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Ilya did enjoy being in control, but it had to be said, sometimes it was nice to lie back and let Shane do the hard work.
He was propped up against the headboard, sweating, his fingers digging into Shane’s hips as his boyfriend rode him like he was trying to wear himself out. He was half-gone already, his eyes mostly shut and his skin flushed red all over, thick muscles rippling as he raised and dropped himself on Ilya’s dick.
Ilya looked up at him, rapturously watching his face as his eyelashes fluttered and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. Always with his mouth on something. Ilya knew he got a great deal of pleasure from putting things in his mouth, but he hadn’t fully realized to what extent until they started spending more than just a few hours at a time together.
Shane liked to bite. A lot.
His own lip, sometimes, like he was doing as he fucked himself on Ilya’s cock. Sweatshirt strings, straws, mouth guards, the arm of his glasses, Ilya’s shirt collar, Ilya’s necklace, the waistband of Ilya’s pants, Ilya in general. He was like a puppy: mouthy, obsessive.
Ilya raised one hand to the back of Shane’s head, guiding him to press his face to Ilya’s shoulder. He kept his hand there and Shane started whining against his skin, his mouth wet and hot, legs shaking as his orgasm began creeping up on him.
“Go on, shchenok,” he murmured to him, bucking up to meet his thrusts.
He felt Shane’s teeth sinking into him as he came, his whole body tight with it, his helpless noises of overstimulation muffled by Ilya’s body.
“Good, so good,” he praised, and groaned, holding him close as he spilled inside him. He could feel Shane suckling at his skin through the haze of his orgasm. He gave himself a moment to catch his breath, then hissed like it hurt.
Shane didn’t pull off him right away, so Ilya reached over to slip one finger into the corner of his mouth like a fish hook, breaking the seal of Shane’s lips on him.
Finally, he got the message and sat back, staring dazedly at Ilya and blinking slowly. He was so beautiful like that, sunk deep into a place that only Ilya could bring him.
“Look what you did, bad boy,” Ilya said, gesturing to his shoulder where he could feel his skin throbbing, undoubtedly bearing the telltale mark of Shane’s teeth.
“Sorry,” he slurred, and hiccuped. He was clearly too fuck-drunk to really be all that sorry, but Ilya had a plan.
“You are like a puppy,” he said, taking Shane’s face in both hands. “Shchenok. Even sounds like your name, a little.”
“Uh-uh.” He turned his head, nuzzling Ilya’s palm and then sucking his pinky finger into his mouth, eyes falling shut in contentment.
“You know what happens to mouthy puppies?” he asked, soft and dark, watching as one of Shane’s eyes slid open and refocused on him. “They get muzzled. Cannot get anything in their mouths. Then they learn.”
Shane’s eyebrows furrowed and he sucked harder on Ilya’s finger.
“I should do that for you, I think. Maybe then you won’t bite me so hard, leave marks on me from your sharp puppy teeth.” Ilya felt more than heard Shane whimper, and he didn’t miss how his spent cock gave an interested twitch between their bodies. “Yes, I will do that. Get you a muzzle.”
“No,” Shane mumbled around Ilya’s finger, then let it fall from his mouth. His eyes were shining, cheeks flushed under his freckles. “Ilya, please, I’ll be good. I won’t bite. I don’t- you don’t have to do that.”
“Mm, no, I do,” he murmured, and patted Shane’s cheek, hard. “It will be good for you.”
“Ilya,” he said breathlessly, then slumped forward on him, pressing their bare chests together and sagging into his embrace.
Ilya held him, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words in Russian into his hair. He knew what he needed; he would take good care of him.
Once Shane was gone - back to Montreal - Ilya wasted no time doing some very important research that led to equally important shopping.
He settled on something leather, of course, with shining gold hardware and a sturdy buckle on the back that would sit nicely at the base of Shane’s skull. It was custom made, so it would take some time to arrive, but that suited Ilya just fine.
He wanted Shane to be surprised by it, wanted to lull him into thinking that Ilya wasn’t going to make good on his threat. Let him bite; it would only make it that much sweeter when he suddenly had that privilege taken away.
—
Once it finally arrived, Ilya admired it before tucking it away in an unused dresser drawer, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Shane was due to visit him again in a few days, so all he had to do until then was keep it a secret. That proved tougher than he’d anticipated - just looking at the thing and imagining it on Shane made his heart speed up. He wanted so badly to play with him.
He got his perfect opportunity almost as soon as Shane stepped into the house, somewhere between him taking off his shoes and dropping to his knees in front of Ilya.
Letting Shane get his mouth on him was tempting - very tempting - but he held fast.
“Ah, no,” he said curtly, and took a step back even as Shane reached for him. “Wait here.”
“Ilya?” Shane called after him, clearly confused, but he stayed right where Ilya left him.
When he came back holding the muzzle, he watched Shane’s expression shift from confusion to a mix of frustration and pure, overt lust. He could practically smell it on him, rich and heady.
“No,” Shane said softly, slowly shaking his head as he crept towards Ilya on his hands and knees. The sight of him made Ilya’s cock jerk in his pants. “No, Ilya, please. You don’t have to do that. I’ll behave.” He wrapped his arms around his waist and nuzzled into his crotch, trembling.
“It will be good for you,” Ilya said gently. “This is how you learn, shchenok.”
Shane whined open-mouthed against the fabric of his pants, clinging to him, and Ilya’s stomach clenched. He really was so perfect.
“Clothes off now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It would be too difficult to get his shirt off over the muzzle once it was on, and he didn’t want to wait any longer to see Shane naked.
Shane sat back and obeyed, his eyes downcast, repentant. Like maybe he thought if he was sweet and docile enough, Ilya wouldn’t really do it.
“Khorosho,” he said, and knelt down opposite him, carefully fitting the muzzle over his face. He buckled it in the back and curled his fingers around the place where the straps met, using his grip on it to give Shane’s head a little shake. “Look at me.”
Shane’s eyelashes fluttered and he looked at Ilya, his face and bare chest flushed, his cock already so hard it was curving up towards his belly. The metal cage of the muzzle covered his mouth and nose, thick black leather straps cradling the line of his jaw and running between his eyebrows. His pupils were blown wide; it was going to take some careful handling to keep him from slipping off so deep he couldn’t even follow Ilya’s instructions.
“So pretty. What a good boy,” Ilya cooed, then stood up, tugging at the back of the muzzle to get Shane to follow him. He led him like that, making him crawl to the living room, and sat on the couch. He pointed to the floor at his feet. “Lezhat’,” he said, and when Shane glanced up at him, visibly confused, he said it again, more forcefully. He snapped his fingers to underscore his point, and Shane got it, curling up on the floor by his feet.
“Khorosho,” he said again, reaching down to ruffle Shane’s hair affectionately. He turned on the TV and put his feet up on the coffee table, nonchalant, like his heart wasn’t pounding. Like he wasn’t agonizingly hard himself, his cock straining against the front of his pants.
After a while of pretending to watch TV - he didn’t know what was on and he didn’t care - he glanced over at Shane, who was still lying obediently on the floor, occasionally subtly shifting like he was trying to get comfortable.
Ilya patted his knee. “Ko mne,” he said, gesturing for him.
Shane stared for a moment, then hesitantly moved closer to Ilya, leaning against his leg and resting his head on Ilya’s knee. Ilya hummed in satisfaction and petted his hair gently, feeling how soft and silky it was.
With his other hand, he freed his cock from his pants and gave it a few slow strokes. He felt Shane’s eyes snap to it immediately, and heard a tiny whine escape from his throat.
“Golos,” he murmured encouragingly, moving his hand from Shane’s hair to his face, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone.
Shane looked at him and whined again, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s leg.
“Golos,” Ilya repeated, and made a soft growling noise: speak.
“Please,” Shane gasped as soon as he understood, leaning more of his weight on him. “Ilya, please. Take this off. Please let me suck your dick.”
“Nel’zya,” Ilya rumbled, shaking his head firmly at Shane to make his meaning clear.
Shane just groaned, and Ilya felt a damp spot spreading on the thigh of his pants; Shane was drooling on him, his saliva puddling through the metal cage of the muzzle. He was so beautiful, flushed and needy, struggling with his inability to put his mouth on anything.
Ilya forced himself to look away and refocused his attention on stroking himself, watching his own hand move up and down. He rubbed his thumb over the head, listening to the sweet sound of Shane slowly losing his mind. He was clinging to Ilya, rubbing his face on him and whimpering. So desperate.
Ilya decided to take pity on him - a little. He took his hand off himself and reached out for Shane. “Ko mne,” he said again, and helped him up on the couch, easing him onto his back.
He knelt between Shane’s spread thighs and reached out to rub one hand soothingly over his chest and stomach, carefully avoiding his straining, leaking cock.
“Ilya,” he groaned, twitching under Ilya’s palm. “Please, fuck, please, I can’t,” he mumbled, restlessly turning his head back and forth.
“Sst. Tikho,” Ilya said firmly, holding one finger up to his lips.
Shane’s teeth clicked together audibly, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he struggled to be quiet.
“Khorosho,” Ilya breathed as he started jerking himself off again, quickly, letting himself slip into the depths of pleasure that were threatening to consume him.
Shane huffed out a sharp breath, looking up at Ilya. His eyes were so wide and wet, and as Ilya watched, a tear slid down his left cheek.
Ilya came in hot, sudden bursts across his chest and stomach, gritting his teeth and groaning his way through it.
He sat back on his haunches to catch his breath, panting open-mouthed. He looked down at Shane, taking him in: he was a vision. Flushed bright red, his hard cock leaking on his belly, splashes of Ilya’s come decorating him. Claiming him.
Ilya leaned down and licked a long stripe up his torso, gathering his own come on his tongue. He braced one hand on Shane’s sticky chest and got as close to his face as possible, pressing his lips to the cage of the muzzle.
Shane’s eyes went even wider and he opened his mouth in eager anticipation; Ilya spat.
He felt a rumble under his palm as Shane held himself back from making too loud of a noise. He pulled back and watched him, watched as he swallowed everything Ilya gave him and looked up at him like he wanted more.
“Khorosho, shchenok,” he said, his hands shaking. How was it possible he was this perfect? That he was Ilya’s?
He slid down Shane’s body, pressing soft kisses to his skin as he went. He settled between his thighs, reaching out to grasp Shane’s cock in one hand and wasting no time fitting his lips to the head of it.
He ran his free hand up to Shane’s chest and grabbed an unabashed handful, squeezing and massaging as he worked his mouth on his cock. Dimly, he could hear Shane making strangled little noises in the back of his throat, still trying so hard to stay quiet, to follow instructions.
Ilya rewarded him by taking him down his throat.
He closed his eyes to focus, swallowing around him and reveling in the taste of him, the feeling of the head of his thick cock nudging the back of his throat. Ilya was long past the point of having a hairtrigger gag reflex, and he was never prouder of that than when he was blowing Shane.
He pulled off him for a moment, looking up his body. Shane’s eyes were glazed, tears running down his cheeks, and he was panting like he was too overwhelmed to manage a full breath.
“Golos,” Ilya said hoarsely, then dove down again.
“Fuck, Ilya, oh my fucking god, I hate you, I love you. Jesus fucking Christ,” Shane babbled, both of his hands cradling Ilya’s head, fingers twining in his curls. “I can’t, you’re- I’m gonna-” he sobbed, then howled plaintively as he came down Ilya’s throat.
Ilya swallowed greedily, then pulled off him, resting his head on Shane’s thigh as he caught his breath.
“Oh my god,” Shane whimpered from above him, his hands still clutching mindlessly at Ilya’s hair. “Holy shit.”
Ilya pushed himself up to a kneeling position and leaned over Shane, carefully reaching around his head to unbuckle the muzzle. He took it off him and set it on the coffee table, then stretched out on top of Shane, wrapping both arms firmly around him.
“Molodetz,” he whispered in his ear. “Very, very good job, sweetheart.”
Shane just moaned quietly and burrowed into his neck, mouthing ever-so-gently at his skin. He had clearly missed being able to get his lips and tongue on Ilya, and it made Ilya’s heart beat faster.
Once he was sure that Shane was recovered enough to walk, Ilya got up from the couch and pulled Shane up with him, steering him towards the primary bedroom and its en suite bathroom.
He took him into the shower and washed him tenderly, letting Shane lean his weight on him and rest his tired head on his shoulder. It was one of his greatest honors and pleasures in life to do this - to ease Shane back down to earth after pushing him to heights he hadn’t known he was capable of enduring.
Ilya settled in bed with him once they were both clean and dry, lying back with Shane’s head on his chest, both arms wrapped around him.
“Ilya?” Shane murmured, sounding half-asleep already. It wasn’t late - not even dark out yet - but Ilya would let him sleep. He could wake him later to make sure he ate dinner.
“Mm?” He glanced down at him, rubbing one hand over the small of his back.
“Keep the muzzle. Please.” Shane tipped his head back to make eye contact, smiling a dreamy smile. “I like it.”
Ilya smiled back. “You did very well with it, shchenok. Such a good puppy.”
“Mmnot,” Shane grumbled, as if he objected to being called a puppy but was too sleepy to fight Ilya on it.
“Shh. Rest, now,” Ilya said, and felt Shane relax that much more against him, dozing off in his arms.
He looked down at him, feeling something like butterflies in his stomach. Watching Shane sleep on him, wrung out from what they’d done together, he felt like he must have done something right somehow.
He didn’t know what, or when, but the evidence was right there drooling on his chest: he was a very fortunate man.