pairing: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
tags: for @mean-dom-ilya-week, canon compliant, at the cottage, marking, possessive sex, CNC, consent play, rimming, (light) feminization, overstimulation, pain kink, dirty talk, handcuffs, love like a bruise
"What if I say no?" he asks, hoarse, voice dying on the last syllable.
Ilya blinks slowly. Clenches his hand so hard around Shane's flesh that Shane whines with it.
"What if you do," Ilya rasps and pushes Shane's leg out. Slaps it still. Pries open Shane's jaw to stroke his tongue. "Can you mean it, I wonder?"
It's obvious, as they eat, that Ilya didn't put any sunscreen on, but he's a freak that doesn't seem to burn, naturally. Unlike Shane. Still, moles. Cancer. He's already at risk with the fucking cigarettes.
Ilya rolls his eyes like he hears the thought. Smacks Shane's thigh. Smiles wide, every time he looks at Shane.
They should bottle this shit, sell it.
After lunch, Shane's left back starts to ache, a pulsing itch. He must've slept twisted. He sighs on the way to the washroom for the Biofreeze, planning the physio stretches, the icing. In the mirror, he catches a glimpse of himself.
He jerks to a stop.
Messy lake hair, flush across his cheeks, muscles lax post-lunch, swim shorts tight around his thighs. And. A red splotch on his back, right under his shoulder and it looks— Shane steps closer, twists at the waist.