Work Text:
When Rose Landry herself reached out with a recommendation, Ilya refused to believe his eyes for a solid five minutes.
I heard through the grapevine you were after a fresh face, Rose wrote. Metro is very hot. I can personally vouch for his work ethic, appeal, and size, but he much prefers to work with men. I think he’d be a good fit for your studio. She had even thoughtfully (presumptuously, Ilya thought) included available spots in Metro’s schedule for the next two weeks.
The tone of her email irritated Ilya. Rose acted like she owned everyone in the business. But then again, she did. Even if she was recommending brand new talent—and this kid seemed like he was new new—Ilya would be fucking obligated to take him on.
The pictures were decent. Fine, even, considering how Metro had taken some pictures in lighting conditions Ilya would have rather spat on than worked with. It did him few favours, harsh and overheard like Metro was in a seedy gym. None of that artful Equinox bullshit. Ilya scrolled through them, feeling like he was going through a random college kid’s Tinder profile.
“There is no reason to wear coat without shirt,” Ilya complained aloud to no one in particular after coming across a single inexplicable photo in which Metro was sprawled across several stone benches in nothing but a fur coat and jeans. But the picture achieved its intended effect, showcasing Metro’s strong profile, his dark nipples high and tight on his chest, and his washboard abs.
Ilya saved them all to a personal folder on his computer. Just in case. He reluctantly emailed back and set a meeting for next week.
“Terrible name, by the way,” Ilya told Svetlana. “We will need to think of new one. This is not 1970’s porn. He is pretty and innocent. Sweet.”
“Oh,” Svetlana said, craning her neck to stare at Ilya’s laptop. “Oh. He is just your type.”
“I don’t have a type,” Ilya lied. If Ilya did have a type—and he did, maybe a little, because if a man didn’t have a preference, he didn’t get to have an opinion—it was this. Muscular but not in an obsessive bodybuilder sort of way, a strong brow, and an ass that Ilya could practically see jiggle when spanked.
Svetlana rolled her eyes and fucked off to fiddle with a camera while Ilya scrolled through the rest of the pictures and continued complaining about them.
When the meeting came, it was in public. Technically. Sort of. It was in public in the same way that having a furtive blowjob in a back alley was public—at a dimly-lit smoothie shop, after hours, instead of a come-stained porn studio. Ilya had asked Kip to keep Straw+Berry open for them, and Kip had obliged because he owed Ilya a favor in return for introducing him to Scott Hunter, porn star extraordinaire.
Metro showed up five minutes early, wearing a jacket despite the sweltering heat. Was that a suit jacket? Shit, this kid was wearing a tie. What a rube. He looked like he was dropping by the store before an interview at a law firm.
Ilya waved him over, eyes wandering over his body. He was so cute. Maybe even cuter in his stupid little suit than naked, which was something Ilya almost never thought. Humans were made to be naked if the weather permitted, sprawled over something soft while stuffing their mouth with fruit.
Or something. Ilya had zero idea what cavemen did when they weren’t fucking or feeding or hunting.
But Rose had said Metro was obsessively timely, clean, and had an ass Ilya could set his watch to. An entire paragraph of the email had been dedicated to praising Metro’s qualities. Ilya could see why he'd been recommended, and it pissed him off to no end to admit that Rose wasn’t wrong.
Metro was hot even in real life. Pretty, too, with a shy spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks, fawnlike, as if a makeup artist had taken the time to paint each one on individually for maximum effect, and clear sun-stained brown eyes that broadcasted every emotion Metro felt. Which, in that moment, seemed to be primarily nervousness.
“Well,” Metro said. “I’m not sure where to start.” He asked for a ginger ale and sat down in the chair as if it was made of twigs, but for all his diffidence Ilya saw something defiant about him. Ilya found himself liking Metro immensely. His face, Ilya corrected himself. He liked this man’s face. And his body. And his dick when fully erect. And his whimpers when he was masturbating.
Which wasn’t the point of the meet. The point of the meet was to ensure that Metro wasn’t fucking crazy, like most of the people who wanted to join the industry. Sveta had come up with a simple checklist. Unbridled horny energy, yes. Crazy eyes, no. Metro slid his papers across the table and Ilya flicked through them. His results were all clean and dated within the last two weeks, which was a good sign. It meant he was responsible. Organized. Studios needed more stars like that. On the papers were Metro’s real name, too. Hollander. A nice boy’s name for a nice boy.
“We start at the beginning,” Ilya said. “My name is Ilya Rozanov. Thank you for meeting me here today. Rose’s email was quite persuasive.”
“My name is Shane,” Metro said. “Metro… I chose the name after my favorite hockey team. It’s silly. I saw your note to Rose in the email. We can workshop it.”
Ilya appreciated when people were willing to work with him on things. Sveta called him a picky bitch whenever the mood struck—approximately once a day, разборчивый cука, no matter what he was doing—but Ilya knew what worked and what didn’t. There was a reason why his production company stood out in a sea of porn studios.
“A—” Metro—no, Shane—opened his mouth to ask a question, then snapped it shut. Ilya waited patiently. He had seen this sort before. It was their first time, or their second, early enough in the game that the words died in their throat if they were pressed too hard.
All they needed was space. Ilya waited. Sat back in his chair. Crossed one leg over the other. Glanced at the counter where Kip was washing berries and struggling to eavesdrop. "Yes?"
“Are you going to be my costar?” Shane asked. A violent blush had spread across his face from the moment he caught sight of Ilya, and at this point seemed permanent. It made Ilya feel like a predator who had caught sight of prey. Pretty, pretty prey that didn’t know what sort of territory it had wandered into.
Ilya found that he liked it.
“Would you like me to be? I usually do not work with new talent. You say you have seen my work. Are you up to challenge?”
A flush crept up Shane’s chest. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Is a yes or no,” Ilya said. “Very simple.” Shane tucked his left hand inside his right and threaded his fingers thoughtfully together as he sipped from his ginger ale through a straw, eyes darting over Ilya, lingering on his lips.
Finally, Shane raised his eyes, and met Ilya’s gaze for a single second.
Obvious, Ilya thought. Too obvious. Shane didn’t want to be a star as much as he wanted Ilya. He found himself satisfied when Shane looked away. Ilya tended to prefer to keep work and his personal life separate, but the porn industry wasn’t exactly a beacon of professionalism. And Shane seemed to want this, if the way he was now looking at Ilya was any indication.
“Yes,” Shane said. “I am up for the challenge.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
On the day of the shoot, Ilya showed up an hour before Shane was meant to arrive. He’d rented this apartment before—the owners were considerate, clean, and most importantly, had decided that whatever Ilya wanted to do with their apartment was none of their business as long as he stripped the bed and started the laundry before he left.
Sveta had left a Tom of Finland artbook on the coffee table. It was a nice touch. But she had also set out a 5% lidocaine spray and a Post-It note with a cheeky wink.
“Стерва,” Ilya said aloud, but acknowledged her foresight. Newbies weren’t known for their ability to last. Nor their ability to stay hard during their first-ever shoot, but Shane had been adamant that he could bring his own Sildenafil if needed, thank you very much.
Shane showed up five minutes early, just as he did at Straw+Berry. He wasn’t in a suit this time, but instead had a fitted white shirt on, along with a simple brown belt and a pair of jeans that hid how pert his ass was. He had a denim jacket slung over his shoulder in a casual manner, and politely took his shoes off at the door.
Ilya clapped him on the shoulder. “Canadian tuxedo,” he said. “Very nice.” Shane nearly stumbled over his shoes, and Ilya hid his smirk in a cough.
“Whoa,” Shane said as he stepped into the apartment. “This is nicer than I thought. Rose said most studios just rent apartments for shoots. That’s why they’re so sparse in videos. This one doesn’t really feel that way.”
Ilya practically swelled with pride. His ability to set a scene had been called out by devout fans on Twitter. Not that most of the audience looked at a video beyond the people they were here to see, but Ilya believed that details rounded out a picture. Whether the masses cared didn’t bother him. He cared.
They walked into the living room, where Ilya directed Shane towards the sofa. He’d thought about it for a second, then wrapped the orange sofa in a dark blue water-resistant cover that he normally saved for heterosexual shoots with squirters. The blue would set off the golden hue of Shane’s tanned skin.
But Shane had gotten distracted by the book and the spray on the coffee table. Fuck! Ilya had forgotten to remove them.
“The spray is for—”
“I know what the spray is for,” Shane said, and placed it back down on the table quickly, shooting a nervous glance at Ilya. “Rose told me. About your, you know.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Must be nice to have friend in high places.”
Rose had won Beginner of the Year three years ago, and Best Video just last year. Her word would have gotten Shane a spot at any company he wanted.
How fortuitous it was that Shane had landed in Ilya’s lap, so to speak.
Ilya took the spray and the Post-It note and left it out of sight. Once Shane got himself situated, standing before the camera like a nervous schoolboy, Ilya shot him some extra directions about how to shake himself out and reminded him of how they were to proceed.
“Rolling.” Ilya announced. “Introduce yourself.”
“My name is Fox,” Shane said, pulling from the brief exchange he’d had with Ilya over the past few days. Fox Ryder, Ilya had suggested, more of a joke than anything, playing off his old name when he had started his own porn career going under Wolf Ryder, but Shane had agreed almost immediately. Not that Shane knew what his new porn name was in reference to—Ilya had only made a couple of videos before he realized that he wanted to be behind the camera, not in front of it.
Shane sank into the sofa gracelessly, then seemed to remember himself and half-rose to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans so his bulge sat hot and heavy in the gap of the zipper.
“You’re very pretty. Take off your shirt so I can see how pretty,” Ilya said from behind the camera. He had walked around the house thrice, watching the way sunlight slanted in through the windows, imagining Shane touching himself on various soft surfaces, and finally settled on the living room. It was, for all intents and purposes, perfect for afternoon shoots—the pale walls bounced sunlight off each other and had the direct effect of illuminating the peaks of Shane’s face and body, from the tip of his nose to the rise and fall of his chest.
Ilya’s words had turned the very tips of Shane’s ears pink. He wondered for a second if all of Shane was this reactive to praise and command, but he had his answer as Shane tugged his shirt off. Good riddance, Ilya thought. The shirt was tight enough that nothing was left to the imagination anyway. The nipples that had tormented him in that one confusing photo with the fur coat stood out, looking eminently, supremely suckable. A pink flush had already spread down his chest.
“Thank you,” Shane said, and looked up at Ilya. In that moment Ilya longed for a cigarette—a confusing desire, he had not wanted one in years—but felt, for a brief moment, a sudden, blinding desire to have Shane light a cigarette for him, cupping his careful hands around the flame before Ilya took a drag and passed it over so he could see his rollie sitting between Shane’s pouty lips.
Now all that Shane had on were his boxer briefs, tight and white, outlining his hardening cock beneath them.
“Now we will get to know our latest star. It’s okay if I ask questions?” Ilya nodded at him. This was just professional, really. But he was glad no one else was working the camera today; glad he’d be the first and only to see this in person.
Shane nodded. He swallowed a little uncomfortably, eyes darting to the side. But his nipples were already hard, and his cheeks were pink, matching his pretty pink neck and chest. Ilya waited, nodded at him again. “Yes,” Shane said, finally.
“Tell us your favorite feature.”
“My favorite feature?” His brows knit together. Ilya gestured for him to touch himself, and he did, thumbing one nipple, dragging his knuckles down the midline of his chest. His hand settled on his abs.
“Yes. What do you like about yourself? If we are going to like you, we should know this.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” His thumb slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, then dropped lower, close to the bulge in his boxer briefs. He was half hard. That was good. The people liked that. “Um, I’d have to say my lips.”
“Lips.” Ilya zoomed in on his lips. “Why lips?”
“They’re just a good part of my face. I like using them.” Shane parted his legs, put a hand on his broad thigh. Ilya was no stranger to the way Shane looked at him; the tiny tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he spoke again, the inviting tilt of his head when he was listening to Ilya, as if Ilya had become the temporary center of his universe.
Shane had been coached. He knew the questions, but this was good. This cautious, almost virginal hesitation. The way he seriously considered Ilya, eyes meeting his.
“What are you using these lips for?” Ilya shifted the camera to get a better view of Shane’s body. He touched his own waistband to signal that it was time for Shane to shimmy out of his underwear, as sexily as he could manage.
“Anything you want.” He smiled then, and Ilya couldn’t help smiling back. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”
“Do you like sucking cock? This is a thing you can do with lips, yes?” Ilya’s cock twitched. Normally, he didn’t get like this early in a shoot with a new guy, but Shane was a feast to look at. Exceptionally good on camera. Ilya was… curious, to say the least.
Shane hooked his thumbs in his waistband and tugged his underwear off—a little awkwardly, but that was okay. He smiled hesitantly, stumbled a little, and it was charming. His bush was neatly trimmed, a tidy thatch accenting his pretty cock. It visibly firmed up when Shane sat back down, eyes on Ilya. Yes, this was all very, very good.
“Yeah, I like sucking cock. I’m good at it, too.”
“Are you? Maybe you will give a demonstration in next video.”
“Not this one?” Shane’s hand had settled on his cock, thumb running up his shaft, then dipping lower to cup his balls, tug on them, tease himself. Ilya’s mouth watered.
“This is getting to know you. Showing the audience what you have.” Fuck, he was beautiful. Ilya’s track pants were beginning to get uncomfortable. “Tell us how old you are.”
“Twenty-one.” Shane looked at the camera lens through half-hooded eyes. His gaze was distant, affixed on something beyond the immediacy of the camera. Ilya watched through the viewfinder as Shane swiped a thumb over the precome beading at his slit and brought his thumb to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste it.
Ilya sniffed. “You do that often?”
“Taste my own precome?” Shane asked, half-huff, half-laugh. “No, I thought it’d be sexy. Is it?”
“Yes. Very,” Ilya said. “Show me how you like to touch yourself.”
Shane grew redder. His freckles stood out on his cheeks. But he was a good boy—such a good boy, Ilya could tell—and he spit in his hand before starting to stroke himself, thumb circling the head of his dick. He whined, a breathy, soft noise.
“Fuck.” Ilya adjusted himself, squeezed his own cock. “Do you come quick? Or do you like it slow?”
“Slow.” Shane’s eyes fluttered shut. “If you tell me not to come or make me wait, I like that, too.”
“This is good to know.” Ilya fumbled with the tie on his pants and took out his own dick. He liked staying clothed when the boys were naked, but he made sure Shane could see him, squeezing himself, grabbing the lube and spreading it over his dick. “Do you like your ass full?”
“Yeah.” He squirmed on the couch, angling his hips down and moaning. “I really fucking like it. I like getting fucked, too.”
“Do not get ahead of yourself.” Ilya stroked his cock, foreskin gliding over his tip, wet with lube. With the mic where it was, their fans would be able to hear it in the video. People liked that. They looked forward to it because Ilya only did it on special occasions. This was rapidly becoming a special occasion.
“M’just thinking about it.” Shane wiggled again, and his whole body shivered. He moaned.
“I did not say you could think about this.” Ilya said this experimentally, but he had a sense. He always had a sense for these things—it was one of the reasons he had started his own production company. This could shape up to be interesting. “Be a good boy, and stop jerking off for me.”
Shane let go with a whimper. He was breathing hard. His cock jerked. Ilya could see a string of precome drooling from the tip, pooling beneath his navel. “Is that—is that good?”
“Yes. Is very good.” Ilya stood, anticipation pooling in his gut. He stripped off his shirt but kept his pants on, his cock still out. He felt wild with the need for Shane to see him, too. “Look at your pretty cock. Did you know it is pretty?”
Shane’s body jerked, and he groaned. His mouth dropped open, tongue pink, lips wet. “No—no one’s ever told me—that.”
Ilya adjusted the camera and let it keep rolling, zoomed out enough to capture the entirety of the sofa. He stroked himself showily. He watched Shane’s eyes drop to his cock. “I am telling you,” Ilya said, just to see if he could pull Shane out of his fugue.
Shane let out a shaky breath. When he shifted on the sofa, his whole body jerked again, a convulsion visible in the muscles of his abdomen.
“You like being told you are good to look at.” Ilya sauntered over, hand still on himself. His balls were heavy and tight. “Do you like being good boy, too? Well behaved?” He was standing in front of Shane now, turned to the side so the camera could see them both. But his face was still coyly out of view, leaving the focus on Shane, submission thrumming through every line of his body. “I think you like being good.”
“Yes.” Shane’s hands were fisted in the throw cover. The tip of his cock was angry-red. “I need—”
“What do you need?”
“You. I need you.”
Ilya’s stomach squeezed tight. The kid was direct, Ilya would give him that. Striking in appearance. Striking enough to be distracting. He bent, finally entering the frame, taking Shane’s chin in hand and tilting his face up. “Jerk off for me again. Very slow. Do not let yourself come.”
Shane made a hushed, hot noise in the back of his throat. It was very barely a whimper. Eyes on Ilya, he brought his hand to his cock and stroked, measured movements, his thumb swiping over the head every now and again. He shuddered, and Ilya grasped his chin tighter.
“Stop.”
Shane’s breath was coming fast and hard. Tears gathered in his eyes, wetting his sooty lashes. He licked his lips, then gently licked Ilya’s thumb.
“Котик,” Ilya said. “You are so good. You are so wet for me. If I touched your cock and told you to come, you would, wouldn’t you?”
His lashes fluttered. He nodded against Ilya’s hand. “Yes.”
“You are so good. Behaving yourself.” Ilya dipped his thumb in Shane’s mouth, turning his head so the camera caught it. Shane sucked, tongue working against the pad of Ilya’s thumb. His hands were still fisted in the slip cover, cock shiny-hot at the tip. “Maybe you need reward, yes?”
“Maybe.” Shane kissed his thumb. His eyes were focused on Ilya’s cock, his breathing heavy.
“Is there something that you want?” Ilya took his cock in his free hand, squeezing it, thumbing at the slit. So close to Shane’s pretty mouth.
Shane swallowed. Ilya could feel the motion beneath his hand. “I’ll take whatever you give me.”
His big brown eyes were so trusting, so sweet and sure. Ilya had his fair share of encounters working in this industry; many of them were brats, and so proud of this title. That was fun, but only up until a point—he found it tedious when they misbehaved for his attention. It was far more rare to find a jewel like this; so good, so willing, so eager to behave.
“Maybe a little taste? I think you deserve this. What do you think?”
There were tears in Shane’s eyes again. He didn’t answer, just opened his mouth. He answered with a sigh when Ilya slipped his thumb inside again and petted over the soft slip of his tongue. He looked so happy, eyes fluttering shut when he closed his mouth and sucked again, deeper this time.
“I think you are not a fox. You are a kitten. Котик. This means kitten. Is what I will call you.” Ilya took out his wet thumb and, groaning with the weight of his relief, replaced it with the tip of his cock. He straightened up, leaving Shane alone with his cock in the shot—a headless, anonymous body so any john could picture themselves in his place if they pleased. “Suck.”
Shane’s expression went vague and distant as his lips closed around the head of Ilya’s dick. And he sucked. He didn’t try to take Ilya deeper, didn’t do anything more with his tongue. Fuck, it was like heaven. It would be easy to come like this, spilling over lips and tongue and chin. He moved his hand to Shane’s hair, scratched his scalp, moved a thumb along his cheekbone.
“Okay, котик, it is enough. Or I will come.” Ilya pulled his cock from Shane’s mouth with some effort. Shane made a desperate sound and chased the head of Ilya’s dick with his mouth. “No, no. Not for you right now. Hands and knees. I need to see you.”
Shane whined, pink mouth still open. The sound went straight to the wet head of Ilya’s dick. He could finish right now and come all over those plump, pink lips. But after years in the business, Ilya was far too patient to give in, even to a boy as lovely as this one. And he did know one thing: Shane would do exactly what Ilya told him.
“You will get on your hands and knees for me. I need to see you before we finalize contract.” He grabbed Shane’s chin again. “This is for the fans. You like to please your fans, don’t you?”
Another whimper. Ilya made note of this response. Yes, Shane would do anything to please someone.
“Hands and knees,” Ilya repeated. Fuck, he was already spaced out, all just from Ilya holding his chin and bossing him around. Easy. That’s what he was. Ilya could get so much out of him, given the time. It was too bad he’d have to divest himself of this connection after one shoot. Ilya made it a point never to mix pleasure with business—of course, fucking one’s colleagues in porn was allowed, encouraged, even—but Ilya preferred to keep things strictly professional with his employees, especially the top performers. And this kid was going to be a star.
Shane grumbled again, but he got on his hands and knees on the wide cushion of the sofa. Ilya looked appreciatively at the muscles in his back, the straight line of his spine, his deeply clappable ass. His hands itched to get on Shane’s body, but he stood for a moment, stroking himself, gazing at the flawless expanse of his skin, the muscles he’d clearly cultivated over years of practice. When Ilya touched Shane, palms splayed across the lovely arch of his lower back, goosebumps erupted over his skin, down his ass and thighs. Ilya let his hands wander lower, fingertips exploring the texture of his skin, every imperfection like a little gift just for him. He leaned lower, close enough to Shane’s ear that the mic wouldn’t pick it up.
“You have such pretty freckles. And beautiful stretch marks on your ass.”
Shane breathed out, a little wetly. “You like them?”
“Oh, yes.” He brushed his lips against the shell of Shane’s ear. “I want to bite them, but first—” Ilya stood and snaked his hand down the length of Shane’s spine until his fingers came to rest in the cleft of Shane’s ass. This is when he felt it—a slip of soft silicone that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there.
“What is this, котик? You come to shoot with your ass already full?”
Shane took in a sharp breath, whimpering when Ilya pressed down. Yes, this was a dildo or a plug. A plug from the look of it. High quality—Ilya could feel just from touching it. He pulsed his fingers against it.
“Answer,” Ilya said. His cock throbbed, but he ignored it. He pressed a little harder on the base. “I thought you were such a good boy. And you come here and do not tell me about this thing. What are you thinking?”
“I wanted—” Shane cried out, thick thighs trembling. “Oh, fuck. I wanted to be ready if you—”
“Ah. So you are not good boy. You are slut.” Ilya placed extra emphasis on the last word just to watch Shane’s throat as he swallowed, a denial already on his lips. Ilya felt his head swim, and his neck grew hot as he drummed another patient finger against the base of the plug. He had half a mind to slide the plug out, just to see the pulse of Shane’s rim. It would be so easy to shove his cock inside and pump once, then twice—it wouldn’t take any more than that for Ilya.
“No,” Shane whispered, “I’m a good boy.”
“I decided if you are good boy.” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek. Something, anything to keep him from jerking his cock right here, right now, and splatter all over the dimples just above Shane’s thick ass. He wondered if his come would pool there before dripping down his crack. “And I think you are not good boy. You are whore who needed something in your ass. And you do not tell me.”
“I’m so sorry.” When he turned his head, Ilya could see his pretty face in its entirety once more. The sight made his heart squeeze. This boy’s eyes were brimming, wet with desire or humiliation, Ilya couldn’t tell. As he watched, a single tear streaked its way down one freckled cheek.
Ilya tapped on the base again just to watch a shiver roll down the length of Shane’s spine. “You are new. I teach you rules.”
“Thank you.” Shane pushed his ass back against Ilya’s hand. Ilya would think it was a reflexive response, his body seeking more touch, but there was a little smile on Shane’s face. Wistful almost.
“Naughty boy. I might need to teach you lesson, hm?” He grabbed one of Shane’s asscheeks just to watch it jiggle.
“Yes, oh fuck. Please.” Shane was panting now. His pretty little dick was dripping, worse now than before, making pools on the dark fabric beneath him. Yes, this boy would need the sofa cover for shoots. So, so wet. Just like a pretty girl. “You—you can spank me.”
“Oh. Can I? It sounds like you would like this very much. It does not sound like this is much of punishment for you.”
Ilya considered his options as he stroked over Shane's ass, indulging himself with the occasional squeeze to hear the soft broken noise Shane made in the back of his throat. But he was a good boy, such a good boy that he stayed near-silent and still until Ilya made up his mind.
“Okay, I make you deal. I will spank you.”
“Yes. Please.”
“I am not done with deal. ‘I will spank you’ is statement, not deal.”
Shane pushed out a little laugh, mouth turned up at the corner just enough for Ilya to see from this angle. God, it made the tension in Ilya’s abdomen knot even tighter, just that hint of a smile. That was okay. Sometimes performers got carried away with someone new at a shoot. It would not affect him beyond this.
“What’s the deal?”
“I will spank you. I know you will enjoy because you are little slut.” Ilya ran his hand over the swell of Shane’s ass. “I will play with stupid little toy you bring to set illegally. But I will not touch your dick. No one will touch your dick.”
Shane made a dismayed sound.
“Is okay.” Shane landed a hand on Shane’s ass, just a light tap, but it was enough to make him moan. “Rule is if you can come from spanking and touching, you can come. If not, you cannot come until next shoot, okay?” Ilya felt half-crazed when he said it. Like he was stepping through a doorway and he didn’t exactly know what was on the other side, even though it was always his business to know. Ilya found predictability safe and good for moneymaking. But it was getting harder to remember that he was filming, more difficult to bring himself to care what the audience saw at the end of the day. The focal point of his world was narrowing itself down to Shane, from his pouty lips to his weeping, neglected cock.
Shane’s breathing was heavy. He wasn’t responding.
“Tell me is okay.” He rubbed over the plump surface of Shane’s ass, grabbing and squeezing. He hit it with another light tap. “I think you can come. You are good boy at heart. Only slutty today.”
Shane nodded shakily. “Yeah—I—yes.”
“You tell me ‘fuck off’ to stop, yes?” Ilya bent down and grabbed Shane’s chin, kissing him gently, tongue touching the back of his teeth. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Shane swallowed. Ilya could see the sweat beading on his neck and forehead. “My safe word is banana.”
Ilya’s mouth twitched. At least the camera couldn’t see the smile on his face or the heat in his cheeks. He grabbed Shane’s ass again and jiggled, running his thumb along the line of a pale silver stretch mark. “Okay. Is very boring safe word,” Ilya said. He landed an experimental smack on the curve of Shane’s ass, then pressed hard on the base of the plug. “But I will listen, yes?”
Shane made an incoherent noise, and Ilya landed a smack on his other asscheek. Not hard, but enough to make him flinch. Ilya’s dick jerked, and he wondered if he could come just from spanking Shane. If he just rested the head of his dick in the shallow trough of one of those fucking dimples and rubbed it gently while he held a handful of Shane’s ass, he would certainly splatter all over his back in a matter of seconds.
He cleared the thought from his mind and landed a series of softer smacks on one cheek and the other, enough to make Shane’s skin pink up ever-so-slightly. Just enough to warm up his ass. The sound the slapping made was a pleasant, sharp staccato, the feel of Shane’s skin hot beneath his hand. On every third or fourth slap, Ilya would run his hand between Shane’s thighs, tugging gently at his balls or tapping the plug in his ass. Tears were running down Shane’s cheeks now, his breathing damp and hoarse and labored.
“Put head down on your arms. Use elbows,” Ilya said. While he paused and waited for Shane to get in position, Ilya tugged on the base of the plug in his ass. “You need relaxing, hm? You tell me if you are okay.”
“Okay.” The word came out in a sharp little breath. “M’okay.”
“Maybe you are good boy after all.” Ilya pulled on the plug again, watching the muscles in Shane’s ass contract and clench around the silicone. He absently touched his own cock with his free hand, loosening the plug enough that Shane’s ass let it slide out, then back inside. “Mm, pretty. You are pretty here like everywhere else, котик.”
Shane made a weak sound of protest, whether at the nickname or being called pretty, maybe.
“You are okay?”
Shane nodded, head huddled against his arms now. “Please. Please, I need—”
“It is alright. You know you cannot come with hands. And I will not fuck you, yes?”
An answering whine in return. Really, he was so sweet like this, ass up and begging for Ilya, letting Ilya fuck the little plug in and out. It was smoother now, a gentle, gliding back and forth. He was well-lubed but was so tight at first, like his ass had difficulty letting go. That would be fun to play with, Ilya thought idly, but his mind was mostly focused on the slick in-and-out of the plug and the shivers rolling up and down Shane’s body.
“You like?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “I—oh, fuck.”
Ilya released the plug and let it slide back in, and Shane’s hips bucked. His cock was drooling, a tiny puddle forming beneath him. Fuck, it was a beautiful sight.
“Please,” Shane begged. “Please, please. I just—I need—”
“Tsh.” Ilya shushed him and pulled the plug almost all the way out before pushing it back in, angled down so it would hit just right. Then he hauled his hand back and landed a resounding smack right where Shane’s ass was pinkest, where he was already warm and buzzy beneath his skin.
Shane made a choking sound, then pushed his ass back up. “Fuck me, you could fuck me, please—”
“Next time. I will fuck you, and I will come inside your ass.” Ilya said this without thinking, but he knew as soon as the words came out that this was true. He wouldn’t let a week go by without really trying this boy out. “And you do not do this with anyone else unless I say yes.”
Shane groaned and tried to push up on his elbows. Ilya landed another hard smack against his ass, and another. His own cock was dripping now, just from the satisfying feedback of his palm falling on hot skin. With every smack, his hand landed closer inward, closer to Shane’s hole. From the way his body twitched and shook, Ilya could tell that Shane was close.
“Tell me,” Ilya said. He tugged the plug almost all the way out, letting it slip back inside, sucked back in by the pull of Shane’s muscles.
“Yes, yeah.” Shane’s body was a mess of quivering. “Not with anyone.”
“My good boy.” Ilya landed a final, resounding smack right over Shane’s hole.
Shane shook all over, hips bucking, cock jumping, painting the couch with ropes and ropes of come. Tears had fallen on his hands, his arms, dotting the couch as he panted Ilya’s name.
Beautiful.
Ilya couldn’t resist. He brought his hand to his cock and aimed at Shane’s hips. It took four strokes at most, and he was painting Shane’s back and the crack of his ass and the silky stretch marks on his hips.
As Shane lay there on the couch, catching their breath, Ilya realized two things.
First: the camera was still running. The lens winked at him as he shifted Shane off his lap and onto the sofa, turning him over to look at his face, exquisitely pink and wet and still pinched with pleasure as the plug brushed up against his prostate while Ilya checked him over.
Second: he wanted to do this again. As soon as possible. In an hour, even, if Shane wanted.
“How…” Looking at Shane’s face, Ilya felt both like a man on top of the world and like a reckless idiot. He had pushed the newbie too far. “You feel okay?”
Shane pushed himself up onto his elbows and nodded. His eyes were still somewhat unfocused; slightly dreamy, the brown of a fawn darting through a forest dappled with light. “Yes.” The word came out slurred towards the end. He drooped back onto the sofa, ignoring the wet patch beneath him. “I’d like some—”
“Water,” Ilya finished the sentence for him decisively, and strode to the kitchen. He had started filling up a glass from the tap when it occurred to him that perhaps Shane deserved something better. He opened the fridge and was immediately faced with rows upon rows of sparkling water. There wasn’t even a fruit or a single slice of cured meat. That was one of the downfalls of LA, Ilya thought, glaring at the LaCroix like it had personally offended him. The people here didn’t eat. They went to Erewhon, snacked on organic almonds, and drank zero-calorie beverages that tasted like a faint suggestion of fruit.
When Ilya re-entered the living room he was cradling four different flavors of sparkling water. He set them before Shane on the coffee table. While he was gone Shane had shifted and removed the plug; it sat beside the LaCroix on the coffee table, glistening with lube, a reminder of what had transpired barely five minutes ago.
“Couldn’t decide,” Ilya said, and gestured to the cans. “You choose.”
“Cherry lime,” Shane said. When Ilya handed the drink over Shane placed a hand around Ilya’s wrist and pulled so Ilya sprawled atop him, the can clanging noisily somewhere on the floor, forgotten.
A single kiss. Gently, on his cheek, like Shane didn’t want to scare him off. Which was, in Ilya’s opinion, foolish. It took a lot more to scare Ilya Rozanov than a kiss.
“Thanks for giving me your porn name,” Shane said. He was beneath Ilya still, looking up at him expectantly, like Ilya hadn’t just spanked him until he cried. He looked at Ilya now, his gaze darting between Ilya’s eyes and lips, a small knowing smile tugging the corner of his mouth upward. “Part of it, anyway.”
“You know who I am,” Ilya said, feeling stupid.
Shane smiled. Like sunlight on water, like the first bite of a crisp apple in August. “Who wouldn’t?”
Ilya shook his head. “I made only three videos.”
“And I watched them over and over again,” Shane admitted. “Paid for a subscription and everything.” He looked at Ilya like Ilya was the sun, gaze roaming freely over Ilya’s face, then down to where their hands were now linked. It seemed like such a small, inconsequential thing after what they had just done, but Ilya had never before given due consideration to the fact that there were, perhaps, more intimate things than sex out there in the world.
Ilya rested his forehead against Shane’s. “Crafty. Like a fox, maybe not a kitten. I think I chose right name for you. Maybe only a kitten for me,” but before Shane could protest Ilya leant down and kissed him properly this time—none of that cheek shit—until the living room darkened and the camera beeped in protest to let Ilya know it had run out of memory space.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
“Rose asked me when my first video was coming out,” Shane said innocently from somewhere behind Ilya. “What should I tell her?”
Ilya, who was airbrushing the ever-loving fuck out of someone’s mother-in-law as part of his side hustle, turned around in his chair. Shane lounged on Ilya’s couch, peering at him from above his book.
“We agreed no video,” Ilya said.
Shane raised the book so his entire face was covered. “I know,” he said, voice muffled by the book. “That’s what I thought. I wanted to confirm it. I wanted to hear you say it, I guess.” Ilya knew Shane by the sound of his voice by now; knew that Shane was probably blushing, that he was bored of watching Ilya edit wedding photos, that he had just wanted Ilya’s eyes on him.
Ilya was more than happy to oblige.