says. The arm around his waist pulls him in closer.

Shane feels, more than hears, Ilya speak against his skin. “Want to go back to bed with you,” he grumbles.

Shane rolls over so that he can look Ilya in the face. He has curls matted to his forehead, pillow marks across his cheek. He’s going to need to shave in the morning; Shane can spot stubble coming in across his jaw. Ilya blinks slowly, tiredly at him. Shane loves him so incredibly much that he thinks he actually might be sick with it.

“If you don’t want to do something, you know you can tell me, right?” Shane asks. Ilya blinks again, and before Shane can even process what he’s saying, he’s speaking again. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I don’t want you thinking I won’t love you, I’ll love you the same no matter what, you can say no, it’s okay.”

“What is this about?” Ilya asks, looking vaguely more awake.

The words stumble out of Shane’s mouth. “If you don’t want the things I want, you don’t have to—to force yourself. I didn’t know I would—I swear I didn’t, I—”

“Shane,” Ilya cuts him off. Shane presses his lips shut. Breathes in through his nose. Out through his mouth. He needs to be calm about this. Ilya brings a hand up, softly caressing Shane’s jaw. “Is okay.”

His touch is so soft against Shane’s skin. Shane, who’s apparently a depraved fucking animal. Shane twists his head away, guilt continuing to rot away at his chest, as Ilya frowns.

“No, it’s not okay,” Shane snaps, and he can’t keep looking at Ilya like this, who’s so fucking sweet, so careful with Shane. Shane’s not even sure why he’s getting upset. He just can’t be here right now.

He pushes himself up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, walking into the living room before Ilya can make any other moves to keep him in bed. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to do now that he's out here. He just can’t be in bed with Ilya, so soft and vulnerable, while Shane’s some—some fucking freak taking advantage of him.

There’s footsteps, and Shane knows that Ilya, being the stubborn ass he is, has followed Shane into the living room. Ilya would follow Shane anywhere, without Shane having to ask. Normally, that thought is comforting, makes Shane absurdly fond. Right now, it just makes Shane feel worse.

Shane spins around to—he doesn’t know, yell, maybe? only to find Ilya’s gaze locked on his laptop, sitting on the couch. They both know that’s not where Ilya left it—Ilya almost never uses it at home, so it lives near-permanently in his bag.

“Ah,” Ilya says, understanding, coloring his tone.

Great, now Shane feels even fucking worse. Why didn’t he put it back? Now Ilya’s going to think he’s been snooping on purpose, or that Shane’s mad. “I had to finish a chart, and I left my laptop at the station, I didn’t mean to—it was all just open—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ilya says, again, and Shane wants to scream. But before Shane can answer, Ilya’s asking, sounding confused, “Do you not want it?”

That’s so far from the fucking problem Shane might just actually choke on it. “That’s not the issue,” Shane tries to start.

Ilya’s starting to sound annoyed when he asks, “Okay, then what is the problem? I do not understand.” Maybe if he stopped cutting Shane off, Shane could actually explain what the problem is. Shane forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s not going to solve anything by snapping at Ilya.

“Do you even want it?” Shane asks.

He can’t decipher what the look on Ilya’s face means when he replies with “Why do you think I do not want this?”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt me, Ilya,” Shane answers, the words falling out of him. “But I keep fucking asking you to, and I don’t—I didn’t think I was going to be like this either, okay? I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why I want these things, but you don’t—if you don’t feel comfortable and if you don’t want to do this, then just fucking tell me. I’m not going to love you any less just because I’m—I’m some sick fucking freak.”

It’s silent for a moment, the only noise in the room is Shane's heavy breathing. Shane risks a glance at Ilya and finds him frowning, which Shane hates to see, so he immediately locks his eyes back on the couch.

“You are not a freak, Shane,” Ilya starts, carefully.

“Yes I fucking am, Ilya, why else would I want you to—to fucking hold me down and use me so badly—“

“That does not make you a freak,” Ilya cuts him off. He steps closer to Shane, and Shane doesn’t move, but doesn’t look up. “You are not half-man, half-fish. So you are not a freak.”

Shane can’t fucking believe him. He whips his head up to glare at Ilya, because now is not the time for Ilya’s stupid fucking jokes. But Ilya’s not making the cheeky face he usually does after a bad joke. Ilya looks cautious, like Shane is going to lash out at any second. Shane again forces himself to breathe, and Ilya places a hand on Shane’s shoulder. When Shane doesn’t flinch away, he does the same to the other side.

“Wanting things does not make you a freak, or weird,” Ilya says, gently. Shane wants to rebut that immediately, but Ilya keeps going. “It is good when you tell me what you want. That you choose to ask, it is precious to me.” Ilya pauses again, appearing to choose his next words carefully. “You are right, I do not want to hurt you.”

Shane manages to get out a “See—“ before Ilya continues to steamroll over him.

“I only worry because I like it too. It’s hot. That you want me this bad,” Ilya explains. “That you are willing to let me have control. I only get scared I’ll go too far, that I will hurt you.”

This does not make Shane feel any better. “We don’t have to do this shit if it fucking scares you, Ilya.” The grip on his shoulders tightens slightly, and Shane looks away.

“Just fucking listen to me, Shane,” Ilya says, insistently. “Look. If you are, what, a ‘sick freak’? Then I am a sick freak too, because I want you just as bad. I want all the same things, and more. We are like this together, okay? ”

Shane cannot process how fucking touched he is right now, or he’ll fully melt through the floor. “I thought I was supposed to be boring,” he says, instead.

“Don’t worry, you are still the most boring person I have ever met,” Ilya reassures him. “Nothing will ever change that.”

“Thanks,” Shane says, dryly. He places his hands on Ilyas, where they’re holding his shoulders, and more seriously, asks, “You really want this?”

“Yes, Shane, I really want this,” Ilya confirms, and even Shane can pick up on the exasperation in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know it’s not easy dealing with me—"

Ilya cuts him off. “Yes, it is so hard to have a very hot, very horny boyfriend,” he bemoans. “I suffer so much. And now he wants me to tie him up and fuck him, how will I survive this?"

Shane sighs. “Can you take this seriously?”

“I am taking this very seriously,” Ilya says, completely unseriously. “My dick is getting sucked too often, I am constantly miserable. I wake up every day dating the prettiest man ever, even though he has an awful IV success rate— ”

“It’s not that bad—“

“—and he is in love with me, and lives with me, and lets me fuck him all the time. It’s a horrible problem to have.”

Shane knows the smile on his face has to be disgustingly sappy. “I don’t know if I’m qualified to treat that problem,” he murmurs. “It’s out of my scope of practice. You might just have to deal with it forever.”

“That’s okay,” Ilya says, and he’s smiling at Shane, now, too. “I do not want it to ever go away.”

Shane loves him so fucking much he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he leans in, briefly nips at Ilya’s neck with his teeth, and then presses a soft kiss to Ilya’s lips. Ilya tries to return it, but it doesn’t last long before he’s pulling away to yawn.

Around it, Ilya demands, “We are good now, so back to bed, please,” and then starts pulling at Shane’s shoulders.

Shane has two options: he can trust Ilya’s word or not. But when it comes down to it, Shane’s always going to choose to trust Ilya. So he’ll believe that Ilya does want this, he’ll let him lead him back to bed, and he’ll fall asleep, wrapped in his arms.

If Shane thought talking to Ilya was going to have a net positive effect on his sanity, he would’ve been sorely mistaken. Things feel like they get worse, actually, because now that the horse is out of the bag, Ilya has no reason to hide his motivations.

So he’ll sit there, tying his own legs together, saying shit like ‘This will look so good on you, Hollander’ because he still refuses to practice on Shane. Ilya keeps claiming it will ‘ruin the actual experience’ if Shane gets a ‘preview,’ which, first of all, Shane feels pretty positive isn’t how things work. And second of all, Shane will never get tired of being touched by Ilya, so the experience could never be ruined.

But his protests fall on deaf ears, so instead of getting tied up himself, Ilya weaves ornate, complex patterns across his own legs, while Shane sits there, watching, painfully turned on.

Ilya won’t even tell him what his plans are. All he knows is that Ilya’s convinced Shane won’t be able to walk afterwards, or something, because he’s insistent on only doing it when Shane will have multiple days in a row off afterwards. This requires Shane to swap shifts with another medic, and when he’s putting the trade request in, he thinks about how he’s swapping shifts just so he can get fucked and then considers drowning himself. Luckily, nobody asks questions, and Shane ends up with a week the next month where he has four whole days off in a row.

Having a set date just makes the anticipation even worse. Two weeks out, he becomes convinced Ilya’s engaging in a psychological torture campaign—Shane keeps finding ropes everywhere around the house. One notable morning, he opens the fridge to get vegetables for his smoothie and finds a length of rope coiled neatly next to the celery.

On a shift almost exactly a week before his ‘vacation,’ Shane has a patient pass out on the toilet. This happens a lot, no big deal, except for the fact that the patient was so big and the bathroom so small that only one person could fit inside. As the medic, that job fell to Shane, and he ended up contorted between the toilet and the wall for the entire twenty minutes it took for the fire department to show up and help get the patient out. His leg violently disagreed with him the entire time, and no amount of post-call hot packs were able to soothe the pain that persisted over the following days.

Shane’s religious about performing his stretches and exercises as directed by PT, and he tries to stay off it as much as he can while he’s at home. Shane’s not going to let his fucking leg ruin another goddamn thing for him, so he doubles down on the stretching and takes extra care not to eat anything that won’t help his body with the healing process.

His hard work pays off, and on his last shift before he’s off, he’s proud of himself that he’s managed to bring the pain down to his normal baseline work-aching.

On the way back to the station after a call, he checks his phone.

[15:03] Ilya: i took chicken out to thaw for dinner [thumbs up emoji]

[15:17] Ilya: wow

[15:17] Ilya: no thank you?

[15:18] Ilya: [crying_cat.gif]

[15:44] You: I was on a call, asshole.

[15:44] Ilya: so you were… tied up? [winky face] [fire emoji]

Shane must make some kind of noise at that, because Hayden asks him if he’s okay. He brushes him off and then responds to Ilya.

[15:45] You: I actually fucking hate you.

[15:45] Ilya: no you don’t [heart eyes emoji]

[15:45] You: No, I really, really do.

A few minutes go by without a response, so Shane follows up with,

[15:49] You: Thank you for getting the chicken out :)

[15:49] You: [heart emoji]

He’s not proud of how relieved he feels when Ilya responds immediately with another heart emoji.

Shane spends the rest of his shift ignoring the ache in his hip and the anticipation in his gut.

When the time comes, Ilya has him start by sitting on the bed. He looks serious, in a way he normally reserves for other people, and he’s holding multiple lengths of navy blue rope in his hands. Shane’s buzzing with anticipation, so much so that, to his dismay, he can already feel himself starting to grow hard just looking at Ilya with the rope. Which he can’t hide, because he’s fully undressed.

Ilya clearly notices, because he raises his brows, asking, “Already, Hollander?”

“Shut up,” Shane says. “Are you going to get on with it or what?”

“So impatient,” Ilya complains, but he starts moving anyway, kneeling on the bed behind Shane. “Arms behind your back,” he instructs, and Shane immediately obeys. This is not a situation he feels compelled to try to rile Ilya up in. He feels Ilya move his arms so that they’re crossed behind him, and then there’s the rope, winding around his forearms, binding them to each other. Shane can’t help but shiver at the first knot he feels Ilya make, his dick twitching with interest.

“Wiggle your fingers for me,” Ilya says. Shane does, and then gives an experimental tug at his restraints. His forearms go nowhere, crossed and bound to each other behind his back. “Can you feel me touching?” Ilya continues, stroking the backs of Shane’s hands. Shane nods, and then Ilya’s fingers are pressing just below his wrist on each of his arms, right where Shane knows to feel for a radial pulse.

“Pulse, motor, sensation intact,” Ilya murmurs, and Shane can’t help but snort.

“I don’t remember this being on any national registry skills sheets.”

Ilya hums in a way that usually means Shane’s going to hate whatever comes out of his mouth next. “Oh, so you don’t want to immobilize my long bone?”

“Not if you keep putting it like that, I don’t,” Shane says, to distract from how horribly turned on he is. He’s almost fully hard, just from Ilya tying his forearms up. “That’s gross.”

“You like it,” Ilya accuses, as he begins sliding the rope over Shane’s shoulders and then around his chest. Shane’s trying to pay attention to what Ilya’s doing, but he’s distracted by the increasing feeling of restriction as Ilya begins to incorporate a second rope around his torso and upper arms.

“Says who?”

Ilya chooses to reply to that with a particularly rough tug of the rope across Shane’s chest, which he can’t help but groan at, and yeah, point made, he supposes.

Shane zones out for a bit as he watches Ilya work. Every time Ilya checks in and asks Shane to attempt to move, he has less and less range of motion. There’s enough rope around him at this point that Shane couldn’t escape if he tried, and he’s already feeling a bit dazed from it.

More and more knots get tied around his chest and arms, and Shane’s not sure what the grand plan is until Ilya asks Shane to take a deep breath in and let it out. On Shane’s exhale, as he’s letting the last of the air in his lungs out, Ilya tugs on something to tighten the harness over his chest, and then asks him to breathe again.

Shane tries, but with Ilya having tightened the harness, his chest barely has any room to expand, and he can barely get what feels like half a breath in before the tightness of the harness gets unbearably painful. He looks down at the diamond pattern his chest is wrapped in, and watches his pecs bulge against the tension of the rope. He can’t help but moan, or at least try to. Ilya lets the harness go slightly more slack, so Shane can get full breaths in again.

“Not too tight?” Ilya asks.

“I mean, I couldn’t breathe,” Shane says.

“Yes, besides that.” Ilya’s still behind him, so Shane can’t see what his face is doing, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he was smiling smugly.

Well, if his goal is to suffocate Shane, it’s not like there’s a lot Shane can do to stop him right now. “Sure? Besides that, it’s fine?”

Ilya gets off the bed and stands in front of Shane, looking him up and down. “Not bad,” he says. “You look pretty. Stand up.”

Shane’s on his feet before he’s even processed the command, and then Ilya’s wrapping yet another length of rope around his waist and each of his thighs.

“Would be easier if you weren’t hard,” Ilya comments, mildly, like he’s talking about the weather, and not about Shane’s cock getting in the way of the rope he’s looping around Shane’s bare thighs.

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”

“Shane, I haven’t even touched you,” Ilya states, which is patently false, but then he’s tugging at the harness around Shane’s hips, and oh, he could get Shane into any position like this. Shane whines, just a little bit, and Ilya laughs outright at him. “Wow, you really like this.”

“I—” Shane tries to protest, but Ilya’s yanking at the hip harness again, and what ends up leaving his mouth is a breathy “yeah.”

“Good. Get on your knees.” Despite Shane feeling a bit off balance, with his arms tied behind his back, he manages to drop to his knees without issue. Unfortunately, instead of unzipping himself so that Shane can suck his cock, Ilya’s moved to crouch down behind Shane.

“What?” Shane asks, as he feels Ilya start wrapping rope around one of his ankles.

“Almost done,” Ilya replies, repeating the action with his other ankle. “Legs together. Sit back.” Shane shuffles so that his thighs are pressed together, and he’s resting his weight on his calves, then Ilya’s connecting something to the back of the chest harness. Ilya does his extremity check, and once he’s satisfied with Shane’s ability to wiggle all his toes, Shane can hear him shuffle around, looking for something.

“Everything feels okay?” Ilya asks again, and Shane nods. His hip shouldn’t be a problem unless he really tries to compress his knees to his chest, but just kneeling is fine. He’s already feeling a bit out of it, and he’s painfully turned on, but the ropes feel fine.

And then Shane’s gasping, as he feels the press of something cool and solid against his hole.

“Oh,” he groans, as the object begins to vibrate. Ilya rubs the vibrator against Shane, rocking it against his entrance ever so slightly. It’s unlubed, so Shane knows Ilya won’t be fucking him with it, but he tries to grind back into it all the same. The second he starts canting his hips back, though, Ilya pulls the toy away.

“Ilya, c’mon—” Shane tries to complain. He can’t see anything from where he’s kneeling, can only hear what sounds like a suction cup being applied to something.

“If you want it, you will need to work for it,” Ilya says. Shane has no idea what that means, but then Ilya’s grabbing onto the ropes twined around Shane’s waist, sliding him backwards. He feels his feet press up against something, and it’s not hard to guess what it is, considering that it’s vibrating. Ilya must’ve suction cupped it to the floor, Shane realizes.

“Seriously?” he asks, as Ilya sits himself on the edge of the bed, watching Shane.

Ilya laughs, because he’s an asshole. “Yes, seriously.”

Shane doesn’t want to give Ilya the satisfaction of immediately trying to grind back down onto the vibrator, but it had felt so good against him, and Ilya spent what felt like hours tying him up. So it takes very little time before Shane’s trying to figure out how he’s going to accomplish fucking himself on it.

He starts by trying to slide back a bit. This gets him closer, but not nearly close enough. So he starts trying to spread his thighs apart and grind his ass back, closer to the ground. This doesn’t work because the vibrator is farther past his ankles, so he spreads them apart too, so he can try to shuffle himself back onto it.

Shane gets his legs spread far enough that he’s able to start rolling his ass back onto the vibrator. His victory, however, is short-lived—it’s immediately overshadowed by the fact that he can’t fucking breathe. The ropes around his chest have gotten absurdly tight, preventing him from taking a full breath. He chokes on the breath he had been trying to take, and immediately realizes that the further he spreads his legs to try to sink onto the vibrator underneath him, the less he can breathe.

Fuck, Ilya must’ve connected the rope connecting his ankles to the chest harness, because if he wants to get the vibrator on his hole, he has to move his legs. But if he spreads his legs for too long, or too far, he can’t breathe, and that’s a real problem.

On a professional level, Shane isn’t all that concerned. His airway isn’t in danger, and if he gets a bit hypoxic and syncopizes, not only does Ilya know how to do mouth-to-mouth, but they keep an emergency ambu-bag in the bathroom, which Shane trusts Ilya to use if it comes down to it. Shane has no underlying lung issues that would impair re-oxygenation, nor does he have any heart issues that would inhibit perfusion. So yeah, he knows he’ll be fine physically even if he does pass out.

On a sexual level, Shane thinks he’s going to start crying. Shane’s been lightheaded since the first knot Ilya tied. He’s been hard since Ilya started tying him up forever ago. He just wants more, and the vibrator underneath him feels so fucking good. But he can only get a handful of seconds of pleasure before the restriction becomes too much and he’s gasping, chest heaving against his bonds, left with no choice but to try to bring his legs back together.

“You—you fucking asshole—” Shane spits at Ilya, who looks completely unsympathetic from his seat on the bed. From where Shane is on the floor, if he shuffled a foot or two forward, he could try to get his face in Ilya’s crotch.

Not that he wants to do that right now, because Ilya’s saying, “That does not sound like a ‘thank you’,” and Shane’s going to fucking kill him, he really, really is.

“That’s because it fucking isn’t, you—” Shane’s cut off by the harsh slap of Ilya’s palm against his cheek, and he groans at the sting of it.

“If you cannot shut up, then I will make you,” Ilya says, crouching in front of Shane again. He has another length of rope in his hand, and before Shane knows it, Ilya has him by the hair and is yanking his head back so he’s staring at the ceiling. Shane can’t help but moan, again, which turns out to be a mistake, because now there’s fucking rope stretched across his open mouth, forcing it open wider as Ilya pulls it taut behind his head.

Shane tries to shake his head, to get the rope out, and to move his head, but Ilya must’ve tied it off to some other part of the harness, because when Shane tries to tilt his head forward, there’s no give. He’s stuck with his head tipped back, his mouth open, and his throat on display for Ilya—all of him on display for Ilya, really.

He tries to say something, to curse out Ilya, but he can’t get anything coherent out around the makeshift gag.

“Did you have something to say, Hollander?” Ilya asks, and Shane has no idea where he is, because he can’t fucking move his head. “I thought you would be, well, chomping at the bit for more.” He sounds so fucking smug, like he’s come up with the best joke in the world by comparing Shane’s gag to a horse’s bit. Shane wishes he were any less desperately turned on right now, so he could prove Ilya wrong. But he somehow feels even harder from being gagged and placed on display, and he can still hear the fucking vibrator underneath him.

It takes little time for him to try to sink back down onto it again. It takes even less time for him to lose count of how many times he does. He keeps trying, just to see, spreading his legs so he can rock against the toy underneath him, but he can never last more than a few seconds before he’s heaving, gasping for breath. Telling himself he’s not going to do it again, he’s not going to try again.

But he’s so fucking hard that he goes again, again, and he’s trying to bring his legs back together, after another attempt, when he finds himself struggling with it. It’s taking a lot more effort for him to close his thighs than it did before. Dread curdles in his gut, next to the overwhelming need for more, as he realizes the floor in their bedroom is wood.

Shane’s knees are fucking slipping because he’s working up more and more of a sweat from the exertion, the pleasure of it all. It’s only going to get harder from here to catch his breath, as he loses friction on the floor. And the second this occurs to Shane, he swears. Or at least he tries to, but all he’s able to get out around the rope gag is a muffled noise.

He hears Ilya chuckle and tries to bend his neck so that he can see the asshole laughing. All it does, though, is make it harder for him to breathe, so with a ragged gasp, he gives up. He bites down on the rope in his mouth to try to stop himself from whining, but it doesn’t work, and it escapes him anyway.

“You are making such a mess,” Ilya laughs. “You’re so wet, your cock is leaking all over the floor.” Shane’s legs start sliding out again, and Ilya adds, “Ah, be careful, you’re slipping in it.”

Shane makes a garbled noise of displeasure. He fucking knows he’s slipping in it. Fuck this, fuck Ilya. Shane’s so hard, he wants it so fucking badly, but he can’t get it, and it’s killing him. It’s starting to get hazy, his world narrowing down to the shaking in his thighs as he tries to stop his knees from sliding out, the aching in his dick, the pleasure building and building in his gut with no sign of release on the horizon.

He’s put so much tension on the rope in his mouth that it’s keeping his jaw so wide he doesn’t think he can bite down on it anymore. There’s saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth, trailing down his jaw, his neck, to his chest. He’d care more about the mess he must look like if it wasn’t taking so much fucking effort to keep his legs together, trying to stop himself from sliding out and onto the vibrator.

Wait, Shane thinks, why’s he keeping his legs together in the first place? The vibrator feels so fucking good against him. Why isn’t he letting himself get more?

Staying upright is so much work, and Shane needs more, needs it now, so he stops struggling to bring his legs together and just lets them spread wider, and wider, until the vibrator is pressed up to him again. His chest is so fucking tight it feels like it’s burning, but it doesn’t matter, not when the blunt head of the toy feels so good, buzzing against him. He needs it, needs something in him—he’s gasping, his chest is still on fire, he’s trying desperately to grind his hips back, everything’s getting blurry. But it feels so fucking good. He can’t stop.

Shane tries to get his legs even wider. He might be able to get it in him if he just spreads a little bit more, rocks back a bit further. He feels fuzzy, distant, desperate. His vision is fading, but he needs it. He needs it. He needs—

He’s yanked upright onto his knees again by a sharp tug up on the back of the harness, behind his shoulders. Shane wails in protest at being torn away from the vibrator—he was so fucking close, he almost had it in him. Why can’t he just fucking have it?

It’s not until he’s heaving, desperately gasping for air, his vision coming back to him from where it was going grey at the edges, that he realizes he couldn’t breathe, that’s why he wasn’t supposed to sink onto the vibrator. It takes him an additional second to realize someone is saying something.

“—decided getting your slutty hole filled was more important than breathing, insatiable fucking whore,” Shane hears, and wait, that’s Ilya. He forgot, Ilya’s here, his boyfriend is here, and maybe he’ll fuck Shane, Shane wants him so badly. Shane sniffles—when did he start crying?—and whines, pitifully. He wants to tell him that he’s right, he doesn’t care if he can’t breathe, he just wants Ilya to touch him, to use him and fuck him.

Abruptly, the tension holding him upright by his arms disappears, and the gag is coming out of his mouth. Which means now there’s nothing stopping him from sinking back down on the vibrator anymore.

So Shane immediately spreads his legs again, tries to grind down, but is stopped by a hand carding through his hair and pulling up with a tight grip. His eyes fly open, and he sees Ilya, who’s standing in front of him now, hand in Shane’s hair. It fucking hurts, and Shane tries to protest around the gag—but his mouth is empty.

Oh, the gag is gone. He can talk.

When he tries, though, his mouth is too dry for him to form any words. Shane manages to whine and then opens his mouth wider, sticking his tongue out, hoping Ilya will get the hint.

He hears some kind of strangled noise above him, and then Ilya’s leaning down to spit on Shane’s offered tongue. Shane moans immediately, takes Ilya into his mouth, swirls him around, then swallows him, savors it.

“Thank you,” Shane croaks out, after, and then tries to stick his tongue out again, open his mouth wide. “Please,” he adds, the hand in his hair gripping so tight it burns. He’s not even sure what he’s asking for—he just wants Ilya in his mouth, somehow. Like this, his face is almost directly in Ilya’s crotch. It’d be so easy for him to use Shane, fuck his face.

“What a fucking slut, unbelievable,” Ilya growls, and Shane just nods, mindlessly. He’ll be anything if it gets Ilya inside him.

Then, Ilya’s dick is in Shane’s face, and immediately, Shane’s trying to lean forward, trying to get it in his mouth because he wants it so bad, fucking needs it, but Ilya’s keeping him in place with the hand in his hair. And then, cruelly, he starts jerking himself off, right in front of Shane’s lips.

“No,” Shane whines, because he wants Ilya inside of him, not on his face.

Ilya keeps stroking himself. “You are so spoiled,” he says. “So used to getting what you want, getting your holes filled, that you’re going to cry for it?”

Ilya lets him go, and steps back, and Shane couldn’t stop himself from spreading his legs again if he tried, its so slippery, his thighs hurt, and now his chest hurts, the ropes tightening again, and his sobs are getting cut off but its okay because he’s going to get more, and he doesn’t have to choose anymore, try to stay upright, his body is picking for him he just wants to be filled, wants to come.

Something lands on the floor in front of him, and Shane doesn’t register what it is until he’s being pressed onto his front by pressure on his back, and his face lands on a pillow. His chest is pressed into the floor, now, making it even harder to breathe, but like this, he might be able to get his legs wider before his breath gets caught. He tries, spreads his thighs, only to find out there’s nothing for him to grind down onto now. He lets out a sad moan. He just wants something in him and tries to roll his hips back, searching for the toy, or Ilya, anything to fill him, until a slap to his ass has him bringing his thighs back together in a hurry.

He groans loudly as another strike lands on his ass and tries to flinch away—or maybe tries to grind his dick into the floor—but he’s unsuccessful either way because Ilya’s yanking his ass up by the harness around his hips. Shane’s suddenly very aware of the fact that Ilya’s grip is the only thing keeping him up.

“You need to be filled so badly, don’t you?” Ilya coos. “Fucking stupid for it.”

And then finally, finally, there’s something against his hole, pressing inside of him, cold and wet and hard—fuck, it's the vibrator, but that’s not what Shane wants, what Shane needs.

“Want you,” Shane protests around a whine, even as he’s trying to push himself back onto it. That’s not Ilya’s cock, and all he fucking wants is Ilya’s cock.

Ilya scoffs from behind him. “Is this not enough?” he asks, as he pushes the toy further into Shane. Shane groans as it settles directly against his prostate, and then, without delay, begins vibrating again.

Shane responds with a punched out moan, as he tries to rock back against it, grind up, do anything, get more, it’s fucking pulsating against him, he just needs a little more, just a little more. It feels so good, the pressure on his prostate is so much, the vibrations are making him see stars, he’s so fucking close, but Ilya’s right, it’s not enough.

“Ilya, please, please, please—” his begging is cut off with a sharp noise as Ilya roughly grabs at one of the ropes around his chest, pulling it so tight Shane can barely get any air in his lungs. He tries to wiggle out, but Ilya’s grasp is firm; there’s no give. His lungs feel fire hot and ice cold as he desperately tries to get air in him. He’s so dizzy, he doesn’t know if his eyes are open or closed, everything’s the same shade of grey, he can’t even moan, and then the vibrations inside of him get more intense and all of a sudden it goes from not enough to too much—

Shane spasms and writhes as pleasure explodes from inside him. It’s like he’s been fucking struck by lightning, an electric current tearing throughout his body, every single cell lit up with sheer pleasure. Shane’s never felt like this before, he doesn’t know what this is, bu it’s so fucking good, all he can do is just ride it out. Let himself shatter like glass thrown at a wall. His throat hurts, and he thinks he might be screaming— if he is, he doesn’t know. Anything beyond the pleasure he’s drowning in right now isn’t important, it feels so good, he might be dying with it.

After what feels like an eternity, it begins to subside. As he comes back into himself, Shane realizes he can breathe again, and also that he’s still fucking hard. He’s just as turned on as he was before, just as desperate. Whatever that was felt amazing, but did not sate him in the slightest. He’s sobbing, and his dick still fucking aches, he can feel his pulse racing through him, unhealthily fast. Even worse, he’s empty now, because whatever was filling him up before is gone.

In the absence of any other sensation, Shane begins to notice that his left leg is going numb past the hip, and not in a good way. In the kind of way that promises real consequences if he doesn’t stretch it out, and soon. It’s the rope around his leg, he thinks, digging into his inner thigh and most likely applying pressure to his obturator nerve. Why this is information he's able to recall right now is beyond him, honestly.

“Ilya,” he tries to call out, but it comes out breathier than Shane intends, given the levity of the situation. He attempts again. “Ilya, my leg.”

Shane hears a swear and then some shuffling before there are hands on his hips, and the cool brush of metal against his skin.

“Stay still, I am cutting the rope off,” Ilya commands. He snips the cord around Shane’s left thigh off, releasing the pressure it had been placing on his inner thigh.

He also cuts the tie connecting his ankles to the chest harness that’s been the bane of Shane’s existence since they started this. Ilya’s hands are gentle as he helps him adjust, stretching his left leg, straightening it out. Shane lets out a soft sigh of relief. That’s so much better, Ilya’s so good to him.

“Does it hurt?” Ilya asks as he runs his hands up and down Shane’s thigh.

Shane shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he slurs into the pillow. He’s still feeling hazy and desperately turned on, and Ilya’s hands feel so good that his ability to focus on the fading numbness is disappearing rapidly.

Ilya gives his leg a soft squeeze and then leans down to kiss the nape of Shane’s neck, just above where the rope intersects itself to wrap over Shane’s shoulders. “We can stop, if you want.”

Shane lets out a deeply pathetic noise at that. “‘m okay now—don’t stop, please, need you,” he begs, feeling like he’s about to start crying again.

He really might, if Ilya makes them stop, doesn’t fucking come in him. Distantly, he’s aware he’s never felt quite like this before, like his world is going to fucking end if Ilya doesn’t fuck him.

“Are you sure?”

God, yes, Shane just needs to be touched, needs to be fucked. He’s so fucking desperate for something, anything, he starts trying to grind his chest against the floor, just to get some friction on his nipples.

It’s not enough, so Shane pleads, “Yeah, yeah, I need you. Want you to fill me up, knock me up, please, Ilya.” He's barely aware of what he’s babbling, focused on trying his best to spread his legs for Ilya.

Shane hears a long, drawn-out, “Oh, fuck,” as hands grip his hips. “You want me to fuck a baby into you, Hollander?” Ilya growls, grinding his dick against Shane’s ass. Shane groans at the feeling of Ilya’s hard cock rubbing against his hole.

Shane’s in danger of actually passing out, he’s so turned on right now. “Fuck, yes please oh—fuck,” Shane’s near incoherent as he attempts to roll his hips back against Ilya. He hears the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then gasps as he feels cold lube drizzle across his ass and Ilya’s dick.

Ilya makes some vague Russian-sounding noises, and then, “Going to use you like the whore you are, fuck you until it sticks, knock you up.”

A guttural noise escapes straight from Shane’s throat as Ilya grabs him by the rope around his waist, yanking Shane’s ass up towards him.

“Yes, need it, fuck me pregnant,” Shane slurs, and feels Ilya line himself up with his hole. Shane knows he’s barely been prepped, and normally, he’d probably put up resistance, but he needs Ilya in him so fucking badly right now that he doesn’t care. He just wants Ilya to use him, fuck him, fill him. If it hurts, it's fine as long as it gets him what he needs.

With one hand holding Shane’s hip and the other in Shane’s hair, pressing him into the pillow and the floor, Ilya pushes into Shane with little hesitation. Shane lets out a broken moan. The burn is so much. Oh fuck, he’s actually being split open.

The hand on his head keeps pushing him down as Ilya continues to feed his cock into Shane’s hole. It’s painful, but bearable, until the second Ilya’s fully inside of Shane. He pulls out only to immediately deliver a brutal thrust back in, and Shane opens his mouth to scream, but nothing comes out, because Ilya’s grabbing him by the ropes again, tugging at the ones around his chest so he can’t breathe, can’t make a single fucking sound.

“There you go, taking it so well,” Ilya groans, and then releases his grip. Shane manages to release a garbled moan, and then Ilya’s holding his head down again, his cock slamming into him over and over. And Shane can’t move, can’t do anything but take it and let Ilya use him. The pain has rapidly turned into pleasure, or maybe Shane’s brain just thinks it has, as Ilya establishes a hard and fast pace. He’s relentless as he fucks into Shane, who’s tied up, completely Ilya’s.

“It’s so good, fuck, Ilya—” Shane pants. He tries to roll his hips back again, but there’s no give. All he can do is moan and drool into the pillow, whimper for more, choke on his breath when Ilya decides to make him.

Which he’s been doing with increasing frequency as he fucks into Shane, and now Shane’s barely able to catch his breath before Ilya’ll start pulling at the ropes again, restricting Shane’s chest. He struggles to breathe against the bonds, and he’s perpetually dizzy with it—his head fucking spinning and his dick aching.

“Yeah, is what you fucking need,” Ilya grunts. “Always need to be filled so fucking badly.”

Shane can’t even make a noise in response, couldn’t formulate words even if he was being forced to. He feels on the edge of an explosion. His dick is hanging heavy between his legs, throbbing, he’s so fucking wet, so, so fucking wet, his ass is covered in lube, his dick is leaking everywhere, his face is a mess of drool and tears. Ilya’s cock is so fucking hot inside of him, slamming into his prostate, again and again, driving him insane with it.

Ilya pulls at the harness again, the hardest he has yet, causing the rope to slide against Shane’s nipples. Every time he tries to breathe, it just presses them against the rope, and Ilya’s not letting go, not releasing him.

But it’s okay, he’s fucking into Shane so hard, Shane feels so good. Ilya’s taking such good care of him, Ilya’s using him, not letting Shane think, all he knows is that he’s Ilya’s, he’s all Ilya’s. He’s Ilya’s, so he lets himself give up, stops trying to struggle for breath against the rope. Shane gives in, goes boneless, spineless, letting Ilya take all of him, use him however he wants.

The pressure on his chest releases, it must, he’d probably be unconscious if he wasn’t breathing by now, but Shane can’t even register it. It's all a haze, he’s not sure where his body is, he doesn’t have any control over any of it. He’s mush, a puddle, a toy for Ilya to fuck, and use, and breed.

He loses himself in a trance from the rhythm of Ilya fucking him, using him. He lies there and whimpers as Ilya takes his pleasure from Shane’s ass. Ilya’s groaning, saying things in Russian, or maybe English, but it’s all white noise, all meaningless to Shane until eventually he feels the rhythm of Ilya’s thrusts get messier, sloppier, deeper. All Shane can do is shudder as it eventually skips a beat, then stops altogether, and then there’s a warmth inside of him that wasn’t there before.

It’s Ilya, he knows it’s Ilya, Ilya’s filling him, this is what Shane fucking needed, Ilya’s gonna knock him up. Shane’s already next to ecstasy with the feeling of it, but then he can’t breathe again, and there’s a voice next to his ear whispering, “Come for me, Shane.”

With what feels like the last air in his lungs, Shane manages to whimper, “‘m yours,” and then his brain’s going completely white, he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, he’s a blank slate, all Ilya’s, so all he can do is moan brokenly, pitifully, as he obeys and comes, shooting onto the floor underneath him.

Things go white, for a few moments. As Shane’s orgasm ends, he’s vaguely aware of Ilya untying him—unbinding his arms first, then his chest, and his remaining leg. Through the haze, he follows as Ilya has him stretch his arms and legs out, and then lets Ilya help him off the floor onto the bed.

Once he’s helped Shane onto the bed, Ilya disappears again. Shane doesn’t like this at all. He wants his fucking boyfriend back.

But Shane still feels like soup, so he doesn’t protest, just lies there, waiting for Ilya to return.

“Love you,” he mumbles when Ilya comes back with a wet cloth. His thoughts are a mess, but if he knows one thing, it’s that he really, really fucking loves Ilya.

“I love you so much,” Ilya says back. Good.

Once he’s cleaned up, Shane feels more or less like he can form coherent thoughts again. The aching of his muscles is starting to make itself known, so Shane turns himself into Ilya’s side and kisses his shoulder, before resting his head on his chest.

“How are you?” Shane asks, because there’s a non-zero chance Ilya might be freaking out right now.

“How are you?” Ilya deflects. Not reassuring.

But Shane knows he won’t get an answer until he gives Ilya one, so he evaluates: he feels fucking great. He feels like he’s been hard wiped, like Ilya held his power button down and reset all of his settings to factory default. He’s sore, and he knows he’s going to be more sore as time passes, and his throat feels like it’s been shredded, but he’s deeply content right now.

He curls himself tighter against Ilya’s side and presses another kiss to the span of Ilya’s chest. “God, Ilya, I feel fucking amazing.”

Ilya wraps his arms around Shane, hands rubbing across his back. “You liked it?”

“Yes, I loved it,” Shane confirms, and then adds, “love you.” It’s silent for a second, and another question occurs to him. “Was it good for you, too?”

Ilya sounds incredulous when he repeats, “Was it good for me?” He squeezes where his arms are wrapped around Shane. “Shane, this was the hottest thing I have ever done.”

Shane can’t help the burst of pride he feels in his chest at that.

“Is your leg okay?” Ilya goes on to ask. Shane gets why he’s asking, but he really doesn’t want to think about it in any concrete sense right now, and he especially doesn’t want to be coddled because of it.

“It’ll be fine once I stretch it out in the morning,” Shane says. Ilya makes a dubious noise at that, so Shane kisses his nipple. “Seriously. It’s a bit sore right now, but it’s not bad at all. I’m not hurt.”

Ilya’s quiet, after that, uncharacteristically so. This happened last time—Ilya panicked, thinking he had hurt Shane. Short of reassuring Ilya that he’s not hurt, Shane’s not sure what else to say, his brain is still mostly mush. So instead he sinks his teeth into the meat of one of Ilya’s pecs, just to remind Ilya he’s here, not going anywhere.

He tries his best not to freak out himself, after that. He's mildly successful, focusing on leaving marks across Ilya's chest to distract himself. It’s not until he feels Ilya whispering a soft ya tebya lyublyu into his hair that he lets himself think that things are going to be okay.

Turns out Ilya’d been onto something when he made Shane take multiple days off: Shane feels like he’s been hit by a truck. And then the truck reversed over him, just to run him over again. His knees are bruised, his chest and ass are both sore, his hole feels fucking raw, still—for once, his bad hip isn’t the problem. It all hurts in a good way, though. Every time he moves, he’s reminded of the way Ilya’s hands had felt on him, the glide of the rope tugging against his skin.

But it does mean that when they finally clean up, the next morning, Ilya’s the one on his knees, scrubbing dried cum off the floor while Shane gets to sit on the bed, sorting through Ilya’s rope.

Shane holds up a fragment of rope too short to be used for anything—it must be where Ilya cut the harness off Shane’s leg. “You could’ve just untied them,” he says.

“What?” Ilya asks from the floor.

“You didn’t have to cut the ropes off my leg, now we can’t use them anymore,” Shane complains.

“Shane, it is just rope,” he says. “I had bigger concerns.”

“Now we have less for next time, though.”

Ilya sits upright, stares at Shane on the bed. “Next time?” He’s raising his brows incredulously. “You are already thinking of the next time? You have not had enough?”

Shane looks away. That wasn’t what he meant, but it also isn’t completely untrue. “Fuck off, just forget it.”

Ilya rises from the floor and climbs onto the bed. He crawls over where Shane had been meticulously organizing the rope into neat coils, and Shane wants to protest, but then he has a lapful of Ilya.

“Insatiable,” Ilya accuses, as he wraps his arms around Shane.

Ilya’s been clingy the entire morning, simultaneously seeming wary of touching Shane while also needing to be next to him. Shane’s more than happy to lavish his boyfriend in affection on any day, but if it means he doesn’t beat himself up over giving Shane what he wants, he’ll let Ilya cling as much as he wants.

Shane kisses Ilya’s bare shoulder, softly at first, and then starts sucking a mark when Ilya doesn’t stop him.

“We can get more rope, it’s not a big deal,” Ilya says, eventually.

Shane realizes he has no idea how Ilya even got his hands on this much rope in the first place, so he pulls away and asks.

Ilya presses his lips together. “Do you really want to know the answer?”

Shane’s suddenly deeply suspicious. God, what did Ilya fucking do, go back and ask the instructor of their course for more rope?

The second Shane thinks it, he knows that’s exactly what Ilya did, the asshole. Shane’s going to kill him. He’s actually going to do it this time.

Ilya must recognize that Shane’s onto him, but he doesn’t even have the decency to look repentant as he says, “It is fine, he didn’t even ask why I needed it,” and then immediately tries to capture Shane’s lips in a kiss.

And Shane lets him, because even though Ilya’s the fucking worst sometimes, Shane loves him more than he ever thought he was capable of loving another person. 

He still plans to chew Ilya out. But then Ilya’s sucking on Shane’s lower lip, and actually, it can wait, he decides. For now, Shane’ll let himself indulge.