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Shane had snuck into the hotel Ilya was staying at to surprise the Russian for his birthday.
Unfortunately, he surprised his bodyguards instead.
Shane was well-trained, but not fight-off-four-armed-men-at-once well-trained. It didn’t take long for them to have him winded and subdued, one of them yanking his head back to expose his throat.
“What the hell is the mongrel doing here?”
Shane gritted his teeth at the familiar insult. “At least my family has honor, unlike you Bratva pigs.”
The bodyguard still standing had a knife to his throat in an instant.
“What? Go ahead,” Shane spat, regretting but recognizing that this was almost certainly the moment of his death. “I don’t fear an honorable death.”
Suddenly, the man standing above him smirked in a truly worrying way. “No fear of an honorable death, huh? C’mon boys, I got an idea.”
*~*
Ilya had been enjoying the rave he and his men had started in the hotel ballroom, but Cliff’s promise of a surprise waiting in his room was too intriguing to ignore.
He swaggered into his hotel room, only to stop dead at the doorway to the bedroom.
Someone - someone familiar, holy shit, *Shane* - was tied to his bed, all four limbs to all four corners, with a lube bottle dropped carelessly between his legs and something in his mouth - or so Ilya assumed, with the muffled grunting and frantic (useless) tugging -
What the fuck was Shane even *doing* here, but more importantly -
“Fuck, Shane?” Ilya forced out as he ran to the bed, kneeling and carefully taking the gag out. “Shane, are you okay?“
“Ilya,” the man groaned. “‘m fine. Was gonna surprise you, but surprised those guys instead. Oops.”
“I’ll kill them,” Ilya growled as he noticed the blood on Shane’s lip, thumb brushing against it gently.
“‘m *fine*,” Shane repeated more firmly. “Look, they - they said some shit while they were...tying me up.”
“What did they say?” Ilya asked absently, attention caught by the way Shane was moving, almost like -
“Shane,” Ilya asked disbelievingly. “Are you *hard*?”
“It was hot!” the insane man insisted. “They were talking about lubing me up, but then someone said you might want to fuck me raw, and I just…” Shane writhed harder against the bedspread. “’S hot. Will you?”
“I cannot believe you,” Ilya replied flatly, even as another idea began to take hold.
“…Will you, please?” Shane panted.
“I am not fucking you dry,” Ilya sighed. “But. Maybe - ”
“Yes, yes to whatever, just do it *now*,” Shane groaned.
“You may regret saying that,” Ilya chuckled darkly, “but what my slut wants, my slut gets.”
*~*
“Not your - “ but Shane choked on the rest of that sentence as Ilya, that fucking bastard, licked his asshole.
Licked. His. Asshole.
With his *tongue.*
Shane wasn’t certain whether he was more disgusted or turned on…at least until the tip of Ilya’s tongue snaked inside. Then he moaned at the unexpected sensation, stimulating nerves he didn’t realize he had - and the even more unexpected realization that he liked it (loved it, really). It was absolutely filthy and absolutely mind-blowing, and Shane was utterly lost in the sensation.
Lost, that is, until Ilya’s sultry voice saying his name finally solidified the Russian’s voice from white noise back into words. “ - Shane, that this suite is soundproofed. Otherwise everyone on this floor would be hearing you moan for me, like the desperate slut you are. *My* desperate slut.”
Shane came immediately and violently, vision whiting out as he screamed his way through it.
*~*
Ilya nearly purred in satisfaction when he got Shane to come untouched with just his tongue and a few filthy words. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time in a long time they had the time to continue, for Ilya to wring more pleasure from his lover - and finally come himself.
“If only Cliff had known how easily you spread your legs for me, da? He wouldn’t have had to waste time with this tying nonsense,” Ilya mused to himself as he looked for a condom and let Shane catch his breath. “But then again, if he knew…he wouldn’t call you mongrel anymore, no. He’d see you for what you are - my slutty bitch.”
Shane whined.
“What? Does my bitch have something to say?” Ilya hummed, leaning closer as his fingers finally closed on the crinkly wrapper.
Shane opened and closed his mouth, face somehow flushing a darker red.
“Come on, Shane, you know good bitches ask for what they want,” Ilya cooed, pulse racing faster as he thought about what his lover might ask for, that caused him to blush so fiercely even after everything they’d already done and said.
“…No condom,” Shane finally gritted out.
That…was the last thing he had expected. Shane hated getting messy. “Oh?”
“So you can…” Shane turned his face back into the pillow and muffled the rest of his sentence.
Ilya grabbed his hair and pulled - not enough to really hurt, but enough to sting and earn a lovely gasp as Shane’s head left the pillow. “Say again.”
“So you can…breed me,” Shane forced out.
“Ohhh, my bitch is in heat, wants to be bred nice and full, I see,” Ilya replied as lightly as he could, dropping the condom so he could squeeze his dick hard enough to stop himself from coming right then and there. “And good bitches get what they ask for.”
He let go of Shane’s hair, grabbed his lover’s hips, and thrust straight in. Shane’s pleasured scream was exactly what Ilya wanted to hear, and he changed angles until he nailed Shane’s prostate and hammered away, the sound of Shane’s scream rising to a fever pitch as Ilya growled obscenities in…something, he couldn’t tell anymore if it was Russian or English.
Shane was unbelievably tight, and clenched impossibly tighter when he came for the second time, but Ilya was too far gone to even consider slowing down, taking his bitch as hard as he wanted until he filled that tight ass with come.
Then he collapsed on top of his twitching lover, ignoring the halfhearted grumbling in…either Quebecois or English, he couldn’t tell and wouldn’t listen even if he did understand. Not until Shane muttered something about his hands and Ilya realized he needed to cut the ropes binding his lover immediately.
When he was done rubbing feeling back into Shane’s hands and feet, Ilya grabbed the bruise balm he always kept on hand. Shane had dark rings around his wrists and ankles that would not be hidden easily, and as little as Ilya had cared in the moment, now he felt sick at the thought that they’d linger for weeks - tangible proof of what Ilya had let happen to Shane.
He had only begun to apply the bruise balm when Shane pulled away, grumbling about how he wanted to keep them.
“Shane, they’ll be hard to hide and harder to explain,” Ilya sighed.
“Don’t care,” his lover pouted. “Wanna remember.”
Ilya couldn’t lie, the thought of leaving his marks on Shane was…thrilling, but - “Shane - “
“No. No balm.”
“No balm,” Ilya sighed, screwing it shut and tossing it - somewhere, who cared when Shane looked at him like that tugged him closer.
Shane arranged their positions to his satisfaction - Ilya spooning him and protecting him from the wet spot, as usual - and sighed happily. “Mine.”
“Yours,” Ilya hummed back. “Always.”