Chapter Text
room 809, he had sent.
shane couldn’t help the smile that made its way on his face when his message was immediately read.
1 hour. the reply said. he was full-on grinning at this point. god, he missed ilya.
he was probably going to develop a crick in his neck with the amount of times he’s glanced over at his phone on his bedside table even though just a couple minutes had passed by. he had to wait a whole hour? lord help him.
he tried to distract himself by cleaning his room up. granted, there was not much to do since… well, he’s shane hollander. of course his room was already clean. the menial task gave him something to focus on rather than thinking about how long an hour felt.
knock knock
shane’s head whipped towards the door and he giggled as he jogged towards it. he eagerly pulled it open, grin on his face as he said, “damn, you really couldn’t wait that—“
and the bright smile on his face was immediately wiped off when he saw who it actually was at the door. fuck.
it was dallas kent and his shit-eating fuck ass smirk that shane oh-so wanted to punch away.
the reaction was instinctive. he was already getting nervous and he fucking hated it. memories he tried pushing down, down into the deepest, darkest depths of his mind started to resurface at the very sight of the man who was responsible for all of his unresolved trauma.
memories of his rookie year came to him in flashes. he had been young, starry-eyed, and eager. dallas kent took advantage of that and shane suffered the consequences of his own naivety. he tried to blink away the stills of him being pushed down onto his knees and rough, rough hands on his head keeping him still.
never again. things were different now. shane was different now.
“waiting for someone, hollander?” that smirk cruelly widens as the teasing lilt in kent’s voice makes shane shiver in discomfort.
and just like that, the daze is over. shane is reacting immediately, swiftly slamming the door shut but is stopped by kent’s fast movement of shoving his foot between the door before it can fully close. before he knows it, kent is pushing his whole body weight against the door, forcing himself inside as shane stumbles down onto the floor. it was a familiar sight and they both knew it. it made the turning in shane’s stomach even worse to see kent eye him so menacingly as he’s standing tall. he felt vulnerable. but this wasn’t going to go down the way it did all those years ago. shane knew better.
he immediately stood back up and said, “you need to fucking leave.”
kent merely rolled his eyes as he walked around the room, trailing his pointer finger over anything he deemed worthy to touch; humming in satisfaction when he saw things he liked. shane fucking hated him.
“I’m serious, kent. I thought we both had an agreement that we forgot what happened. get the fuck out of my room.” shane said more urgently. for every second that passed by where kent was the perfect picture of calm, shane felt himself feeling more and more nervous.
“I think it’s just you who was under that impression, hollander. that night felt fucking amazing. I’ve been chasing that high ever since.” the wicked grin on kent’s face made him want to throw his whole entire being up. “god, I still remember how tight your tiny little mouth was.”
that made shane do a whole body flinch. he didn’t need any more graphic reminders of what had happened between them, seeing the bane of his existence at his door and then in his room was already quite enough. did the universe hate him? he took a quick glance at the clock behind kent’s big figure. fuck. it’s only been 15 minutes since ilya texted him. he shouldn’t have fucking opened that goddamned door. he should have known better. he tries to ignore the fact that this is the same thought process he had all those years ago.
he shakes the thoughts from his head and tried to focus on what was really important here: getting this disgusting piece of shit out of his room. said piece of shit was still walking around his room like he owned the place; touching everything and irritatingly moving things around even though shane had just painstakingly cleaned everything up.
“quiet now, huh?” kent said as he continued encroaching upon his space. shane didn’t know he was holding his own breath until kent turned his attention away from the room and finally laid his eyes on shane again. he realized that perhaps kent taking his time being so distracted by the room might have been a mercy. the first and only one of the night, he would find.
“kent,” shane exhaled. maybe if he went the softer route, it would get through kent’s thick skull. “please…. you need to leave.”
nope, that was not the way to go. softening up made kent that much more confident judging by the way he saunters over until he’s right in front of shane’s face, that wicked grin once again gracing his features.
“you know what, hollander?” kent brings up his pointer finger—the same one he had used to touch all of his things, shane notes—and traces a line from shane’s cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. shane’s body seized up immediately. he was frozen. his headspace felt like he had regressed to his rookie year. “my favorite part was always when you begged. keep going.”
that cruel smile was going to haunt him forever, he realized. he was just another thing to this man, wasn’t he? there was no way to reason with someone who was more monster than human. shane decided the the only choice he had was to leave the room himself. this room was not worth his sanity. your safety, a familiar whisper that sounded like ilya’s voice said in the back of his mind.
ilya.
the thought of his boyfriend cleared his mind up immediately. he was suddenly angry. how dare dallas kent show up to his room uninvited and try to intimidate him into submission? he knew exactly what he was doing. there was nothing innocent about this situation. if either of them stayed any longer, shane might be dead by the end of the night. metaphorically. or literally. the latter might actually be better.
he sprung into action, not even bothering to continue any conversation with this deranged man. he grabbed his phone from his bedside and immediately headed towards the door.
he’s reaching for the door handle when kent harshly grabs his wrist and turns him around, slamming him on the door so hard that it takes the breath out of shane. he can barely register the pain in his wrist where kent is squeezing hard because of how winded he is.
“you’re not getting out of this, hollander,” kent whispers into shane’s right ear, a slow lick following after. shane immediately turns his head the opposite way in disgust, despair weighing his gut down and he doesn’t stop squirming. “we’ve got unfinished business, don’t you think?”
shane vigorously shakes his head. this isn’t real, right? if he squeezes his eyes hard enough, maybe dallas kent will just blip out of existence and he’ll be alone in his room waiting for ilya to come knocking. the wishful thinking comes to an end when kent once again leans down to suck at shane’s exposed neck.
shane resists, pushing kent’s head away with his free hand and squirms even more to release his wrist from the other’s man tight grip. he winces when kent grabs his other wrist as well and he is once again slammed onto the door. he’s winded again but that doesn’t stop him from resisting even more.
“you’re so fucking cute like this, hollander,” kent whispers onto his lips. shane lets out a pathetic sob as he once again turns his head the opposite way, feeling his control of the situation slip away as his struggles prove to be futile. “struggling so hard even though we both know how this is going to end.”
who the hell was he kidding? he lost control of the situation the moment he opened the door. panic consumes him as reality rears its ugly head. he starts pushing harder, kicking where he can. but it just spurs kent on. he chuckles as he repositions both of shane’s wrists above his head, holding them together with just one hand hand, the other sneaking around his throat. before he knows it, kent is squeezing with both his hands and shane doesn’t know where to focus: the searing pain in his abused wrists or the equally searing pain of his neck. the grip around his neck tightens as he fights against them.
“s-stop,” he chokes out and it sounds pathetic even to his own ears. blood is rushing to his head and he’s starting to get dizzy. he manages to knee kent in the balls, which he apparently does not like because he’s growling at shane’s face and squeezes his throat as hard as he can, slamming his head onto the door like he’s just a ragdoll.
shane groans as his head ricochets against the hard wood and he starts losing his sense of self. his head is ringing. the room is spinning and he thinks he feels something wet on the back of his head. now that he thinks about it, he can feel something wet falling down his cheeks too. fuck. he’s crying. kent seems to like that, with the way he licks at his tears and the grip around his neck lightens just a bit. he thinks he might faint.
“eyes open, hollander,” kent says to him. goddamn it, why the fuck was this asshole yelling at him? he feels his eyes flutter close as the ringing in his head starts affecting his vision. it hurts to keep them open. his moment of reprieve is interrupted by a harsh backhanded slap. the pressure around his neck is gone but now his face is stinging. there were so many parts of his body that hurt.
“s-stop…” shane whispers in a daze. his head lolls as kent takes his chin into one hand to hold him in place and he kisses him. he groans into the intruding mouth, trying to find the strength to somehow get away. when kent swipes his tongue into his mouth, shane immediately bites down on it.
“fuck!” kent pulls away immediately, one of his hands coming up to wipe at his now bloodied mouth. shane slides down onto the floor when he is released. it would have been the best time to get out but god fucking damn it, his head. and he’s pretty sure one of—if not both— of his wrists are broken.
“just fucking stay down, hollander!” kent yells as he kicks him in the ribs. shane coughs out in pain. blood lands onto the floor and it’s all he can focus on now. was that his blood? or was it from when he bit down on kent’s tongue? even as kent grabs him by the collar, he’s still staring down at the carpet that now had blood stains on it. he’s backhanded again. he coughs out again. oh. that was definitely his own blood.
he doesn’t realize he’s been thrown onto the bed until he feels his body slightly bouncing from the force of it. kent is quick to get on top of him and grins as he takes his own clothes off, hungrily staring down at shane beneath him.
“no, no, no…” shane mumbles endlessly through the haze in his head. “ilya… he’s— I need ilya…”
“ilya?” kent says in shock. he doesn’t let it distract him from starting to shed shane of his clothes, who starts sobbing at the hands that feel him up as they worked to make him naked. kent kisses any uncovered skin he sees as he mutters, “you’re fucking rozanov? that’s fuckin’ surprising, hollander. this will probably be quick work for you, yeah? I can imagine how rough he is.”
“don’t t-talk about him…” he means to yell but it comes out hoarse and a lot quieter than he wanted. he hated the idea of this fuckhead imagining anything with ilya. he tries to kick at kent but it must be as pathetic as he feels because the brute just laughs at him.
the pain in his body renders him pliant and useless. he’s exhausted and he felt like one big aching thing. he stares at the ceiling as kent takes his time doing whatever feels good for himself. he feels kent rutting against him as he licks shane’s nipples and all shane can do is try to squirm away. everything becomes a blur as kent touches him.
his endless squirming must irritate kent because he’s once again being choked down into the bed. shane’s eyes bulge out when at the very same time, kent inserts three fingers into his hole, not bothering to wet them in any way. he yelps in pain. “stay still.” kent commands, thrusting his fingers in quick succession. shane, of course, does not listen, trying even harder to get away.
he thinks he blacks out when kent slams his already sensitive head onto the bed’s wooden headboard. he’s 99% sure he has a concussion. he feels more than sees kent get up in his face when the other man’s hot breath is right on his lips. he hears him say, “stay still, hollander. don’t make me say it again.”
shane does not have a choice but to obey. he doesn’t feel like he exists. there is still a hand around his throat when kent starts fucking him. it’s dry and it hurts. shane just hurts. he’s an aching, hurting thing.
he can hear kent talking but his brain doesn’t process the words being said to him. “fuck yes… tight piece of ass… fuckin’ slut…” he pieces out. the upper half of his body was starting to feel numb with the lack of oxygen he was taking in. he wishes the universe would have some semblance of mercy on him and make his lower half numb too. or just allow him to die then and there.
he properly faints for a good while. kent does not take it easy on him. shane thinks he can hear himself mumbling ilya’s name repeatedly even as he’s unconscious.
“oh, look, hollander,” kent forcefully grabs his chin and tilts his head to the side, making him face the door. shane fights to bring himself to consciousness, frowning as he let out a pained grunt. “look who it is!”
shane’s eyes peeled open immediately. he’s horrified at what—at who— he sees. ilya stays frozen right in front of the opened door.
a rush of emotions overcome shane. he almost lets out a sigh of relief at seeing the love of his life until he realizes the situation he’s in; that ilya is seeing this pathetic scene right in front of him. shane is torn between whimpering out for ilya to help him or telling him to look away.
he is completely unprepared for the familiar way anger takes over ilya’s beautiful face. and he knew it was directed towards him. he’s jostled by one of kent’s harsh thrusts and it has shane shakily reaching one of his hands towards ilya, grasping at the bed sheets as if he could actually touch him. he mindlessly notes that his wrist is bruised and starting to swell. it’s an ugly sight. he must be an ugly sight.
ilya takes a step back and shane’s eyes widen.
“ilya…” he calls for him but it comes out more like a whisper. “p-please…”
shane realizes that ilya is standing right above the blood stain he had left on the carpet. he wants to tell him to look down, to look at him, to look away, to look at the situation. he wants.
but ilya is walking out. and he slams the door behind him.
shane feels himself die and his gaze once again rests on the blood stains on the carpet.
he almost forgets that he was being ra—
he couldn’t even say it.
kent cruelly laughs above him, not losing any rhythm in his thrusting. shane realizes he’s outright crying; fat tears rolling down his cheeks in waves and oh, this is a pain that can’t compare to what he’s gone through in the past hour… seeing the love of his life walk out on him.
the man above him grunts in disgust at the sight, flipping shane over so that he’s on his stomach. kent pushes his face into the sheets and it makes shane wish he would actually just suffocate to death because he doesn’t think it would be as painful as seeing ilya leaving and take all the life he had with him too.
“relax, hollander,” kent slaps his ass and shane sobs into the sheets. “you can’t blame the guy. he walked in on his boyfriend being a cheating whore.”
cheating? this was cheating? but shane had said no. shane had fought back. but ilya didn’t know that. he just saw the mess that was shane getting fucked into his own mattress. it could have looked consensual. but I’m bleeding, shane pathetically thinks. so? another voice in his head says. you’re getting fucked by another man. it viciously says to him.
“why the fuck would anyone want soiled goods?”
dallas kent was the devil. he was evil incarnated. but he was right. shane sobs even harder into the sheets at the revelation, almost willing himself to just choke to death.
shane blacks out again. kent unashamedly uses his body until he’s had his fun. he takes a few photos of the unconscious boy before smacking a wet kiss on his bruised cheeks. “I knew you’d be a good time, hollander.”
he leisurely puts his clothes back on and whistles as he leaves the room.