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The first time Ilya picked him up, Shane didn’t have much time to think on the matter. He knew he liked it. All the air from his lungs fled, and he needed to catch a breath quickly, which made it worse when all he could smell was Ilya’s very expensive cologne.
He hadn’t expected it. Ilya’s arms were clinging to his waist as they kissed, touching the top of Shane’s ass and moving lower. He was too busy trying to taste Rozanov, desperately craving the feel of his tongue and lips, that he didn’t realize Ilya’s intentions until he hoisted him into his arms. Shane arched into the hold and sank his fingers harder into Ilya’s shoulder blades and tugged on his hair. His stupid curly hair he wanted to tug and feel around his fingertips.
He’s not short, but Ilya is taller than him, and his legs hung from around Ilya’s waist. He had a second to catch a breath, before Ilya’s relentless kissing pulled him back in. Every kiss sent bolts of need and fire through Shane, that can only be satiated by the man currently carrying him to a bed.
Ilya threw him on the bed, and he helped Shane remove his clothes. He’s surprised nothing ripped or tore with how much of a frenzy they were both in. Ilya dragged him down the bed, and he took Shane’s cock in his mouth when he got him just how he wanted him. That alone had Shane gasping and trying to hold back a quickly approaching orgasm.
He didn’t truly hate Ilya - he never did - but he would like it if it didn't take so little for Ilya to get Shane to come.
Then the manhandling became a ritual Shane doesn’t remember agreeing to. Though, it comes to no surprise that Ilya reads his body better than he does. He noticed every move and hitch of breath Shane made, practically painting Ilya a pretty picture of how much he affected him. The way Ilya touched him, held him, and picked him up and kissed him breathless. How Shane’s thighs clenched around him, and how his cock hardened like stone from Ilya carrying him.
Ilya made it a habit to pick up Shane the moment they’re in a room together. He threw Shane against the wall or bed, dragged his body on the sheets where he wanted him, and he took him like that. Shane had to focus, grasp any remaining brain cell to speak and meet Ilya’s thrusts and warm mouth.
He couldn’t even argue because whatever Ilya did, Shane was completely into. It was exciting and new, and Ilya always made him come harder than he could ever do to himself. Ilya never once made him uncomfortable or pushed too hard.
“Is okay?”
“Okay?”
“This, yes?”
The genuine worry and care on Ilya’s face made Shane’s heart do a funny flip, and it became clear he wasn’t being pushed around because Ilya thought he was inferior or weak of any kind in the bedroom. They both know they’re equals, which is why they’re put against each other and called rivals. They’re highly competitive and strong players, shining higher than everyone else. It was because they’re equals that they seek each other out, drawn to the other like a flame.
Ilya saw Shane liked being carried and manhandled, and he was doing it because of that. The first time it might’ve been a spur of the moment, only for them both to learn something about the other.
Shane liked to be carried, and Ilya liked making Shane happy.
“Could fuck you like this,” Rozanov growled one night after a game. He had Shane in his arms again, pressed to a wall. Shane could feel they’re both hard. “You would like that, yes?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Shane kissed him fervently, tugged on his hair and gasped at a small bite.
It turned into a game. Ilya was pushing barriers, picking up Shane and throwing him in the pool, pressing him against the boards a second too long with a grin. He knew what he was doing, and it was proven again when Ilya would whisper, “Sorry about that, Hollander. It’s uh, slippery.”
“Do you think this is some sort of sick joke?” Shane snapped.
“Why? You hard?”
Shane glared at his obnoxious grin and shoved him and skated away.
It wasn’t for another year that Ilya pinned him to the wall for a different purpose.
“Undress,” Ilya said.
Shane glanced at the neat bed. He started removing his hoodie and shirt. Ilya watched him as he did so, stepping closer with each garment. He was wearing sweats that did an awful job of hiding his erection.
When Shane removed his underwear, Ilya’s chest was rising and falling, and Shane shivered, pleasantly reminded he affects the other man just as much as he did to him.
“I’m going to open you up against the wall,” Ilya says. Shane stops breathing. “Your legs around my waist. You’re going to take my fingers and then my dick.”
“Okay,” Shane says lamely. He swallows thickly. All the blood in his brain is flooding downwards.
Ilya presses a finger to Shane’s bottom lip, lightly tugging. “I want to hear pretty noises, Hollander. Fingers in hair and shoulders. Those lips stop, I stop, yes?”
Ilya watches him with those hazel eyes holding promise and desire. They trail down Shane’s body, pupils dilating at the sight of Shane’s hard cock. His words alone brought him to this state. The idea of acting out one of his fantasies sends a weakness in Shane’s knees, and he throws himself on Ilya.
Ilya effortlessly catches him, strong hands travel to behind his thighs and hoists him up. Shane gasps when his back makes contact with the wall. He involuntarily bucks his hips, the need for friction overriding all his thoughts.
Ilya laughs and kisses his jaw and neck. “Naughty. Those not the rules.”
“Fuck you.” Shane cups Ilya’s face and kisses him. He tastes soap and shampoo on his lips from his shower after the game. His tongue tastes like gatorade and vodka, an unusual combination but no less delicious.
Ilya uses his body and hand to hold Shane as he reaches for the lube in his pocket. The display of strength makes Shane kiss him harder, cling onto his shoulders and hair.
Ilya shifts him slightly, and Shane feels a wet finger rub lightly at his hole. He squeezes his thighs harder around Ilya, as he kisses his chin and corner of his mouth. The finger enters him, pumping slow and deep. Shane gasps, stilling for a moment. Long enough for Ilya to withdraw his finger, and Shane groans and goes back to kissing him. Ilya slides his finger back in, along with another, and begins to stretch him.
Shane really has no power here, and it really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Ilya is controlling the pace, and he learns rather quickly that the more urgent his kisses become, how loud he gasps, and how much he clings and pulls on Ilya, the faster Ilya fucks him.
“Fuck me, Rozanov,” he orders in Ilya’s ear. He said his mouth needs to be doing something. Ordering him around has to be included in that rule. He’s learned about Ilya too, and he knows how much Ilya loves to please.
“I am fucking you.” He fucks Shane deeper with his fingers to prove his point.
Shane hates him. “With your…”
“With my what?”
“With your dick, asshole,” Shane says irritably.
“Hm.”
Their kiss turns more tongue and teeth than lips. Ilya removes his fingers, and he shifts Shane again to pull down his pants. Shane doesn’t know how he’s going to remove them like this, but then Ilya pulls them down to above his thighs, as well as his underwear, enough to pull out his cock and line it up with Shane’s hole.
Shane lets out a whimper at the sight of their clothes. The lack of his and Ilya still wearing his pants. He feels vulnerable like this, but not enough to say anything. His cock is wet with precome, and he caresses Ilya’s face to kiss him - needing more somehow. Maybe he doesn’t have a problem with being the only one naked.
He lets out a guttural moan when Ilya works his cock inside him. Shane arches his back, held steady by Rozanov’s hair and digging his nails in his back and shoulders. He’s so overwhelmed with it all. The weight and heat from the cock inside him, the delicious stretch and drag against his prostate. Their pelvis and chest firmly touching, and the strong and firm biting sensation from fingers in his thighs.
Shane realizes Ilya isn’t moving. He’s watching him with lips parted and dark pools of want in his hazel eyes. Shane tries to thrust his hips forward or back, but he has no leverage here. Ilya simply holds him tighter.
“Fuck me,” Shane murmurs, overwhelmed.
“Beautiful but not good,” Ilya breathes. “I want a kiss. Earn it, Hollander. Earn my cock.”
“Fuck, Rozanov.” Shane glares and grabs Ilya’s hair, pulling to tilt his head and crushes their lips together. He’s being rough and demanding, yanking back the small control he has. Instantly, Ilya pulls out just to fuck back in.
Shane gasps and moans, breathing in Ilya’s mouth, clutching onto his shoulders. He kisses his lips, chin, the mole on his cheek, his eyelids, his brows, and his forehead. With every kiss, Ilya fucks into him, steadily increasing in speed. Ilya breathes on Shane’s neck, pressing soft butterfly kisses under his jaw.
“Is okay?”
“Oh, goddammit, fuck,” Shane gasps. He can feel Ilya’s smile on his neck. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“I want to come,” Shane says. “Make me come, Rozanov.”
Ilya smiles into their kiss, and Shane’s heart skips. “You beg so pretty. Pretty boy. You are perfect.”
Shane’s cheeks stain pink, and he whimpers at the praise. Ilya said he has a praise kink, and Shane didn’t deny it. He comes hard between his bodies, splattering their stomachs. Ilya fucks him through it, lighting up his remaining nerves. His cock twitches inside him as he comes, and Shane refuses to stop kissing Ilya. They both don’t stop, even when Ilya’s arms start slightly shaking under his weight.
Ilya carefully lets Shane down, and they must be a funny sight with his shaking arms and his shaking legs. Shane does laugh, and they both break out in giggles. They kiss again, soft and swift this time.
Later after their showers, Ilya doesn’t need to pull Shane to him. Shane goes on his own, snuggling into his side and inhaling his smell. Ilya wraps his arms around him, and he kisses Shane’s hair, neck, and behind his ear.
Shane should really tell Ilya to go. It’s late, and they’re at his condominium. It’s still dark outside, and they need to order a cab.
However, he’s delightfully warm and comfortable. More at ease than he’s been in months. That’s the effect Rozanov has on him. If they were at a hotel, he’d be more stubborn, but at least here nobody knows he owns this place.
Shane brings Ilya’s hand to his mouth and kisses his fingertips.