Title: "Stay With Me": Heated Rivalry fanfiction
Pairing: Ilya and Shane x Reader Male ( poly )
Genre: Smut | Emotional Intimacy | Hurt/Comfort Erotica | Sports Romance | Polyamorous Relationship | Mini series
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, first-time sexual experiences, polyamorous sex, emotional vulnerability, light angst, explicit consent dynamics.
Summary: The first time you come together is slow, careful, and deeply emotional—three hearts learning how to move as one.
The room is quiet in that heavy, late-night way. Not awkward. Not empty. Just full of awareness.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers loosely clasped, heart beating a little faster than usual — not with fear, but with the weight of meaning. Shane is beside you, close enough that your knees brush, his presence steady and grounding. Ilya stands a few feet away, leaning against the dresser, arms crossed, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin feel warm.
No one is rushing. That’s the thing that gets you.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Shane says gently, voice low. “I just want you to know that.”
Ilya snorts softly. “Yes. We are not stealing you in the night like goblins.”
You laugh despite yourself, tension easing just a little. “Good to know.”
But the air doesn’t thin. If anything, it grows thicker.
You look at them — really look. At Shane’s open posture, the way he gives you space even when he clearly wants to close it. At Ilya’s sharp focus, the way his gaze never leaves you, like he’s already made a choice and is just waiting for you to meet him there.
“I want this,” you say quietly. “I just… I need to know we’re all on the same page.”
Shane’s hand covers yours, warm, reassuring. “We are.”
Ilya pushes off the dresser and steps closer, stopping just in front of you. Not touching. Yet. His voice drops, accent curling around the words.
“This is first time for all of us. Together. We do this carefully.”
Your breath stutters — not because of what he’s implying, but because of the care in it.
“Tell us if you want to stop,” Shane adds. “Or slow down. Or change your mind.”
You nod, throat tight. “Same for you.”
That’s when Ilya finally reaches out — not anywhere intimate, not yet — just fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face up so gently it feels like a question.
“You are safe here,” he murmurs. “With us.”
The space between the three of you feels charged now, humming, like the second before lights go out at the start of a race.
You lean forward first.
That’s all it takes.
Your lips meet Ilya's in a kiss that's tentative at first, like testing the ice before a skate. His mouth is warm, firm, and he doesn't push, just responds with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. The faint taste of mint lingers on his tongue as it brushes yours lightly, exploratory.
Shane watches for a beat, his hand still on yours, thumb tracing slow circles on your skin—a silent anchor.
Ilya pulls back just enough to glance at Shane, his eyes darkening with that familiar hunger. Without a word, he turns his head, capturing Shane's lips in a kiss that's deeper, more assured. You feel the shift in the air, the way their connection pulls you in rather than pushes you out.
Shane's free hand rises to Ilya's neck, fingers threading into the short hair at his nape, holding him close. It's intimate, unhurried, and it stirs something in your chest—a mix of envy and desire, knowing you're part of this.
When they break apart, Shane's gaze finds yours, soft and searching.
"You okay?" he asks, voice roughened by the kiss.
You nod, swallowing against the dryness in your throat. "Yeah. More than okay."
Ilya's hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, a gentle pressure that encourages without demanding. "Good," he says, his accent thickening just a touch on the word. He looks between you and Shane, a small smile tugging at his lips. "We take our time. No hurry."
Shane shifts closer on the bed, his knee pressing against yours now, solid and reassuring. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs. "Or what you need. We're here for you—for us."
The words wrap around you like a blanket, easing the knot of nervousness in your gut. You've imagined this, all three of you tangled together, but the reality is heavier, more real.
Your heart pounds as you reach out, your hand finding Shane's thigh, feeling the muscle tense under your palm through his sweatpants. He inhales sharply, but his eyes stay locked on yours, patient.
"I want to touch you both," you say, voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "Feel this... us."
Ilya nods, his fingers trailing down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Then touch."
He steps back slightly, giving you space, but his presence looms, protective and inviting. Shane mirrors him, uncrossing his legs, opening himself up.
You start with Shane, because he's right there, familiar in a way that grounds you. Your hand moves higher on his thigh, thumb brushing the inner seam of his pants. He lets out a soft sigh, leaning into it.
Emboldened, you turn to Ilya, your other hand extending toward him. He takes it without hesitation, guiding it to his chest, where you feel the steady thump of his heart under the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Like this," Ilya says, his voice low, as he presses your palm flat.
It's a simple touch, but it feels electric—the heat of him, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with yours.
Shane's hand covers yours on his thigh, squeezing lightly. "You're doing great," he whispers.
Then, to Ilya, with a warmth that makes your stomach twist in the best way: "He's got that look in his eyes. You see it?"
Ilya chuckles, a deep rumble. "Da. Hungry. Like us."
The acknowledgment from both of them eases another layer of tension.
You lean toward Shane this time, kissing him softly, tasting the faint salt of his skin. His lips part for you, tongue sliding against yours in a slow dance.
Ilya watches, his hand still on yours at his chest, but then he moves, kneeling in front of the bed between your legs and Shane's. His hands rest on both your knees, thumbs rubbing soothing circles.
"Can I?" he asks, looking up at you first, then Shane.
Shane nods, breaking the kiss to glance down. "Yeah. Join us."
You echo the nod, pulse racing as Ilya's fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly. The cool air hits your skin, but his touch warms it immediately.
He presses a kiss to your exposed stomach, right above your navel, his stubble scraping lightly. It's a spark that travels straight to your core, making you harden in your pants.
Shane notices, his hand drifting to your waistband, but he pauses. "This okay?" he checks, eyes earnest.
"Yes," you breathe, arching slightly into Ilya's mouth. "Please."
Emboldened, Shane tugs your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. Ilya does the same to himself, revealing the broad planes of his chest, dusted with dark hair. Shane follows suit, and suddenly the three of you are bare from the waist up, the vulnerability heightening everything.
You reach for them both, hands roaming—over Shane's shoulders, down Ilya's arms—feeling the strength there, the way their bodies respond to you.
Ilya rises then, pulling you to your feet with gentle insistence. Shane stands too, the three of you close now, breaths mingling.
Ilya's hands frame your face again, kissing you deeper this time, while Shane presses against your back, lips brushing your shoulder. The sandwich of their bodies is overwhelming in the best way—solid, warm, enveloping.
"You feel so good," Shane murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding around your waist, fingers dipping just under your waistband.
Ilya breaks the kiss to turn his head, claiming Shane's mouth over your shoulder. You watch, transfixed, as their tongues tangle, Ilya's hand cupping the back of Shane's head. It's raw, passionate, and it makes your cock twitch with need.
When they part, both look at you, eyes dark with shared desire.
"Bed," Ilya says simply, guiding you all backward.
You sink onto the mattress together, a tangle of limbs and soft laughter as knees bump and elbows jostle. No one's leading; it's a shared navigation.
Shane pulls you down beside him, kissing your neck while Ilya settles on your other side, his leg draping over yours. Their hands explore—Shane's gentle on your chest, tracing nipples that pebble under his touch; Ilya's firmer, mapping the lines of your hips.
"Tell me if it's too much," Shane says between kisses, his voice a rumble against your collarbone.
"It's perfect," you reply, turning to capture his lips.
Ilya watches again, his hand slipping lower, palming you through your pants. The pressure is firm, teasing, and you gasp into Shane's mouth.
"He likes that," Ilya observes, his tone blunt but affectionate. He looks at Shane. "Your turn?"
Shane nods, a flush creeping up his neck. "Yeah. Touch me."
Ilya's free hand moves to Shane's crotch, rubbing in tandem with what he's doing to you. The symmetry of it—the way you're both being stroked in unison—builds a rhythm, a connection that pulses between the three of you.
You reach down, joining in, your hand covering Ilya's on Shane, feeling the heat and hardness there.
Shane moans softly, breaking the kiss to bury his face in your neck. "God, you two..."
The nervousness from earlier has melted into anticipation, every touch deliberate, every glance a check-in.
Ilya's fingers work your zipper down slowly, giving you time to stop him if you want. You don't. Instead, you lift your hips, helping him ease the pants off along with your underwear.
Cool air hits your freed cock, already leaking at the tip.
"Beautiful," Ilya murmurs, his eyes on you, then flicking to Shane with the same appreciation.
He strips off his own pants next, efficient and unselfconscious, his thick cock springing free, heavy against his thigh.
Shane follows, shedding his clothes until you're all naked, exposed. The sight of them—Shane's leaner build, Ilya's more muscled frame—stirs a deep ache in you.
You pull Shane closer, kissing him hungrily, while your hand wraps around Ilya's length, stroking experimentally. He groans, low and guttural, his hips bucking into your fist.
"Easy," Shane says to him, chuckling softly, but his own hand finds your cock, pumping slowly. "We savor this."
Ilya nods, his protective side shining through as he reaches for the nightstand, grabbing lube and condoms without breaking the flow. "We prepare. No one rushes."
You watch as he slicks his fingers, the anticipation coiling tight in your belly. But he doesn't go straight for penetration; instead, he kisses you again, deep and claiming, while his lubed hand teases your entrance, circling without entering.
Shane mirrors him on your other side, his fingers joining Ilya's, both of them working you open with infinite care.
"Breathe," Shane whispers, his free hand stroking your hair. "We've got you."
The dual attention is intense—fingers probing gently, mouths on your skin, words of reassurance weaving through it all. You tense at first, the newness of being filled by two sets of hands, but they talk you through it, Ilya's blunt commands mixing with Shane's soft encouragements.
"Relax here," Ilya says, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Good. Just like that."
Shane nuzzles your ear. "You're opening up so nicely. Feels good?"
"Yes," you gasp, as one finger—whose, you can't tell—slips inside. The stretch burns faintly, but it's chased by pleasure, waves of it as they scissor and curl, finding that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
They take turns kissing you, then each other, the bed shifting under their weight. At one point, Ilya pulls Shane into a fierce kiss, their cocks brushing against your legs, while their fingers stay buried in you.
It's a symphony of sensation: the wet slide inside you, the press of bodies, the shared moans.
"I need..." you start, voice breaking.
"What?" Shane asks immediately, pausing.
"More. You inside me. Both of you, somehow."
Ilya pulls his fingers free, grabbing a condom. "We can. One at a time first. Then... see."
Shane suits up too, the crinkle of foil grounding in its normalcy.
They position you on your side, Shane behind you, his chest to your back. Ilya faces you, legs tangling.
Shane enters first, slow, inch by inch, his arm around your waist holding you steady.
"Fuck," Shane breathes, kissing your shoulder. "So tight. You feel incredible."
You whimper, adjusting to the fullness, Ilya's hand stroking your cock to ease you through it.
Once you're settled, rocking back gently, Ilya pushes in from the front—but not fully, just the tip, testing.
"Too much?" he asks, eyes locked on yours.
"No—wait, yes, but good. Keep going."
He does, carefully, until you're sandwiched between them, both cocks stretching you in ways that blur the line between pain and ecstasy.
They move in counterpoint, one thrusting as the other withdraws, their hands everywhere—Shane's on your hips, Ilya's in your hair.
"Look at me," Ilya demands softly, and when you do, the intensity in his gaze undoes you. "You are ours. This is ours."
Shane presses closer, his lips on your neck. "Love this. Love you both."
The words tip you over, orgasm crashing through you as you clench around them. They follow soon after, groans mingling with yours, bodies shuddering in unison.
After, they ease out gently, disposing of condoms and wiping you clean with warm cloths from the bathroom.
Shane pulls the blankets over you all, Ilya in the middle now, arms around both of you. Shane kisses your forehead, then Ilya's temple.
"That was..." you start, words failing.
"Perfect," Ilya finishes, his voice sleepy, accent soft.
Shane nods, hand finding yours across Ilya's chest. "We're just getting started."
The room quiets again, but this time it's full of contentment, bodies entwined, hearts beating as one.
My main masterlist
Heated Rivalry - masterlist
Holding the Third Star mini series - masterlist
