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It’s not a habit for Shane, the drinking. Frankly, he finds it a bit disgusting. He doesn’t enjoy not being in control of his body or mind because of it, the way it makes him feel the next day or the way it doesn’t align with his usual diet.
Nothing about it is particularly appealing to him, except using it as a variable in an experiment.
Jane: I give you my enthusiastic consent for anything we do tonight.
Lily: Are you ok?
Lily: I mean yes of course I’m glad, but is everything ok?
Jane: Everything is fine. Come over whenever.
Lily: Ok
Shane can hear the okay slipping through Ilya’s lips, almost cute, the pronunciation adding an extra e sound somewhere at the end. He’s gotten everything ready for Ilya, the bed, the room, himself. He’s got that Russian vodka Ilya prefers because according to him it’s the only one that gets him drunk enough. Shane’s had a few shots, more than enough to feel tipsy already. Enough that Ilya will feel it on him as soon as he walks through the door.
Shane waits impatiently for Ilya, lamenting every second he’s forced to wait for him—a second Ilya could have spent fucking him into oblivion. He is probably out with the raiders, celebrating their win against Shane’s own team and Shane’s waiting around for him, getting drunk. By himself. Shane tries not to overthink, but…
It’s been months, again. And they text and sometimes Ilya visits in his dreams, but it’s not enough. Shane misses him in a way he’d miss something vital. They have been doing this for years, nearly seven of them, and Shane can feel it getting worse and worse. The missing. The wanting.
Longing.
Shane longs for Ilya and his indescribable eyes, his voice in his ears, his fangs and cock claiming their rightful places inside him. He checks the raiders social media, finds nothing but clips of the win, the usual locker room celebratory ruckus and then nothing. He follows some of them, not Ilya out of spite and because he doesn’t run it himself, so he clicks on Marleau’s.
The thing is, Shane never learns. He always finds whenever he goes seeking—it’s what got him into this predicament in the first place. In Marleau’s stories, there they are. At some club celebrating, as expected. It says it was posted twenty minutes ago. His eyes strain to find Ilya somewhere in the mess of bodies and sure enough, about six seconds to the end of the video, there he is. Behind some girl, dancing, face buried in her neck. The video cuts just as Shane is getting a better look, and he clicks on it again. Ilya, the girl, her neck. Is he? He watches it again. And then another time.
He wouldn’t fucking dare, would he?
Not in a club full of people. Not when he is meant to be seeing Shane. Not when Shane’s been waiting for months for—
You know what? Fuck him.
Lily: I’m here.
Shane downs the rest of his drink, cringing at the way it burns when it goes down and how gross it makes his mouth feel with its aftertaste. He can’t believe he did this only for that fucker to drink from someone else before seeing him. Someone who was probably drunk too.
Shane opens the door and turns promptly around to walk up the stairs into his place. He can hear Ilya follow and almost hear how confused he is as well. They usually waste no time when they see each other. The door opens and they pounce—Shane fucking loves feeling that desired. He’s pretty sure he’s developed some sort of addiction to it.
“Shane. You smell like you drowned in vodka. What is going on?” The liquor feels like lead in his stomach at the worry in Ilya’s voice, so fucking genuine and almost kind and he has no business making Shane feel this way when he’s angry at him.
“Yeah, I had some. It’s why I texted you that I consented. I wanted to get drunk before you came here.”
“Before I came here?” Ilya still doesn’t understand. “You never get drunk.” Shane sighs.
“I know, Ilya. I did it because I wanted you to—never fucking mind. Maybe you should go.”
“Okay, I will go, but what is it? Losing? Are you upset, Hollander?” Shane doesn’t know if he’s more pissed off about the slight humor in Ilya’s voice while still being genuinely concerned. Shane’s going to kill him.
“No, you asshole. I’m pissed.” Shane spits, throwing his hands up in aggravation, too much vodka in his system to actually employ his usual filter. “I was waiting on you to come and you know—but also I wanted you to drink from me and see if it would get you as drunk as me, but clearly you’ve had your fill.” Ilya frowns.
“My fill? My fill of what? Or who? I don’t—“
“Marleau’s stories. Some blonde at a club I don’t fucking—it doesn’t even matter. Just get the fuck out.” Shane reaches for the door.
“Shane, I haven’t hunted in days.” Ilya’s words make Shane still, turning to face him, to really look at him. Ilya is completely serious.
“I saw you—“
“Yes, I danced with her, it’s hard to be close and not be tempted, but I didn’t drink from her. I knew I was going to see you after.” Ilya explains, eyebrows furrowed, hands reaching for Shane’s waist. Shane steps back. “I wanted it over with. I wanted to come here. I was with her thinking about how you would taste, Hollander.” Shane searches his eyes, studies the familiar expression on his face. He is being honest. Even worse, he is being sweet? Shane folds as he usually does, licking his lips to hide a smile.
“You.” He says, accusingly, knowing he is giving himself away. In truth, he doesn’t know what to say to Ilya. Not after all of that.
“Me. Yes.” Ilya says with that stupid smile that makes Shane’s leg spread and God, he is so fucking easy for Ilya, it’s disgusting. “I waited because I knew the second best hockey player in the league would want me to eat him. Maybe in a couple of different ways?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Shane barks, already taking the steps to close the gap between them, the alcohol in his system making him sway, maybe the look in the vampire’s eyes. “I really wanted to know if you’d get drunk off me.”
“Shane,” Ilya breathes, taking his face and forcing their gazes to meet. Shane is bad and looks down because he just has to know if Ilya’s fangs are there for him. He’s learned it’s a telltale sign that Ilya is overtaken by instinct, aroused, provoked. All because of him. Shane’s heart stutters as he sees them. “I always get drunk off you.”
“Don’t sweet talk me.” Shane shoves him a bit, only for show, to watch Ilya frown even more. It’s just so good when he shows his softer sides, the real him. A glimpse of who he really is. “What was it about her that you liked? Tell me.” Ilya tries to kiss him and distract him, but Shane’s hands are firm on his chest.
“N—“
“Did you really not bite her?” Shane’s hands fist in Ilya’s shirt, still upset, but so turned on by Ilya’s eyes getting that look.
A predator.
“Nyet.” Ilya licks his fangs, salivating, clear dripping down one side of his mouth. Shane’s so worked up, it makes him as dizzy as the vodka. Ilya’s watching his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones, something almost sinister in his expression. Like maybe Shane’s questions are entertaining him. Like he is enjoying this. “Didn’t even kiss her.” Good.
“Then what are you waiting for? Fucking kiss me.” Shane demands, because if he’s just going to smirk all night, Shane might just find a way to kill him. The thought dies as quickly as he conjured it up the moment Ilya’s mouth and his come together.
Shane didn’t have a lot of experience before Ilya and the little he had experienced hadn’t been with men, but he can’t imagine feeling like this with anyone. Ilya always knows exactly what to do with him. He knows to set the rhythm, to guide Shane’s lips the way he wants, when and how to make Shane open for his tongue. He knows when Shane wants to taste him and makes sure to bleed into his mouth. He knows how to lure sounds out of Shane and what they mean.
Ilya knows how to make Shane lose his mind.
“Bedroom.” Ilya orders, grunting as Shane reaches between them to squeeze his cock through his pants. Already hard for Shane.
“No.” Shane pants into their kiss, Ilya dragging their lips together rougher and rougher, clearly impatient. Clearly thinking he’s getting his way. It irritates Shane even further. “You don’t get to call the shots tonight.”
“Shane?” It’s almost comical, how Ilya pulls back, concern multiplied infinitely. He moves Shane’s head as if studying it for injury. Oh, Shane hates his guts. “You hit your head, no? Or drank too much.” Shane is not going to laugh. No matter how much he wants to. Don’t fucking laugh.
“No, asshole. I’m—“ So angry that you would ever touch other people when I exist. It should always be me. “You either listen to me or you get the fuck out.” The vampire almost pouts at the threat and Shane can’t resist chasing after his mouth once more, walking them back towards his couch, pressing their hips together as Ilya once again dominates the kiss, giving Shane a taste of his tongue. It pains Shane to pull away, mouth spit-slick and hungry for more to ask, “Gonna be good for me?” He feels Ilya nod eagerly, nipping at his chin.
“So good. Promise.” Ilya whispers, hands greedily taking Shane’s ass and squeezing, biting Shane’s lower lip. Shane moans, reaching for Ilya’s shirt and taking it off. He undoes his fly next, dividing his attention between undressing the vampire and letting him take his mouth.
“On the couch. C’mon. Sit.” Shane orders, watching as his creature does as he is told, eyeing Shane like an animal preparing to pounce. Shane gives him a show, taking off his t-shirt, taking his sweats off, revealing he wears nothing underneath them. His cock is hard and leaking already and Ilya’s gaze zeroes in on it, as if trained to do so. Shane can see him reach for his own erection, still in his underwear. “No touching yourself. You will do what I say. Is that clear?”
“Shane.” Ilya’s tone is a warning of his waning patience, all stemming from how hungry he must be. If it’s been days, Ilya’s control is held by a thread. Shane means to test it, he knows Ilya won’t cause him any harm. “Look at you, kotik. You need me to take care of you, yes?”
“Yeah? Then why were you sniffing around someone else?”Shane asks, kneeling before Ilya, hands coming to rest on his knees and traveling all the way up to his hips. He is so cold, solid and perfectly familiar under Shane’s touch. The muscles in his thighs tense and relax at Shane’s touch, cock throbbing, barely contained by the fabric. “You’re no better than a dog.”
“Maybe. Around you.” Under Ilya’s scrutiny, Shane realizes he’s starving, too. Ilya’s hands instinctively reach for him and Shane stops just before mouthing at Ilya’s cock through his briefs.
“No touching.” Shane demands. “Maybe I’ve done a bad job, training you.” And it’s not their usual dynamic at all—it’s quite the exact opposite—but Shane’s so fucking hard, and Ilya is barely holding himself together.
Ilya’s body is wound tight, a moment away from stopping Shane’s little game.
“You are making this difficult.” Ilya complains, but ultimately obeys, watching as Shane kisses his tip and then sucks on it through the fabric. “Fuck.”
Making eye contact with Ilya is easier than with anyone, but especially now as he gets to tease him and watch for his reactions. The way his brows furrow when Shane licks at the wet spot that contours his shaft, the way his mouth opens in pleasure as Shane finally pulls the briefs down to take him into his mouth.
“Made for sucking my cock, weren’t you?” Shane is convinced that he was made for this just as Ilya claims, but he doesn’t say it, he doesn’t moan his approval no matter how much he loves when Ilya speaks to him like this. He is strict and methodical about sucking cock, just like he is about anything else. He takes Ilya with both hands, he’s so fucking big, and works to swallow his cock over and over. Shane loves the weight of him on his tongue, the soreness in his throat and the taste of him. Ilya groans, writhing beneath Shane as he throats the length of him, eyes stinging with tears. “You look—“ Ilya lets out a string of Russian that sounds a lot like he’s cursing. Good.
“Mhm.” Shane agrees, swallowing around the head of Ilya’s cock, his nose buried in the dark curls at the base. He works Ilya’s cock like that, keeping him buried deep the way he likes. Shane wishes Ilya were making him take it.
“Fuck, Shane, close.” Shane pulls off, stroking Ilya’s cock as he catches his breath, watching the vampire’s lips twitch, trying not to sneer. “I didn’t do anything with her. I didn’t.”
“I don’t care.” Shane spits, standing only to straddle Ilya’s lap, taking both of them, stroking them together. “I don’t care if you danced with her or if you flirted or if you fucked her.” Shane murmurs against his lips, kissing the sounds out of Ilya, tasting his desperation. It tastes exactly like Shane’s. “I care if you put your fangs in her. If you tasted her before coming here to me. If it was good.” If it was better.
“I didn’t.” Ilya pants as Shane rubs their erections together, the slide not wet enough, but it still feels too good to stop. Shane’s hips move on their own, wishing Ilya’s grip was bruising his hips, digging into his flesh so Shane can feel it for days afterwards. “Nobody tastes better. I only want you.”
“Sweet talking me again?” Shane asks, reaching between his cushions for the stuff he’d stashed there somewhere earlier. Lube and a small shiv he’d purchased with Ilya in mind earlier that week. Ilya’s eyes darken when he sees Shane bring it to his mouth, holding it between his teeth so he can use both hands to spread lube onto his cock.
“You’ll hurt yourself—fuuuuck, Shane.” Ilya moans as Shane takes his cock and lines it up with his ass, beginning to take him inside. Even prepped, it’s still an indulgent stretch and he’s only managed to get the very tip in. Shane whimpers as it catches on his rim, giving himself a moment to adjust, but he needs it. He takes in deeper and deeper, thoroughly overtaken by the way the vampire watched his cock disappear into him, barely aware that he is once again salivating. Ilya, at his most beastly, is undeniably breathtaking. “Should have been me.” Fingering Shane open? Yes, Shane knows. It should always be him.
“I know.” Shane whimpers.
“Let me touch you. Need to touch you.” Ilya’s fangs, along with his accent, make his words tangle and fall from his mouth clumsily, giving away how agonizing this is for him as Shane finally manages to take him completely, sitting on his lap, filled so deep he feels it in his throat again. He grinds his hips experimentally, the friction making them both curse.
Shane takes the small blade in hand so he can speak, rising and falling onto Ilya’s lap, using Ilya’s cock the way he wants. Slowly. Making it last.
“No touching. You’ve touched enough people tonight, haven’t you? This is for me.” Shane moans, picking up his pace, wrapping a hand around Ilya’s neck to take a fistful of golden curls and force his head back so they can kiss as he rides him. Shane can feel his own cock leaking incessantly, all over Ilya. “Feels so good inside me.” Shane gasps as he finds the perfect spot, his thighs burning as he works to take Ilya’s cock inside again and again and again. He’s going to come, soon. Maybe it’s the vodka or the sex or the vampire giving into Shane’s whims, but his head is swimming.
Ilya’s fingers dig straight through Shane’s leather couch in his effort to obey Shane’s orders, the sound cutting through their groans and the slap of Shane’s full ass making contact with Ilya’s thighs. Shane brings the shiv up to his lips and considers where to cut. His lip, his neck? His chest? Ilya’s eyes are bright, wild, his attention is entirely Shane’s. As it always should be.
“Shane, don’t fucking—“
“You were being good.” Shane pants, shifting into a filthy grind that has him seeing stars. Ilya whines, fucking whines like Shane is wounding him. “Keep your mouth shut.” Ilya’s lips work, but it’s an effort given how Shane doesn’t stop fucking himself and runs the sharp end of the blade over his jaw, his neck. Not yet deep enough to cut.
“Mm, Sh—“ Ilya is trying and Shane loves to watch him struggle. Is this how Ilya feels when it’s Shane on the other end? Holy fuck.
Shane’s hips go slow and he turns the blade on Ilya, using it to trace the beauty of his cupid’s bow and the sharp edge of his jaw.
“I’m thirsty.” Shane murmurs, just to see if Ilya will offer himself up, disobey and speak up, but he doesn’t. Shane runs the blade down his Adam’s apple, pressing the sharpness down onto Ilya as if to cut him open. It makes Ilya moan, but Shane has no intentions of cutting him open. He turns the blade back to himself, knowing Ilya will hate this even more. He decides to use it on his chest, delighted when Ilya’s eyes widen as Shane is a second away from cutting himself open.
“Use me.” Ilya moans, offering Shane his hand, where he keeps a single one of his claws sharp enough to cut. It’s only there because Shane asked it of him, because it’s easy enough to groom and conceal. Shane loves when Ilya uses it to cut him open and drink. Shane’s ah, ah, ah’s are cut off by a chuckle as he realizes Ilya is jealous of the blade. Of Shane’s skin parting for anything that isn’t him. Ridiculous creature, I am yours.
Shane pretends to consider it, but doesn’t, because this is punishment and his monster is being taught a lesson. The blade digs into him, making a small incision, only deep enough to make him moan in pain and most importantly, bleed. Shane bleeds enough that it becomes a thick, slow, but steady stream down his body and Ilya’s jaws snap, all pretense of humanity completely gone from his expression. Shane is looking at an Ilya he has never seen before—something more feral and grotesque. Shane cries out as Ilya’s hands take Shane’s hips, setting the pace, his mouth moving to attach itself to Shane’s wound. Shane allows the grip on his hips, but holds Ilya’s head still by his hair before he can make contact with the wound and slaps Ilya, shifting his focus on him. Not Shane’s blood. Not his own nature. Just Shane.
“Fuck!” Ilya growls, looking up at him, wild. His jaws separate to hiss at Shane— another warning shot—so Shane slaps him again. Ilya’s cock throbs in his ass, like he might come soon. And fuck, Shane’s going to come too. “Please, Shane. Please. Please.”
“Already disobeyed.” Shane tries to give him a stern look—it doesn’t work. He’s ruined.
“I’m sorry. Can’t take it, please, please—“
“It’s okay.” Shane whispers, satisfied at how broken Ilya sounds, at how wild he looks. He is ready to let go. “You’ve been good enough. Take it. C’mon, baby, take me.” Ilya moves fast, growling his approval. Ilya carries him and pulls out to deposit Shane onto the couch on his back, only to lick the trail of blood up to Shane’s chest. He is grumbling in satisfaction as he lines his cock up with Shane’s hole and fucks him like that, bent in half, drinking from Shane, pace punishing. They’re going to come and it’s going to be so fucking good. “Bite me. Make it hurt. Make us both come.” Shane demands between thrusts, crying out as Ilya digs his fangs deep into his other pec, right above his heart.
Shane comes long and hard, cradling Ilya to him, legs wrapped around him until Ilya follows him over the edge, filling him with deep, grinding strokes. Shane whines needily as he can feel the way he can’t keep it all inside and it slips out around Ilya’s cock. Ilya fucks him softly after, until he goes soft and Shane’s weak from his orgasm and the blood loss. Ilya heals his wounds and praises him in Russian, words Shane has come to understand over the years. Variations of perfect, good, beautiful, baby, and something that Shane can’t figure out if it means he melts in his hands? Shane doesn’t need to know exactly what it means for it to make him feel wanted and cared for after. Every single time. He joins in this time, aware of having put Ilya through the ringer, though it is difficult for Shane to find his words. He praises Ilya with his hands and kisses him, deeply, softly. They feel like they’ve fused together, two parts making a whole. Shane is content to stay like this. Ilya pulls away only to look down at him, a softer thing than a smile on his lips.
“Kotik.” And of course—kitten. Shane wishes it were as upsetting as Shane pretended it was when he found out what it meant. But it isn’t and he loves it. He’s loved so many things about Ilya for such a long time. “You.”
“Yeah, me.” Shane whispers, voice hoarse. He was probably embarrassingly loud. His ears burn. “Are you feeling drunk, by the way?”
“Yes. You and the vodka. Very successful experiment.” Ilya says, but he doesn’t look very drunk. Wrecked, yes. Hair messy from Shane’s fingers, cheek red where Shane’s hand struck him, mouth stained with blood. Such a messy eater, this gentle monster. Shane needs to keep him. Shane pulls him closer to lick him clean, much like Ilya does to him often. He ends it with a chaste kiss. “That was hot. So fucking hot.” Ilya breathes against his lips.
“I knew it would work.” Shane gloats, sighing in satisfaction when Ilya buries his face in his neck, taking a deep long inhale of Shane’s smell. Shane’s eyes want to close so badly, but they only ever get these stolen moments and Shane still misses him so much. “Didn’t plan the rest.“
“You were vicious. Made me lose my mind.” Ilya admits, dragging their bodies even closer and they fall into comfortable silence. Just the sounds of them and nothing beyond.
Perfection.
“Shane.” Ilya says in that tone that’s dangerous because it sounds so sweet. Shane isn’t sure if he can take it. “I don’t know how, but you make me feel like I am a person again. It’s—I can’t explain it.” Shane’s heart stutters and then races and it is in this moment that Shane realizes he is so in love.
He is in love.
He loves Ilya Rozanov, the creature, the person, everything he is. He loves him so much it hurts and it’s never not hurt. Shane even loves the way it hurts.
“You make me feel like I am not. You take me right out of my mind.” Shane whispers back, hands caressing Ilya’s back, tracing every dip and curve he’s already learned. He could draw it with his eyes closed, recite where every mole is located, tell anyone which ones can be felt and which ones can’t. “I feel so—“
“Free?” Ilya provides, understanding the sentiment. It feels nice, for it to be mutual. Shane wonders if Ilya could love him. How long Ilya could love him.
Could Ilya love him forever?
“Mhm. That’s a good word.” Shane says, the world slipping from him, sleep making his eyes so heavy. The weight of Ilya on top of him is so comforting, he can’t help it.
“It is, kotik.” Ilya kisses his neck, the curve of his jaw. “Let’s move to your bed, yes? Don’t want you to be sore.”
“Ugh.” Shane complains as Ilya removes his weight, carries him, moves him. Shane should wash up. Shane can’t even feel the muscles he needs to walk. Still, he pushes his luck now that they’re on the move. “One more bite and then sleep? I know you’re still hungry.”
“Hm, I will think about it.” Ilya teases, nipping Shane’s ear. “You were naughty. Lost more than you should have. I’m throwing that thing away.” Of course he is. Shane makes a mental note to hide it later if he can use his legs. “Where do you get these ideas, hm, Hollander?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shane wants to say, I take supplements, you must know because you must taste them. And my ideas are all about you. I only ever think about you, instead he says, “Stay?”
Forever. Stay forever. Make me your creature too and keep me. I’ll spend forever like this, in your arms, if you want me. Do I have to ask? Please, don’t make me ask.
“Oh, did you think I was done with you?” Ilya places him on the bed, grinning down at him, covered in blood, fangs on display like something out of a nightmare. Shane’s cock stirs. “You’ve been very bad. So, so cruel to your dog.”
“You loved it.” Shane challenges, chuckling as Ilya pulls him closer to the edge of the bed by a single ankle. Asshole. “Still feel just how much. I’m so wet.” Shane says, mortified as he looks down at himself, feels just how much there is between his legs. Ilya licks his fangs before kissing the heel of Shane’s foot.
“So wet. I’m gonna show you just how much I loved it again.” Ilya threatens, bending over to bring their lips together. Shane isn’t afraid. He never was. Ilya’s tongue demands and Shane opens for him. Lets himself be swept away again.
Forever. Shane wants this feeling, forever. He hopes Ilya does, too. And maybe it isn’t love, maybe it’s something deeper than that—uglier and more intense. Maybe it’s obsession. It’s inconsequential when they’re like this.
Shane wants to keep his monster and most importantly, he wants to be kept.