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Shane, understandably, is very nervous. It’s not that he’s brand new to porn, but he’s still new. Casting couches and POVs were the main notches on his belt, and he had yet to do anything properly scripted.
Until today.
And not only that, he was going to be working with pornstar royalty - Ilya Rozanov. Now a director, he was a prolific entertainer until he had suddenly stopped starring in films the year before. When Shane first started, he had secretly hoped he’d get to work with the man, but it had never panned out.
This was close enough, he guessed.
It wasn’t like the other guys he’d worked with had been bad or anything, but Ilya held a certain gentleness about him - easy to spot even through a screen - that was rare in the industry. Either way, Ilya was who he thought of off-screen, alone in his apartment, hands inching towards the waistband of his boxers.
But he’s a (semi) professional, he can get through this shoot with at least some dignity.
He’s in his dressing room - oh my god, a dressing room - clothed in nothing but underwear and a thin cotton robe. It’s the same brand he buys frequently, and brought to sets for himself; they felt the best on his skin. As he looks at himself in the mirror - debating dabbing on a bit of makeup to cover his freckles - there’s a knock at his door. He figures it’s an assistant coming in to check on him - call time isn’t for another 15 minutes - so he murmurs a quick Come in!, not looking away from the mirror; he can see the doorway from here anyway.
But it’s not an assistant who enters the room. The first thing he notices is toned thighs, a tattoo of sex sells surrounded by a heart peeking out, that are encased in a pair of black athletic shorts with a less than modest inseam - leading up to an obvious bulge in the fabric. Not even in a showy way, more like a yeah I have a big dick, what about it? kind of way.
Shane whips around in his chair, but the other man is already striding towards him. By the time he orients himself, Ilya stands directly beside him. His eyes linger as he drags them up the other man’s body, catching each place his tight black t-shirt caressing the curves of his abs and pecs. The curve of his adams apple The bow of his lips and arch of his nose. Until they finally land on hazel eyes, peering down at him.
There’s a glint of humor in them, like he knows Shane was savoring the sight, and it spurs Shane into immediate action. He stands from his chair, knees banging the counter as he does so, and he swallows down a yelp of pain as he faces Ilya again.
Ilya, who is barely tamping down a smile, almost certainly at Shane’s expense. Shane feels his face flush with heat, and he for a fact that he’s approaching a shade of flaming red. This is not how this was supposed to go.
He figured he would meet Ilya on set, surrounded by crew members and cameras and lights. He never imagined he’d be in a confined space, no one around but the distance bustle of everyone setting up down the hall.
So sue him for being caught a bit off guard.
“Hi, I’m Shane. Hollander.” He sticks a hand out for Ilya to shake, wincing internally like it might be the wrong move. Shane can't tell if it's a good or bad thing, but Ilya’s face breaks into a full smile then, and he takes Shane’s hand.
“Ilya.” No last name needed, of course. The shake once, hands lingering for longer than normal on both sides, each man slowly lowering them. “You are excited?”
“Yeah, of course.” Shane hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. “This is a really big opportunity for me.”
“Mm, yes. I have seen your other work.” Shane chokes on a breath. “Definitely a big change.”
“T-totally,” he manages to stutter out once his breathing returns to normal. What the fuck.
Of course Shane had watched every video Ilya had ever been in. But for Ilya to have seen any of Shane's, admittedly small, filmography? This was one headspin after another.
Ilya finally steps back, and Shane releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. With his head a little clearer, he tucks his awkwardly hanging hands in the pockets of his robe and clears his throat.
“I look forward to working with you.” Shane even manages a small smile, hoping he looks like he means it instead of scared shitless.
“I look forward to working with you and your freckles, Shane Hollander.” With a nod, Ilya makes his way out the door without a look back, the door clicking shut behind him. Shane collapses back into his chair, trying to tame the rapid beat of his heart.
He glances around at the makeup products spread before him, thinking of his earlier question, then Ilya’s words.
When he walks onto set, his freckles are on full display.
-
The sex is…okay. The acting is terrible, for sure, Shane has always been stiff in front of the camera if he wasn’t getting stuffed full of cock, but no one expected anything different.
But even his mediocre acting skills can’t make up for the fact that he’s really not selling this performance. It wasn’t bad, per say, just…boring. Shooting the blowjob scene had been fine - Shane’s brain always went a little fuzzy with a cock in his mouth - but it had been downhill from there. He moaned when he thought he should instead of being unable to control it.
After the third time Ilya had directed More, Hollander, Shane starts to imagine it’s Ilya behind him, taking him. It helps tremendously. If he really focuses, he can hear the Russian man murmuring every so often, and that spurs on his fantasy. He’s finally getting close now, breath hitching as he wraps his own fist around his cock, stroking in time with the other man’s thrust, their moans mingling together as Shane’s whimpers raise in octave, finally ending on a broken Ilya ripped from his throat without his permission.
His body shudders with the crest of his orgasm, ears ringing, and when he finally comes down, the room is silent.
No one is speaking, or moving, or breathing, maybe at all. He feels every pair of eyes in the room on him, until someone clears their throat, all the attention following the direction of the noise.
Ilya steps forward, face set in determination of something that Shane can’t decipher.
“Everyone out. Now.” It takes all of two seconds for everyone to start scrambling out of the room, Shane’s scene partner pulling out and leaving him empty, still face down on the bed.
Shane feels like his limbs weigh a thousand pounds in the wake of his orgasm, so he’s one of the last people left when he pulls on his robe, already walking to the door.
“Not you, Hollander.” The command in Ilya’s voice sends a shiver down Shane’s spine.
He stops short of the threshold, tying his robe before turning around to face Ilya. He can’t think of what to say, not quick enough, before Ilya takes a step forward, then stops.
“Come here,” Ilya coaxes, holding a hand out to Shane, and he complies instantly. He links their fingers together as he approaches, allowing Ilya to pull him flush against his body.
Shane looks over Ilya’s shoulder, nervous about making eye contact, when Ilya grabs his chin and forces their gazes to meet. Shane’s eyes flutter, but he wills them open, even as the blood starts to the south of his body again.
His growing erection is painfully obvious, covered only by his robe now, and with the minimal space between their bodies, Ilya feels it easily.
“Oh, kotenok,” Ilya’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, eyes still locked with Shane’s. “Were you thinking of me?”
Shane whimpers at his tone of voice, sickly sweet and a little condescending, like he already knows the answer. Of course he does.
“‘M sorry,” Shane answers, words jumbled just a bit. “Didn’t mean to.”
“No, malysh, is okay. He was not fucking that pretty hole good enough.” Ilya’s hand not currently holding Shane’s face slides down his backside, stopping just where the hem of his robe ends. “And you know I would.”
The last words are whispered directly into his ear, Ilya sucking the lobe into his mouth for a moment before he starts to place messy kisses to Shane’s neck, moving to his cheeks - right over his freckles - before finally shifting towards his lips.
Ilya stops short just as their lips are about to brush, tugging on the tie of the robe, letting it fall open and slide off Shane’s shoulders.
“On the bed.”
Shane follows the command, his now naked form moving to the king-sized bed, climbing onto his hands and knees. He hears the rustle of clothes before he’s being manhandled onto his back.
The new position grants him an unfiltered view of Ilya, completely shed of his clothes, save for a pair of white socks. It’s so endearing, Shane wants to giggle, but his attention is caught by a much more pressing sight.
Ilya’s cock, all 9 inches of it, is standing erect and proud, pointing directly at Shane. His mouth begins to water and he wants nothing more than to run his tongue over the head, gathering the precome he can see leaking.
Just as he’s about to move, Ilya steps forwards, settling between Shane’s legs once he’s fully on the bed. Shane widens his thighs to accommodate him, one hand reaching up to touch Ilya’s lightly-dusted pecs, giving one a squeeze before trailing his fingers down to the gathering of hair that made up his happy trail. He dips even lower, gripping Ilya’s cock, before his hand is smacked away.
“None of that. I’m going to make you feel good.” Ilya’s voice is rough, like he’s holding himself back.
“Please.” What Shane is begging for, he really doesn’t know. “Please, Ilya.”
Ilya’s eyes search Shane’s for a moment, and whatever he finds there has him scrambling for the lube, tossed somewhere in the bed sheets. When he comes up victorious, he immediately squirts some on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up.
Ilya uses his left hand - the one not covered in lube - to push one of Shane’s legs towards his chest, the other one being nudged to rest on Ilya’s shoulder. Shane thinks distantly that this is a good angle for the camera.
Two fingers are plunged directly into his already fucked hole, no preamble as Ilya curls his fingers to press against Shane’s swollen prostate. Beads of precome spurt from Shane’s cock with each press of fingers, and he feels himself clenching.
“More,” he whines, feeling pathetic as the pleasure and the need to be full battle inside him. “Need you.”
Instead of removing his fingers, Ilya presses in a third, scissoring them to spread Shane’s rim. Shane arches his back, trying desperately to fuck himself on Ilya’s fingers, but the other man presses the weight of his left hand forward, pinning Shane as well as he can.
Shane can feel a familiar heat building in his core, trying desperately to buck his hips, to get away from it. He wants to come on Ilya’s cock.
“Fuck me.” His voice sounds more wrecked than he’s ever heard it. “Please, fuck me, pleasepleaseplease.”
His rambling is cut off into a whimper as Ilya removes his fingers, leaving Shane feeling more empty than ever. That feeling amplifies when Ilya shuffles to the end of the bed, leaving him, but he’s back in seconds with a condom wrapper.
Ripping the package open, Ilya slides it on his length and Shane’s hole clenches in anticipation. Once he’s positioned back between Shane’s legs, he lines up his cock to where Shane needs him most, rocking his hips forward ever so slightly.
The tip catches just barely inside before being ripped away, and cry flies from Shane’s throat, causing Ilya to still.
“Are you okay?” Ilya leans down, pressing his forehead to Shane’s. When Shane nods in response, he pulls back just enough to press his lips to Shane’s, their first kiss.
It’s more tender than anything Shane has ever experienced - on set or in his own bedroom. Something blooms in his chest, expanding deeper as Ilya’s tongue sweeps in, prying Shane open rather than asking for permission, then swallowing down the moan it induces.
Lips still attached, Ilya lines himself up again, this time pushing in steadily until he’s fully seated inside Shane.
Shane throws his head back in a long groan, letting the stretch flood his senses. Ilya takes the opportunity to let him adjust, pressing kisses down his neck and across his collar bones, ending with a bite to the junction of Shane’s shoulder.
The brief flash of pain brings him back to his body just as Ilya starts thrusting in earnest, hips snapping against Shane’s ass, holding his thighs as he rests his calves on Ilya’s shoulder.
The feeling of Ilya’s cock is unreal, filling him better and deeper than even his biggest toy - one of which is a mold of Ilya. The real thing is so much better.
Ilya captures his lips again, the shift in angle causing him to nail Shane’s prostate with every thrust. He feels heat flood him all over again, hole clenching rapidly.
“Gonna come for me, da?” Shane nods in agreement. “No one else can fuck you like this. Have to imagine me just to get off.”
“Just you,” Shane manages to gasp, coherent thoughts hard to come by as his orgasm continues to build.
“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, dorogoy.”
Shane can’t answer, instead bringing his arms around Ilya’s back, scratching at the exposed skin as he comes with the force of a speeding car. He gasps as pulse after pulse spills from his tip, too much for having just come already.
His hole squeezes tight around Ilya’s cock, halting his movements into stuttering thrusts, spilling into the condom.
They both lay there for a long moment after it’s done, neither wanting to disrupt the moment. Finally, Shane moves first, starting to feel sticky from a mix of swear, lube, and come. He nudges Ilya off him, a small noise coming from the back of his throat as the other man slips out.
Shane stands on shaking legs, retrieving his robe from the floor and securing it on his body. When he turns around, Ilya has discarded the condom and is wiping himself down with a towel from the basket beside the bed.
As amazing of an experience as that was, Shane can’t for the life of him figure out what to say now.
“Uh…”
“Good job, Hollander. Might even be able to use that footage.” Ilya breaks the tension, and Shane’s shoulders drop in relief.
“What a comeback that would be.”
“Mmm, yes. But I think everyone would be focused on my pretty costar.”
Shane feels his face flush, red staining his cheeks in a way he knows makes his freckles stand out. Ilya’s own face lights up at the sight. He reaches a hand forward, like he wants to reach out and touch them, but aborts his movement, instead gripping the towel in both hands.
Shane looks down at his own bare feet and Ilya’s still socked ones, and forces a smile off his face at the sight. When he glances back up, Ilya is still staring at him.
“I should, um, I should probably go shower.”
Ilya nods, stepping forward to press a lingering kiss to Shane’s brow before moving out of his way.
Shane leaves the set, heading back down the hall to his dressing room. He’s grateful he doesn’t pass anyone along the way, not even wanting to imagine how mortifying that would be, how mortifying it’s going to be once he leaves again.
But his main concern right now is washing the sweat and stickiness from his body, so he slips into the shower and watches his tryst with Ilya circle the drain.
He’ll find out, later, how everyone had shuffled into the craft services room and pointedly did not acknowledge what was happening just a couple rooms away.
He’ll find out that Ilya, as the director, had deemed the footage unusable and trashed the whole project - though the sum Shane would have made still landed in his bank account.
Even later, he’ll find out exactly what happened to that footage.
For now, he wraps his hands around his body and pretends, just for a moment, Ilya is pressed against him. It feels like bliss.