Archive of Our Own

“Fuck. Fuck, c’mon. Fucking— c’mon.”

Warmth pooled at his lower back in a sticky wet heat; bedsheets bunched up clung to his bare skin where he writhed around on his mattress, bed springs squealing in protest as he dug his heels in, curled his toes, lifted his hips and braced his elbows as his fist flew furiously over his leaky, aching cock.

Jerking off was easy — easy considering his dorm room was practically empty almost every night on account of his roommate barely being around most nights, and Shane didn't have much of a social life that didn’t involve classes and sulking around a Burger King when he was too lazy to actually cook anything like his mother had warned him before he’d left home. 

So it’s easy for him to push his shorts down when he’s bored and lonely and easy for him to open Twitter and scroll through the saved bookmarks of videos he’d watched before. Easy to wrap a fist around his dick and play with himself until he filled up between his fingers. Easy to get so wet, he’d barely need any lube that was beyond a pea sized amount to get himself going.

The problem was that Shane Hollander had never experienced a proper orgasm before. 

His cock gives a pathetic little twitch in his hand; the head is flushed a deep purple and the slit is pulsating at random intervals like its gasping for air. His balls, taut and hard against his body, jerks, and his hips roll off the mattress again to fuck up into his own trembling fist. 

But all accounts, he should be close right now, giving himself a few more sloppy, desperate tugs before he’s spilling into his hand with a wretched cry. 

But it never ever happens. 

No matter how horny and desperate Shane gets, no matter how close he think he may get… the end result is always entirely out of fucking reach. 

And it’s killing him.

“Shit, fuck. Please.” He begs nobody, maybe God if he believed in such a thing, but nobody can rescue him from this predicament. He knows. He’s tried.

He jerks his cock a few more times until the pleasure starts veering towards pain, like it often does if he’d been rubbing too hard without actually getting anywhere. His wrist starts to ache and his palm is feeling crampy. He slows his motions and settles his bare butt back onto the bed with a dejected and defeated sigh. 

He gives it a few more less than hopeful tugs, but nothing happens. He stays hard until after he lets go, willing the erection away eventually before his dick settles coldly on the bare skin of his thigh.

It’d started after senior year of high school — Shane was freshly graduated and had a girlfriend, Jessica, whom of which he’d respectfully been going steady with for roughly seven months at that time. 

They’d talked about sex, more so Jessie than Shane ever did, and had carefully decided between them that during a fellow classmate's lakehouse graduation party, they’d go all the way: actually have real life sex.

Shane had shy about it but didn’t feel the need to ever really express this to his girlfriend since at the time he believed it was a stupid thing to get caught up on — he was a guy, he was supposed to want to have sex… right?

They’d tried fucking in the boathouse that night after they’d snuck away from their friends, rolling out a picnic blanket with Can We by SWV playing softly on her Sony Walkman NWD. 

Shane remembers the utter relief that had almost folded him in half when she had slid a hand down his pants and found him as hard as a rock. That’d been his biggest concern mostly after weeks of obsessively worrying about it all, and then she’d jerked him a few times before they’d stripped off entirely and decided to get right to it.

He remembers Jessie had come, but he could never be so sure if it was all his doing, since his thrusts were uneven and poorly managed, and when she had clenched around him with a shudder, it’d only been once she’d stuffed a hand between them and started rubbing herself off rather quickly. 

Shane on the other hand was not so lucky that night. 

Jessie had been alright with it at first and had kissed him after he’d apologised profusely for failing to finish even after she’d grown achy and oversensitive with his thrusting. 

“It’s a good thing you dont come early,” she’d said with a smile as she’d combed her fingers through her hair to tie it back up in a knot. “I heard from my girlfriends that most guys do. You should be glad you’re not like them.”

But the second time they’d tried and Shane once again failed to come, Jessie was more suspicious this time and propped herself up on Shane’s bed and anxiously asked him if maybe it was because of her.

He’d felt awful, telling her again and again that it wasn’t her fault — he really liked her and she was cute… but soon after that string of failed attempts over the length of an entire summer, their relationship fizzled out and he never saw her again. 

Freshman year of college, Shane didn’t try to think about too much, not until he met Rose in a dive bar his new friends and classmates Hayden and JJ had dragged him to one evening, sneaking him in through security with a round of giggles and hushed voices. 

Rose had been the more confident one between them and had struck up a conversation with Shane almost immediately about a wonky button on his shirt he’d missed somehow even after obsessed over himself in the mirror before he’d left his room that night.

He’d blushed hard and choked on his words and that was apparently all it had taken for Rose to lean in and kiss him tenderly, pulling away only to ask him if he’d like to get her out of that place and walk her home.

Hayden clapped him hard on the shoulder and Shane had willingly gone, basically led out of the bar with Rose’s hand in his clammy one, and took him all the way back to her dorm room where once again, he tried to fuck a perfectly beautiful enough girl to find… zero results.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he’d cried into his palms after about an hour of nothing. Rose hadn’t even come either due to his poor attempts, which had made it all feel ten times as bad as the last few times this had happened to him. “I have a fucking problem, it’s so embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

He’d expected Rose to pull him up by his dick and sling him out of her room for wasting a perfectly good night. But Rose did nothing of the sort. She sat with him, rubbed his shoulder and after getting dressed, talked until the sun came up.

By the time there were birds chirping outside of her window, Shane had come to the eventual conclusion that he’d been warding off for most of his life that he was most probably gay.

“Wouldn’t be the first time somebody had that exact same revelation on my bed,” Rose had said with a smile and a shrug when Shane apologised once more before finally leaving.

His brows furrowed and she went on to explain herself swiftly.

“I’m a drama major. You kind of get the picture.”

So Shane was gay: that had to be the reason why he was failing spectacularly in bed, right?

Well there was only really one way to test that theory, and that was to have sex with a man.

He tells Hayden and JJ rather nervously about his news (whilst managing to awkwardly skirt around the reason why he’d discovered it in the first place since it was still rather embarrassing to him that he’d never managed to coax an orgasm out of his body no matter what) and they immediately strike up plans to hit up a gay bar the next night.

Shane laughs but there’s tears welling in his eyes as he’s pulled in for a tight hug. 

They hit up the first gay bar they find, and as soon as Shane steps into the warm, smoky room, he can feel multiple pairs of eyes on him as he’s shepherded through the crowd towards the bar. 

There, he quickly meets a guy named Mark. He’s tall, he’s handsome, he’s got short cropped hair that’s been brushed backwards and gelled neatly in place. His teeth sparkle when he talks and he has soft brown eyes that Shane admittedly gets a little lost in — they’re very trusting and Shane’s incredibly nervous.

He tells Mark it’s his first time in a gay bar, that he’s never been with a man before and he is, what Mark then dubs him, a baby gay. 

Apparently that’s all very attractive; a grocery list of things a lot of gay men look for in these places and so he scoots closer towards Shane throughout the night, buys him a few drinks and doesn’t stop smiling and laughing at everything Shane says, even if Shane doesn’t think he’s being particularly funny. 

His hand ends up on Shane’s knee, thumb rubbing circles over the seam on his jeans. 

He asks him, “This is okay?” 

And Shane feels like he might vomit his heart up over this bar right here and now and then pass out and die, but he just nods and swallows heavily and shudders on an exhale.

They end up in the bar bathroom where they make out for a little bit, and it’s so much different from kissing Jessica or Rose, and it takes very little time for Shane to start filling out in his boxers, whimpering a little when Mark kisses him hard against the stall room door, rattling the hinges as they kiss each other back. 

“Can I suck you off?” Mark had asked him, voice thick with want. Shane had never really envisioned losing his boy virginity in a smelly bathroom stall of a bar before but he’d waited for this long enough that he decided he wasn’t going to be picky now.

He nods hard and then raises his hands up helplessly in surrender as Mark undoes the button and zipper of his jeans and starts tugging them down. 

He’s hard and leaking, and Shane knows that’s never the issue at hand here. Mark has since sunk to his knees and sighs softly as he takes in the sight of Shane’s dick now right there in his face.

“Fuck.” Mark sighs and then takes the head right into his warm, wet mouth. 

Shane jerks back at the sudden contact, bathroom door creaking like it might just fly off with pure force before Shane wills himself to stay still to allow Mark to just do this, and for Shane to get lost in the pleasure and nothing more.

Mark sucks him off and it’s okay: he’d had his dick sucked before by Jessica and that’d been fun but it’s been mostly just foreplay, and Shane would just lie when pulling her off with a wet pop that he wanted her to have a turn instead which had briefly given him him some time to recover from the fact that he knew he wasn’t going to climax at all from her no matter how hard she tried. 

But he thinks in this moment here, in the seedy bathroom stall that smelled like piss and skunk and now, sex, that this time might be different because if wasn’t Jessie, nor was it Rose, or any woman at all. 

He can feel the sharp graze of fresh stubble against the inside of his thigh as Matt pulls off and nuzzles into the underside of his throbbing cock, breathless and mesmerised, wet lips pink and plump, and it should in theory be just enough to get Shane closer to that edge…

But once again, Shane finds himself teetering with nothing to show for all the hard work this bar stranger puts into sucking him off.

“Are you… um…” Mark says quietly as he pulls away, rubbing at his jaw which was no doubt starting to ache now. 

Shame burns hotly in Shane’s chest like embers, scalding enough to get tears to prick behind his eyes. 

“Sorry.” Shane croaks, watching miserably as Mark pulls himself up off his knees with a groan, dusting nothing off his jeans rather awkwardly. “I think I’m just… nervous.” 

Mark smiles sympathetically and then adjusts himself in his own jeans. Shane thinks maybe he’s going to ask him to at least try and return the favour but perhaps he’s less inclined to get Shane to suck his dick if he can’t finish, probably not wanting to find out what other sex related acts he cleared failed at. 

They part ways and Shane leaves that bathroom stall feeling like the worlds biggest loser. 

He doesn’t try and find Hayden and JJ and texts them in the taxi back to his dorm room that he was okay and heading home. He ends up in his own bed, curled up under his blankets and cries himself to sleep, thankful that he at least had the room to himself so he could wail his misery out onto his pillow without feeling any more judged than he already did. 

Nothing Shane did worked. 

Sex with women? No. Sex with men? No. Jerking off? No. Dildos? Nope. Vibrators? … He’d gotten close once before, he’s sure, but still no. 

No amount of porn, no amount of self pleasure or the hottest most beautiful men that Shane would crawl into bed with ready for the first best night of his life ever seemed to do the trick. 

He was sure he was broken, and when he’d Google it, he’d find that the general consensus was that maybe he was asexual or that he didn’t really want to have sex, which he didn’t think was true. He got horny, he got hard. He wanted to enjoy sex without the looming dark cloud of doubt and fear that it was just going to end in shambles for him, all because he couldn’t fucking come. 

So he lays there, on his crappy little dorm bed, palm warm and thighs sticky with sweat, the smell of what he’d attempted to do heavy and sour in the air as he tucks himself back into his shorts and rolls over with a sigh. 

He fucking hated this, to the point he was genuinely considering cutting himself off from ever touching himself or allowing himself to so much as think about sex ever again mostly because getting this hard and turned on with nothing at the end of it was downright torturous. 

Fuck, he’d practically been edging himself since he was a teenager, and that just wasn’t right, was it? 

Just as he pulls his comforter back over his shoulders he hears the tell-tale sound of stomping feet outside the door, and Shane is somewhat grateful he’d given up on his plans for the night when he did, since he wouldn’t want to be caught coaxing his dildo up his ass when Ilya fucking Rozanov walked into the room.

His roommate, a hulking, solemn Russian football player, was an allusive kind of creature that Shane was yet to figure out. 

He was rarely here, and he’d heard from others around campus that it was mostly because he sought out other such company in others dorm rooms.

Which was just a slap in the face, because whilst Shane was now actively avoiding sex because of his embarrassing issue of actually being unable to partake in it, his roommate was apparently sleeping around, having the best time, being the best at it, from what else he’d heard, mostly from Rose. 

Shane has his back to him but listens to his usual routine as he comes in through the door. They rarely talked, barely acquaintances let alone friends, yet Shane spent so much time here once Rozanov returned home from his gallivanting that Shane had his routine down to a T, almost.

His keys are thrown onto his desk, which he very rarely used, Shane noted. He makes a move for the mini fridge he’s got plugged in next to his bed, and cracks open a Coke and guzzles most of it down with wet, heaving gulps. 

Shane shifts in bed, pretending still to be sleeping, and as Rozanov draws his drink around from his lips, panting heavily, Shane feels his flaccid dick start to stir between his legs, pressing his thighs together and frowning at the absurdity of it all.

Sure, Rozanov was a… handsome guy. But he was also an asshole from what Shane had managed to suss out from him so far, often poking fun at Shane after he’d realised that Shane would stay home on weekends and never bring anyone home or stay out late, as opposed to the lifestyle Rozanov ran, they were total fucking opposites.

Shane didn’t need to explain himself to him, sure that if he did even try, he’d just burst into flames because again: what kind of guy couldn’t fucking bust a nut without it being some very real medical concern, but since he was ruling that out, he just decided that the problem was far too humiliating to think about, so he simply didn’t think about it anymore.

At least he didn’t try to.

He can hear the sound of movement from across the room, not that Shane and Rozanov had a lot of space for privacy — their shared dorm room was small and Rozanov though not a total slob, was slightly less kept that Shane, which meant whenever he’d saunter home at such a late hour, he’d usually be making a little bit of a ruckus to get himself ready for bed.

The sound of the zipper of his jeans feels insanely loud in the quiet of the room, and Shane immediately feels a warmth tinge at his cheeks.

It was one thing to not be able to bring himself to orgasm but it was an entirely different thing to constantly get hard at the sound of his stupid roommate he barely ever spoke to, getting undressed after bed. 

Ilya smelled like sweat, sex and cigarettes as he often did when he came home at this time of night, evidence of a good night that Shane could only ever dream of, except maybe the cigarettes, the thought churning his stomach. 

Rozanov’s bed groaned as he flopped onto it, likely just stripped down to his boxer shorts and nothing else now, which Shane knew because he’d accidentally peek a look some nights or during the rare mornings in which Ilya would rise before Shane did, and from his lips he heard a soft muttering, something likely in Russian that Shane doesn’t quite catch but it sends a flurry of butterflies in his stomach either way. 

He closes his eyes, flexes his legs together hoping that his boner would at least be gone by morning without him feeling too strung out. 

Come morning, Shane finds himself flat on his tummy, hips shifting, an ache so prominent between his legs that it pulls him harshly from his slumber.

He lifts his head and blinks blearily to clear the filmy hazy vision of his tired eyes. Pushing himself up onto an elbow, it doesn’t take his brain too long to catch up to the sensations of his body that he was soon becoming all too aware of.

Fuck, he was still rock hard. And fuck! He’d been humping his bed.

Frantic fear pierces his gut, and the warm tingles that buzzed beneath his skin was quickly replaced with icy coldness as the realisation as to what he’d been doing dawns heavily on him.

He’s still faced away from Rozanov’s bed, but with a quick glance at his alarm clock that glared at him from the bedside table, it told him that was early — far too early to have any hopeful idealisations that Rozanov might have left already. 

He sinks back into the mattress, hoping it might just swallow him back up when he hears his roommate shift on his bed and huff a laugh.

“I can give you a moment, if you like,” the Russian says, his words clear, like he’d perhaps been awake a little longer than Shane would have cared to thought about.

His face burns hotly, and he’s somehow still fucking hard as a rock, pressing his hips into the bed beneath him without moving. 

“Um.” Shane rasps, no clue as to what to actually say right now, his heart was hammering hard in his chest like it were trying to make a break for it. He’d let it if it meant timing out of this painfully awful interaction right now. “Sorry.”

Rozanov chuckles and the bed makes more noise, and Shane hates that his brain immediately betrays him by supplying him an image of Rozanov rolled onto his side, sprawled out in his skimpy little black boxer shorts, clinging to the bulge of his thighs, his bicep plump where he’d have one arm propped up, holding his head up in his hand, head tilted so his mess of dark blonde curls fell through his fingers.

Fuck, that was definitely not helping.

“Is okay,” Rozanov says and it sounds like he says it around a huge grin. Fuck him. “I know you are, what is the word… deprived?”

Shane sits up then, no longer chained to his mortifyment to whip his head around and glare are Rozanov who was… yep, exactly how Shane had imagined him, except his underwear had definitely ridden up further than Shane had wanted to believe. It wasn’t just his thighs it was clinging to, either. 

“Fuck off, I’m not deprived!” He exclaims, shifting a little to ensure his visible boner wasn’t on show to make this whole situation more worse than it already was. “I have… plenty of sex, thank you.”

Rozanov doesn’t stop smiling, this whole interaction clearly very amusing for him. This was perhaps the longest the two of them had ever spoken beyond things like: can you turn the AC up, or do you have any trash, I’m heading downstairs. 

His bushy brows furrow and it makes Shane squirm a little, which was a bad idea because he was still practically in the midst of humping his bed.

Jesus, this wasn’t happening right now.

“I never see you bring girls home,” Rozanov says with a one armed shrug. “I don’t see you go out a lot, either. You have a very strict bedtime, Hollander.”

Shane bites the inside of his cheek, quietly furious.

“Fuck you. I don’t… it’s none of your business.”

Rozanov blinks, his lashes fanning over his cheeks.

“It is when you wake me on a Sunday like… that.”

He gestures towards Shane with a nod of his head, Shane, whom of which had now managed to bring himself up onto his knees, hunched over, still hard as he tried to make himself small on the bed as Ilya’s eyes raked over him slowly. 

“I don’t like girls,” he blurts out without thinking, why the fuck did he just say that? Totally not because Rozanov was looking at him like he wanted to take him apart with his bare fucking hands as he sat here hunched up on the bed, sporting a hard on that wasn’t going away still. 

He swallows hard, wondering if maybe that was the wrong thing to say; maybe it was better roommate etiquette to have confessed to that when they’d first met to avoid all this— god, what if Rozanov was homophobic?

“Ido,” Rozanov says and Shane holds his breath because it sounds like there’s a second part to that short statement. “And I also like boys.”

Shane exhales, the relief so palpable he even feels it in his dick. Fuck, as of right now he could feel everything in his stupid dick. 

“Oh.” Shane says dumbly. “Um, that’s… nice.”

Rozanov blinks looking confused for a moment before he chuckles, curls bouncing where they remained tangled up around his long fingers. 

“You are very strange,” he says, bemused, eyes twinkling. Shane hated that. “So no girls to fuck… but no boys either, hm? Unless they are invisible, I am never seeing you with them.”

Shane scowls. “Fuck you.”

Ilya grins wider. “You say that a lot. I think is maybe subconscious, hm? Is that what you want? To fuck me?”

Holy fucking shit, was Shane dreaming? If so this was some sick fucked up, wet, horny nightmare. 

So why does he swallow dry, blink slow and say absolutely nothing that would imply that he didn’t want that.

Because… he didn’t, did he? Fuck, Shane wasn’t really sure what it was he wanted anymore. 

“Don’t fucking combust on me, Hollander,” Rozanov’s barking laughter pulls him fiercely from his thoughts, rattling him down to his core, which still feels wire tight, along with the rest of him.

Don’t fucking combust on me, Hollander, well right there was the problem, wasn’t it? Shane could say yes and let Rozanov have his way with him like he’d been secretly dreaming of but it wouldn’t matter, would it? He’d soon become privy to the issue Shane was harbouring and he couldn’t run away from him if it happened — he fucking roomed with the guy; it’d kill him to have to share his secret with this asshole.

“Fuck you. Fuck off,” Shane spits and then rolls over to his other side, looking down to see that his erection still hadn’t budged. Great. 

Rozanov huffs, though he doesn’t sound too upset by Shane’s abrasiveness. If anything Shane suspected he probably liked it a little bit.

“Okay,” he says casually, and then groans and he stretches his arm out over his head. “Suit yourself, then.”

Ilya gets up out of bed shortly after that and announces he’s going to hit the showers to which Shane doesn’t really give much of a response from where he’s curled up in his bed, listening to him gathering up his towel and wash supplies, closing the door softly before him, leaving Shane to stew in the silence as well as his painful embarrassment that still scorned him like sunburn.

He groans and looks down at his flagging dick, a wet patch painted sticky across the front of his shorts from where he’d wet them as per usual, nothing more than just some precum, and he gives it a swipe with his fingertip, making his whole cock quiver, through he knows by now, it’ll lead to nothing in particular. He can’t even take advantage of Ilya being gone to enjoy it whatsoever.

“You know,” he says quietly to his dick, “you’re really going to get me in trouble one day.”

And then, because Shane is the type of loser to talk to his stupid, broken dick, he rolls over and stuffs his face into his pillow and half-screams. 

Every day, Shane tries desperately to bring himself to an orgasm, more so because Ilya is out of the dorm more than often, and every single time he finds himself coming up short. He feels like he gets close but he can’t really be fully sure, and it’s like real torture, knowing he’s teetering so close to the very edge he’s been chasing for years before he’s yanked back, falling flat on his ass. 

He’s wound up and horny because he’d come back from his classes to see Ilya in his football uniform, hair all damp and plastered to his forehead. He stank, and there were grass stains smeared across his sharply cut cheeks… dirt rubbed into his elbow… his skin was sparkling with sweat. 

He’d gotten hard fast as Ilya had left to get showered and once he knew he was out for the night, he’d stripped down and tried the dildo again.

But it’s no fucking use, no matter how many times he angles it against his prostrate, his body is on fire, in both the way his skin burns, his hair sticks wetly to his forehead, the thrum of a near-orgasm buzzes under his sweltering skin… but again, it just fizzles away and Shane groans with frustration.

“Fuck!” He cries out as he twists his wrist again, jamming the stupid pink silicone dick up his ass rather unceremoniously — he’d decidedly stopped trying to be romantic with it about thirty minutes ago.

He’s lost in the feeling, chasing it down like a ravenous dog as he pushes and pulls, clenches and rolls his hips frantically with and without rhythm; no matter what tactics he goes after, it doesn’t chase the fact that he can only get about a bredth away from finishing before it disappears again.

He’s so lost, in fact, that he doesn’t hear the sound of stomping feet outside his door, nor the sound of the key in the lock.

By the time Ilya has made his way into the dorm room, it’s too late for Shane to do anything more than just freeze up and make a small gasping squeaking sound.

Rozanov’s eyes meet his, looking uncharacteristically shocked for a brief second, lips parting before he schools his expression towards something that felt more familiar to Shane, which was smug. 

“So you were thinking about it then?” He says, eyes looking Shane up and down on the bed where he lay spread eagle, his asshole stuffed and hard dick in perfect eyeline. “My offer, I mean.”

“Get the fuck out!” Shane cries, and moves, far too fast for it to be comfortable as he rips the useless dildo out of his ass and scrambles to his knees to gather up his comforter and bunch it around his middle. He’s panting and furious but Ilya makes no attempt to move from where he’s standing, perhaps just three feet away from the foot of Shane’s bed. 

“This is my room, too,” he says with a faux pout that makes Shane want to launch the dildo right at his fucking head and knock him clean out. “I am very tired, Hollander. You carry on, though. I can be very quiet.”

Shane scoffs. “I can’t believe you. You’re such an asshole.”

Ilya smiles. “And I’ve seen yours. Small world, isn’t it?”

“Are you gonna get out of here?” Shane asks him, managing to keep his voice steady despite the quiver he feels deep down in his chest, not at all from the betrayal of Rozanov having seen him like… that, but something else that shook him. Something that was ensuring he wasn’t going soft from the shame of it all right now.

Ilya swallows, Shane knows because he watches his Adam’s apple bob sharply. It makes Shane leak a little. 

“Do you really want me to?” Ilya asks him, voice low. “Looks like you needed a little bit of help there.”

Shane scoffs, the sound barely scraping up past his teeth. 

“You… you would have no fucking idea,” he rasps.

Rozanov steps forwards slowly, shoes creaking over floorboards. “I can help,” he tells him, upper lip curling like a predator that had successfully cornered his next meal, and it only made Shane hornier somehow.

“I don’t think you can,” Shane says with a breath, unable to pull his eyes away. “I… I haven’t…”

The words tangle in his throat, tangled in the heat he swallows down as Ilya keeps moving towards him like a shark, and Shane is helpless to stay where he was, ready for him to bite.

“First time?” Rozanov says, sounding like he might be sure that it was in fact perhaps Shane’s first time. 

But Shane shakes his head, and Ilya’s brows immediately draw together. Shane likes that, likes that he’d thrown him for a loop even if momentarily,

“I’ve been with men,” Shane admits shyly, twisting the handful of blankets in his fists, still naked, still kneeling before him. “I just haven’t… fuck, this is really embarrassing.”

Ilya tilts his head, his gaze softens. This must be exactly how so many fall for his trap, Shane thinks to himself as he melts under his gaze, heart fluttering dangerously in his chest. 

“I think we are past that, hm?” Ilya purrs, glancing down at the bed Shane had been in-compromised upon, the forgotten dildo buried under the comforter somewhere much to his disdain. 

“Jesus,” Shane chokes and finally averts his eyes, feeling his cheeks prickle with heat. “I mean that I can’t… I’ve never…”

He swallows hard, with it his pride.

He looks up towards Rozanov, no longer smug or playful or stupid. 

He looks like he wants to take him apart carefully piece by piece, like he wants to dig his fingers into him and pry him open — and Shane would gladly allow for him to do so.

“I can’t come.” He says, words hanging heavy in the air, exactly where Shane can’t taken them back. 

Rozanov frowns. “What? Come where?”

Shane sighs, dropping his head down to avoid his confused gaze. “No, not like that I mean. I can’t, I can’t fucking orgasm, Rozanov! I’ve never fucking finished!”

He’s snapped his head upwards again now, arms raised before remembering he’s supposed to be covering his modesty, scrambling to gather the comforter again and hold it against himself, finding that yet again, he was still somehow fucking hard.

“Oh.” Rozanov says softly. “Oh, okay. I see.”

It was weird, Shane knew it was weird; who in their right mind wanted to have sex with someone that couldn’t even have sex, at least not properly. 

Rozanov seems to chew on this information for a moment, and Shane watches it process in his mind, a carousel of thoughts flickering behind those mysterious green-blue eyes that never seemed to remain just one solid colour at a time. 

Not that Shane was ever really looking…

“So,” Ilya then says, sounding the word out slowly, as if tasting it on his tongue. “You cannot jizz? Like you have… medical issue?”

Shane huffs, shoulders sagging releasing some of the tension he’d been holding onto tightly there.

“I… don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I’ve never spoke to a doctor about it, it’s too embarrassing.” He swallows and feels his face get warm again. “I can get close though, and… and I can do other stuff just not, well, that.”

Ilya’s mouth teases a smile. “Other stuff?” He enquires. “You mean… how wet you get?”

Shane’s jaw almost drops into the bedsheets below him before he’s gathering it back up, blinking rapidly at what Rozanov had just said to him.

Granted, he’d just walked in on him fucking his own ass with a bright pink dildo, but there was still some margin for a little bit of class, wasn’t there? 

“I only saw a little bit,” Rozanov explains himself with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. “Saw enough, though.”

And fuck, if Shane wasn’t starting to leak a little again. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters through his teeth. He desperately wanted to touch himself again, even if he knew it would yield no such results, something about the way Rozanov was standing before him like this as he knelt, hidden behind his comforter like it was hiding anything… it was stirring up a heat unimaginable in the bottom of his gut. 

“And is that what you want still?” Rozanov says, voice lowering even deeper, voice scraping out of him like gravel, eyes darkening. “Want me to help you? Show you how it’s done? I’m very good, you know.”

He flashes Shane a smile and he’s sure that he goes a little weak at the knees.

Fuck this guy. Shane wanted him so bad.

“So I’ve heard.” Shane says almost flatly. “You’d really want to… with me?”

Ilya chuckles and then runs his tongue over the top row of his teeth like a hungry dog in heat. 

“I’ve thought about it, yes,” he says. “That wasn’t the first time, the other day, when I caught you humping your bed in your sleep,” he says slowly, letting Shane revel in the admission as to what he’d seen him do without him knowing. 

“Fuck. Really?” Shane squeaks.

Ilya nods, soft curls tumble freely over his brow. 

“You’re so pathetic. If I’d know just how pathetic you were, desperate to make yourself cum, I might have tried this a little sooner rather than later,” he tells him, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to picture what this might have looked like weeks, if not months before now.

Shane swallows hard, gulping almost comically, and tightens his grip in the bundle of blankets wound up in his hands.

“I… I don’t think there’s much you can do,” Shane finds himself saying rather stupidly. “People have tried. I’ve tried… I don’t think…”

His voice, whispery thin and small trails off into a fog of nothingness as Rozanov bridges the small gap that lay between them and made it to where Shane was sat, catching the side of his face in his hand, holding it there like it were made to fit.

“Those other people…” Rozanov is almost slurring his words now, his eyes are heavy with lustful want, gleaming in the low light, making his lashes almost sparkle with wetness Shane hadn’t seen before. 

“Those other people,” he repeats himself, a little sturdier this time, “won’t fucking get it done because they’re not fucking me.”

Ilya’s lips are on his in an instant; warm and plush and heavy and hot, so hot that Shane gasps like he’s been burned, and it leaves Ilya enough room to slip his tongue in, sliding it wetly along the side of his own. 

They kiss like that for a moment, Rozanov managing to keep their mouths locked as he crawls onto the bed, pushing Shane back towards the askew pillows until he’s got Shane onto his back, breathless and panting, entirely pink in the face once the blankets fall away and he spreads his legs to fit Ilya between them.

“This is so stupid,” Shane says with a breath that rattles his chest. “We shouldn’t—”

Ilya ducks his head and attaches his lips to the underside of Shane’s jaw and sucks, taking with it the words Shane can’t remember to say.

“Want to make you feel good,” Ilya murmurs against his thrumming skin, kissing against his rabbiting pulse that gets faster and faster the more Rozanov kisses him there.

Shane is so hard and his belly and thighs are a sticky, hot mess. 

It’s all the wrong kinds of sticky and hot, however, and his brain shifts into the usual gears of panic as Ilya leans back away from him to start stripping himself of his own clothes.

Shane had his fair share of bad experiences before but a big percentage of them, almost the entire percentage of he wasn’t counting Rose, were people he gladly walked away from, leaving a fraction of his shame and embarrassment with them, knowing he’d never have to face them again and think about the disappointment he’d left with them after their attempts. 

But Rozanov was his roommate, and a popular one at that — Shane knew very little about the football team here at his college but he knew it was big enough that Ilya had friends on the team and his stupid jersey alone was likely how he managed to pull so many girls (and boys, apparently) in the first place.

If Shane couldn’t perform tonight, which was absolutely what was going to happen, he’d have to face that consequence for the rest of his college career… unless Rozanov hated him that much to make him switch rooms, but the fear was downright real enough to make him think that maybe this was a very bad idea.

Ilya senses immediately that Shane had tensed up during his internal spiral, and draws his lips away from where they’d been traipsing over his nude chest, looking down at Shane with a frown and a pout, bottom lip wet and heavy where he popped it out.

“You are nervous? Is okay.”

Shane huffs, and feels his eyes sting. He looks away, staring hard at the wall as a way to will away his stupid, childish tears.

“I’m not…” he attempts to lie but finds he cannot. A hand settles on his shoulder, a thumb caresses over the scar that was bumpy across the skin — an old childhood injury from a skating mishap with his parents many years ago.

“I just feel so wound up all the time,” Shane finds himself admitting to the Russian looming over him. “Fuck, it’s always so much. It kills me, you know?”

And it was silly because of course Ilya didn’t know. How could anyone possibly know?

Shane fights back against the lump that rises in the back of his throat and shifts awkwardly against Rozanov, which means that his bare crotch brushes against Ilya’s still clothed one, him only now wearing those tight, skimpy, black little boxer shorts again.

“You do have, what do they say, stick up your ass,” Ilya says it like he’s being very serious about it, but then cracks a grin and laughs softly.

If Shane had told the version of him that had woken up in this very bed this morning that Ilya Rozanov would be crowding him in bed, dick to dick essentially, cracking jokes to walk Shane down from his ledge of panic, he might have thought that he’d taken some accidental kind of drug, because there was no fucking way.

But it’s real. And this was happening. 

Shane hums and finds himself glancing at Ilya’s soft curved lips. 

Rozanov catches on and ducks his head in slowly. 

They kiss, sweet and tender like this was what this was all about, before Ilya’s large hand snakes away from his shoulder, moving down, down, down Shane’s body before he fingernails are scratching at the wiry dark hairs that curled around the base of Shane’s desperate cock.

“You’re big,” Ilya comments, breaking their kiss to glance down and admire him, making Shane sweat a little. “Shame you are bottom — is waste.”

Shane scoffs. “Fuck you, who said I’m a bottom?!”

Ilya pins him with an incredulous look, corners of his mouth lifting. 

“Says the bright pink dildo I walked in on you using. Is this okay?”

His hand is suddenly on him, there at the head and then smoothing down to the base. It’d been a little while since anyone but Shane had touched his dick, so he jerks his hips and shudders, mewling at the feeling as Ilya’s fist works over him slowly.

“Told you I am good,” Ilya says like a true fucking asshole as Shane arches into the feeling, mourning it deeply whenever Ilya would slow or stop.

It was good, but nothing different to how close Shane usually got when it was either some other guy or himself trying. 

He screws his face up and tips his head back against the corner of the pillow.

“Fuck you.” He spits. “This is nothing new, I can do this.”

Ilya snorts and almost like a punishment, swipes his thumb over the slit and presses down before moving along. 

“Yeah. In your sleep.”

Ignoring the snidey comment, Shane lets Rozanov jerk him slowly, working his large hand over his large cock, going slow at first before finding his rhythm.

Shane wondered to himself, and Ilya started to twist his wrist on the upstroke, whether there was a particular routine for all the guys he jerked off like this, or whether he was pulling all the stops for Shane’s sake.

Either way, Shane didn’t really give a fuck — his hand on Shane was warm and nice and he knew what he was doing, clearly, and Shane’s body continued to chase it, with jerks of his hips and more precum blurting from the tip at every other stroke.

But as fast as he could chase it, with the same speed, the sensation kept slipping away out of reach.

It was like he was dangling from a line, able to see where he was supposed to fall, yet unable to unfurl his fingers and let go. 

Ilya must realise this too, his hand slows down and Shane braced himself for the onslaught of heavy embarrassment he was going to face when Ilya would inevitably tell him this was weird and he didn’t want to partake in this anymore.

But just as the warm hand leaves his hard dick, lips find his again, pressing swift and chase before pulling back.

“You are an interesting challenge,” Ilya tells him, breath hot on his face. 

Shane blinks and then hums watching as Ilya leans back admiring Shane’s sprawled out body, clearly very happy with his catch.

“Want to tease you very badly,” Ilya tells him, eyes raking down his form with a bright sparkle before the lifted up and met Shane’s once more. “But I think you have teased enough already, hm? You’d like to get straight to it.”

Shane huffs almost immediately before remembering Ilya was doing him a huge fucking favour here. He still had no idea why but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth about it.

Or at least… a fucking horse dick in his ass, Shane supposed, because then Rozanov was hooking his boxers off his body and slinging them onto his own bed, and…

“Fuck,” Shane said, sure it came out a little garbled from where his mouth actually started to water.

Yeah, he was totally fucking deprived.

“Hm,” Ilya hummed and stroked at Shane’s hip with one hand and at his own heavy cock with his own. “Think this might do the trick?”

Shane was more than willing to find out. 

Luckily for the both of them, they don’t need to do much prep given that about fifteen minutes ago, Shane had already worked himself open with the dildo he’d been uselessly fucking into himself, so all that needs doing is for Ilya to stick a condom on and go to town.

So Shane keens when his legs are suddenly being lifted in the air without much notice, folded in half with something wet and hungry lapping at his hole.

“F-fucking… what the fuck, Rozanov?” Shane stutters, getting his ass eaten for the very first time in his life.

Ilya hums, which doesn’t help much for the thrum of pleasure that trills through Shane’s entire body like a metal drum. He pulls back with a breathy sigh and smacks his lips, savouring the taste like it was a gourmet meal and not Shane’s actual asshole.

“Is okay?” He asks, chest heaving. “You have done foreplay before, yes?” 

Shane blinks. “Yes.” He says slowly. He’d fooled around in sex before, mostly just as a way to buy him some time before it came down to the actual thing. “You said you wouldn’t tease. You’re fucking teasing me.”

Ilya grins wide at that, eyes growing small where his smile takes up place on most of his face. 

“I think you like being surprised,” he tells him, moving his hand from the underside of his thigh where he was holding his legs up still, to settle them in the crooks of his knees. “You’re so fucking tense.”

Well yeah, Shane wanted to snap at him. I’ve never had an orgasm before and been jerking off profusely most of my adult life. You try edging yourself for that fucking long. 

But he doesn’t say any of that, because Ilya ducks his head back down and swallows Shane’s balls into his mouth instead this time, sucking so hard it almost teeters on being a little painful.

Shane fucking loves it.

Ilya’s mouth maps out the south of him, from his hole to his taint to his balls and the base of his rock hard dick. 

It’s all so much, enough that it might’ve made any normal person bust a load already by now with the way Rozanov was working his tongue in all the right spots.

But all Shane can do is pathetically leak onto his belly and writhe around at the overstimulation , whimpering as Rozanov’s mouth kept at it, determined to get him off.

Eventually he must tire, because he pulls away, panting heavily, wiping the slick spit that had started to gather at his chin.

Shane looks away, ashamedly. He’d tired Mark out that one time and he’d walked away from Shane, having soon gathered it wasn’t worth his time.

He’d expected Ilya to do the same now after probably cramping up his stupidly square jaw.

But he’s surprised to find that he wasn’t giving in that easily, smirking to himself, like this was a personal challenge Shane had set him up for. 

Perhaps it was the athlete in him, and as the thought crossed his mind, Shane allows himself to dreamily fantasise about being fucked on the field under the pitch lights, pressed into turf grass until his knees were burned and his body was sore.

“Is okay?” Ilya’s voice pulls him directly from his filthy thoughts. “To keep going?”

Shane stammers. “Uh, yeah? If— if you want to?”

He can’t believe he’d even consider it after all of this but he guessed at least Rozanov was a trier.

Hell, maybe he got off on idiot losers like Shane. 

Heat flared in his chest as he watched Ilya hop off the bed and quickly pad over to his side of the room, rummaging around the bedside for what Shane quickly concluded was condoms.

Fuck, this was really happening then. 

The rustle of the foil packet as Ilya plucked it from the wooden drawer seemed to sound off like an explosion against the quiet of the rest of the room. 

He watched as Ilya tore it open with his teeth, and then sighed as he pinched the tip and began rolling it down his long length. 

He was likely bigger than anyone else Shane had taken, so perhaps him working his tongue in his ass was the right move, since the dildos Shane had acquired over the previous months, as impressive as they were, were nothing like what Rozanov had packing. 

He settles back onto the bed over Shane’s body, pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder that felt more tender than he’d like to admit.

“You okay?” He asks.

No, Shane wanted to answer him. Nothing about this felt okay. 

But he swallows and takes a breath and then, finally nods his head.

Ilya hums, happy with the consent to go ahead and takes himself at the base to start lining up at Shane’s open and waiting hole.

He breached him, slowly, inch by inch, stilling once when the head was in, and then a few more times to allow Shane to adjust around the shape of him, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was fully inside. 

“You’re tight,” Rozanov comments, leaning back on his knees to take a look at where he was fully sheathed, losing an inch only momentarily when he shifted forwards again, to kiss Shane once more, this time on the corner of his mouth.

Shane wondered if Ilya kissed all his hookups so tenderly like this. But he didn’t dwell for too long, because he’d soon adjusted to the feeling and weight of him being inside of him, and was nodding, urging Ilya to move — to fuck him.

His hips roll, slow at first, like how Shane had expected. The rim of his asshole burns but only for a short while, before the pain melts into pleasure, his body happily opening around Rozanov's cock as it drives into him at a maddeningly steady pace. 

“Feel okay?” The Russian asks him sincerely.

Shane nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

Ilya drops his head, warm, tacky forehead resting against Shane’s shoulder before he’s pouting his lips, leaving lazy, ghostly kisses against the sticky skin then, shifting his hips again to start to pick up the rhythm of his thrusts. 

It feels insane the way Rozanov moves inside of him, little to what Shane had ever experienced so far when it came to sex. 

He was bigger, sure, but he was driving his cock like he had a damned licence for it, like he really knew what he was doing. 

Excitement bubbles in his chest before he can temper it; could this really truly be it?

Rozanov keeps fucking him like that, stopping only a few times to catch his breath, and again to hike Shane’s legs up over his shoulders, Shane feeling silly only for a moment as his feet flopped around at the sides of Rozanov’s face before he was being fucked fast, and suddenly nothing felt silly at all.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya grits, his hands now having tightened around his hips, surely leaving marks with how hard he was holding on. “Fucking pulling me in, you’re so needy for it.”

Shane had never felt needier in his entire life, and perhaps he was subconsciously drawing Ilya’s dick in further and further with his strength — but he didn’t care. He wanted this so bad, he needed to fucking cum, or it felt like he was going to die.

They chase the feeling together, moving together in a tandem that felt less like meaningless sex and more like it were a dance. 

Shane’s moans ring out throughout the room, head tipped back, eyes screwed up so tightly, unimaginable colours swirl around behind his closed lids. He can feel just about everything, down to the individual bead of sweat prickling at his temple, to the way Ilya’s cock pushed through his guts making way for its new temporary home.

Fuck, he felt so close, he really wanted to cum right now.

“Are you close?” Ilya asks, voice thick.

Shane sighs, the sound thin and whiny.

“Think so,” he mutters. “Don’t— don’t fucking stop.”

Ilya doesn’t stop, keeping his thrusts fast and steady and deep. It’s right there, Shane can feel it. He blindly grasps for his aching dick, slick and hot and firm, and fists over it trying to match Ilya’s pace best he can.

It’s there… right there, so very close that Shane thinks he might actually let out a wet laugh before it all suddenly gets swept away from under him… and just like that, it’s gone.

He squeezes his dick in his hand and scrunches his face up with pure disappointment.

“Fuck!” He cries out, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes down the sides of his face.

Ilya stills immediately, breathing hard. “Did you…?”

He peers at the cock in Shane’s hand, piecing it together before Shane sniffles miserable and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he croaks, embarrassed and ashamed. “I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

Ilya is still for a moment before he slowly pulls out, lowering Shane’s legs on the bed, wishing he had the strength right now to just draw them to his chest, roll over and stay in a small little ball for the rest of his life where nobody ever had to see him ever again.

“Are you… okay?” Ilya says.

Shane sniffs and gulps. “No. M’sorry. I warned you. There’s something fucking wrong with me, isn’t there?”

A sob bubbles up in his chest, making him feel worse that he was blubbering in front of Rozanov like this. This was possibly the worst day of his entire life.

“No.” Ilya then says plainly. “Is not something to cry about.”

Shane turns his head and looks at Rozanov through a film of tears, trying to look as angry as possible.

“Fucking easy for you to say!” He cries. “Fuck. Sorry. I’ll just… leave. Unless you want me to like, suck you off or something.”

Ilya glances down at his half hard dick like he’d somehow forgotten it was there at all, before looking back at Shane, looking almost offended.

“What? No.” He says it like he means it. “You think I am that much of an asshole? I’m hurt.”

His lips twitch and Shane knows he just trying to make Shane feel less shitty, which only works by a smidge. This was all still so humiliating and no amount of joking around was really going to save Shane from this lifetime of shame that would follow him around probably forever.

“You’re not, actually,” he admits with a sigh. “Thanks for trying, though. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.”

Ilya shrugs. “Maybe you just don’t know what you like yet,” he says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Shane blinks. “If you’re talking about topping then, I already did try, kind of. I think it’s just my dick that is broken.”

Ilya shakes his head, like he’s certain about what he’s about to say next, puffing out his chest slightly.

“Impossible. Dicks can never break. Brains? Yes, maybe. And the two are very closely related, hence the problem.”

Shane sniffs, and then before he can stop himself, says around a small smile. “Is that why you’re such a dickhead then?”

Ilya laughs, eyes squinting. “Ah, he jokes. The one that cannot give me just a little bit of cum, and he jokes.”

Shane laughs back weakly. “Fuck you, Rozanov.”

Ilya hums and smiles and then his eyes get heavy as he leans in, and Shane doesn’t stop him as he rolls back over to let him kiss him.

“Tried that,” Ilya mutters against his lips. “Need me to grab a cloth?”

Shane’s heart sinks heavily in his chest, harbouring a hurt that this was now over all because of him.

He closes his eyes and pushes his head away from Ilya, who manages to chase his lips still, keeping them connected by a breath as he steals it from Shane’s mouth as he latches onto his lips again.

“I didn’t want this to end,” Shane admits quietly. He’s still so wired up, still so turned on, still so fucking desperate for it. He wants Ilya to keep trying, if he’ll allow for it — wants Ilya to always keep trying if it means getting to savour the taste of his mouth on his.

“Are you sure?” Ilya asks him gingerly, and then pecks his cheek. “We don’t have to. You don’t need to feel—”

Shane winds his arms around Rozanov’s neck and pulls him in, surging up to meet him and crashing their faces together in a hurried, horny frenzy. 

“Please.” He gasps. “I fucking need…”

He’s stirring between his legs and knows that Ilya is too. 

Rozanov pants into the kiss, breath warm and tangled with his. “What do you need, Hollander. Tell me what you need.”

Shane isn’t even sure he knows what it is he wants, so he just kisses him again, and again and again until they end up in each other's laps, squirming and humping like they were both burning for it. 

Ilya eventually pushes Shane back down on the bed, onto his tummy this time, Shane had only tried doggy style just the once with a failed hookup a few months ago and it hadn’t felt especially spectacular. 

But now as Ilya peppers kisses over the shape of his spine, starting from the back of his neck all the way down to the curve of his ass, he pauses to sweetly places one on the puckered hole of his ass before he gives his cheeks a slap with the flat of his palm, the sound ringing out sharply across the room.

“Fuck!” Shane cries, his cock weeps at the sensation. “A-again. Do it again.”

Ilya complies, roughly kneading the cheek in his hand before bringing his other to strike across the jiggly flesh of his butt. 

It’s an incredible sensation that had Shane arching his back even more, pushing his ass in Ilya’s space, urging him on without words as his hips sway, his dick hanging heavy between his legs with want.

“Okay?” Ilya grits just as Shane feels the familiar weight of his tip blunt against his hole again. 

Shane hums, the noise tangles into a moan as Ilya pushes in, bit by bit once more until he’s swiftly at the hilt, less hesitant, less careful this time.

“Fuck.” Ilya curses, and then Shane thinks he might say something in Russian, but he can’t be sure, mostly because his brain becomes a red hot mist the moment Ilya rolls his hips against his ass, fucking him earnestly as Shane willingly takes it.

Rozanov sets a brutal pace that has Shane’s arms trembling, no longer holding the strength to hold his own weight as he collapses chest first into the bed, scrambling blindly to find his pillow, needing some sort of purchase as Ilya pounds into him, grunting and sighing punctuating each thrust. 

“God, fuck. Fucking— fuck, Rozanov.”

Shane’s words, pitchy and breathy tangled into a wanton moan, not the only noise that filled the air of the warm, sweaty dorm room.

Bed springs squeaked, the headboard creaked. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud and rough, and through the haze of the usual sex adjacent noises was the grunting and puffing of Ilya Rozanov who had Shane on his hands and knees on the crickety old bed, driving in from behind with his large hands mapping over the small of his back where it curved for him as he continued to fuck into Shane’s hole.

“Yeah.” Ilya grit, hands roaming down to grab at the globes of Shane’s asscheeks, giving them a hard squeeze, the feeling rushing straight to Shane’s cock. “That’s it.”

Excitement trilled up through his belly, settling deep in his veins as Ilya rocked his hips hard into his. His arms that had snaked under the pillow, now tightly clutched to his chest, moulded to his grasp as he flexed his arms and curled his toes. 

Fuck… this could… this could be—

“I’m close, I think. Fuck, I think I’m close.”

The words spill from his lips, muttered in an uttance as he feels the coil wind tighter and tighter lower and lower in his belly. His leaking cock, where it swung helplessly as well as uselessly, heavy between his legs, swiped against the bunched up blankets, the sensitive head gaped and spat another glob of precum from the tip, wetting the sheets further.

“Good,” Rozanov spat and shifted his hips harder, walking his knees forward a little closer so he could somehow bury himself even further, though what he’d been doing before had been plenty enough. “You going to come for me, hm? Am I going to make you fucking come?”

Shane sobbed, burying his head into the pillow to muffle the obscene sounds that tore from the back of his throat. He squeezed around Ilya, holding him in tight, yet, Rozanov was a professional, and moved around the maddening strength of Shane’s gripping hole, fucking in and out, in and out.

He’d never felt like this before — not even when Ilya had him on his back had he felt this close to the edge. 

He’s panting, begging, even, and he can feel his chin damp with saliva, cheeks wet with tears. 

He’s so fucking desperate for it, he wouldn’t care if he never came ever again in his life, he just needs this right here, right now.

“Hands behind your back,” Rozanov suddenly says, voice rough, almost jerking Shane from the moment entirely.

He blinks nearly, twisting his head to look as far back as he could through half lidded eyes.

“Wha—”

“Gimme.” Ilya instructs, keeping his rhythm but slowly just slightly. He’s holding out a hand for Shane to take, who eventually unwinds his arms from his pillow and settles them across his back for Ilya to take, holding his wrists together, pinning them hard against his spine.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he then tell him firmly, and Shane thinks he’s fucking crazy. How the hell was he going to cum without jerking his dick?

“But… but I can’t…” he feels pathetic in the way his voice wobbles, the way his face crumples, even half smooshed into the pillow, Ilya can see. 

But Ilya doesn’t seem to care, or if he does, he at least pretends not to.

“You can cum without touching yourself,” he says it like it’s factual. His large fingers are wound around both his wrists, tight like a vice, it hurts in all the right ways. “I will show you.”

Shane, through the haze of his sexual agony, is still ready to dispute this, all until Ilya moves forward in his knees, pushes Shane down further into the bed until he’s basically in half, ass sky high and—

And holy fuck. The angle is… it’s everything.

“Oh. Oh my god,” Shane gasps as Rozanov picks up the pace, ramming in harder and deeper than he’d ever felt before. He’s sure he can feel it, there in the base of his tummy, wishing he at least had his hand free to touch at his belly button and seek out the evidence that his roommate really was that far deep inside of him right now. 

But the sensation from inside is enough to have Shane wordlessly gasping, jaw slack, tongue lolled against the pillow, eyes damp and body on fucking fire. 

It starts in his chest, like he’d swallowed something hot, traveling down deep into his gut, circling lower and lower and Shane feels his legs shake, his palms sweat, his heartbeat thrumming against his eardrums.

The feeling draws out, sweeter and hotter than he’d ever felt before, and he makes a choked off little sound just as Ilya smacks his ass again with the hand which was free from restraining Shane. 

“Oh! Oh, I… I…”

He clenches, bearing down like his body wasn’t quite sure what the hell it wanted, a cocktail of emotions and needs swirling about in him like a burning hot torndado.

Behind him, piercing through the grunts and huffs and moans, he hears Ilya chuckle lowkey.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re about to cum, baby. That’s it. Let go for me.”

It hits Shane like a white-hot, blinding burst of lightening, and he is sure that he blacks out momentarily, only for a half second, before he’s very aware of his body, and the feeling that expels out of him, out of all of him.

His knees quiver, his chest spasms, his muscles ripple and tighten and go lax again and he feels it, warm and building in his balls, going up and up and up and his dick squeezes as he shoots hard and fast all over the sheets.

He screams, though he can’t hear it over the rushing of blood circling his head, throbbing at his temples, but he feels the noise raw in the back of his throat, scraping against his vocal cords, shaking him, tearing him apart.

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, there in an instant, taking over all that he’s ever been and ever will, under every inch of his skin, buried under each fingernail, twisted around every strand of hair, stirred with each ounce of blood that rushed around his sweltering body. 

And then, it fades away. 

It leaves him, parting like a slow wave returning back to where it came, leaving Shane in the shallows, feet still wet, watching it trickle away from him. 

He heaves, sobs again and screws his face up when he realises he could feel Ilya still moving inside of him, considerably slower this time, more careful. 

“Are you…” Ilya asks him, resting a warm hand on his ass where he’d buried himself to the hilt. 

Shane sighs shakily and nods his head. “Yes,” he says quickly. “Yes, yes. Thank you.”

He clenches weakly around Rozanov, rim fluttering tiredly, and Ilya pistons his hips three more times slowly before he grunts, goes still, and Shane vaguely registers the faint sensation of the condom filling from inside him. 

He’s on a far away planet when Ilya pulls out, floating elsewhere outside of his own atmosphere when he’s settled on the bed carefully, exploring other worlds when there’s a lukewarm rag soothing his hole, and he’s finally coming back down to earth when Rozanov rolls him onto his back, cleans up his belly from where Shane had been laying in his own mess, and then asks him,

“Shall I clean the sheets?”

Shane blinks, eyes feeling swollen and heavy in his head, barely having the strength to keep them open as he squints up at the man still lingering over him.

“Huh?”

“The sheets,” Rozanov says again with a nod of his head, damp curls stuck to his forehead. “You have… weird system. You don’t like mess. I will wash them, hm?”

Warmth flickers in Shane’s chest, like a flame jumping from a wick, it makes his eyes sting a little like the room had somehow gotten smoky.

“Oh. Um. Right, yes. It’s… it’s okay. I can do it.”

He tries to lift himself up onto his elbows but his whole body shakes, and he involuntarily makes a little whimpering sound that he’s sure reddens his cheeks.

Ilya scoffs gently, mouth twisting into a suppressed grin.

“Yeah, right. You just had jizzed your brains out,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrows. “Let me. Here.”

He then without further warning, scoops Shane up into his arms rather effortlessly, only giving Shane about two seconds to go bug eyed and gape at him before Ilya was carefully dumping him onto his own bed. 

Heat prickles at his cheeks as Ilya gets him somewhat comfortable before turning around to start undoing Shane’s bedsheets to be washed. 

“Thanks.” Shane says dumbly from where he lay, in another man’s bed, tangled up in his sheets now, feeling very very naked. 

“Is no problem, I have laundry I need to do,” Ilya says with a wave of his hand as he shakes the pillow free from its casing.

Shane swallows hard. There’s a bottle of water that Ilya had also grabbed for him from his mini fridge. 

“No, I mean, yes thank you for that but also…”

Ilya hums and Shane can hear the grin in it as he does so.

“You are thanking me for sex? You are very polite, Canadian boy.”

Shane’s cheeks go even redder. “I think I have to,” he says, defending himself quietly. “That was… yeah.”

Ilya turns and throws him a look over his shoulder. He’s almost smouldering. He really was a smug bastard. 

“At least you know your dick is not broken now, huh?”

Shane gulps. Right, yeah, he thinks, watching as Ilya bends over to tear the mattress cover and fold it carefully into a bundle for the laundry. 

Not broken, but maybe just very responsive to… certain things or even people.

And as he watches his stupidly hot football playing roommate gather up his ruined sheets — his finally ruined sheets, to go wash them because he knows that Shane likes to sleep on a clean bed when he can, he thinks that maybe he’d left one problem behind and perhaps now walked into a new one. 

Because how the hell was anything ever going to compare to that?

Shane lays there still catching his breath, and throws an arm over his eyes, sinking into Rozanov’s bed, fighting back the smile that twists at his lips, knowing that for now, he’d face that dilemma when it came to it, and enjoy this whilst he could. 

He’d be enjoying it for a long, long time.