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Anticipation. Want. Need. Desire. It was a very particular kind of mush Ilya’s brain blended into whenever he was on his way to Hollander’s fuck condo after another game. It was maybe a bit embarrassing, just how many Montreal Uber drivers had become involuntary witnesses to his generously obvious boners over the years.
Except Ilya didn’t give a fuck.
As soon as the car pulled over, he was out of the stuffy passenger seat in seconds. He gave the man behind the wheel a few crumpled bills without any care for change and made his way toward the familiar back door.
He had sent Shane the usual “here” as soon as the car had turned to his street, so when Ilya approached, the door was already open. Shane was standing there with his hair messed up, sticking out in different directions. Ilya recognized it as helmet hair, which meant he hadn’t showered yet. He had a scowl on his face, and Ilya took a moment to savor it. The angry kitten face.
“You’re early. Get in.”
Shane’s voice was urgent, maybe even more urgent than usual. Ilya didn’t need to be told twice, though. He was a bit earlier than they agreed on, but that could easily be excused, he thought. He hadn’t fucked Hollander in a couple of months.
They jogged up the stairs, and the moment they entered the apartment, Ilya was on Shane. He pressed him against the wall, taking his jaw in hand, and kissed him. Shane’s lips parted easily for Ilya’s tongue. It was a dance they both knew very well, every step smooth and frantic all at once.
Ilya began grinding his erection against Shane’s thigh, one hand sneaking under his hoodie, when Shane pushed at his chest. Ilya hummed his approval, pulling back and already expecting Shane to drop to his knees. But shockingly, that’s not what Shane did. He slipped out of Ilya’s hold instead and took a step back, running a hand through his messy hair. Ilya leaned a shoulder against the wall, shooting him a questioning, frustrated look.
“I need to prep,” Shane said, glancing toward the bathroom. He was strangely nervous. Ilya thought briefly that the last time he saw him this nervous before sex was years ago, when they had just started this… thing.
“Hollander.” He took a step toward Shane and placed a hand on his hip to tug him closer. “I am so hard it hurts. You do not need to prepare mouth, yes?”
Shane shook his head and took another step back. Ilya’s hand fell off of him. Ilya frowned. Something wasn’t adding up.
“I won’t take long,” Shane said. But Ilya could clearly see the way Shane’s eyes flicked down, to the bulge in Ilya’s jeans. He obviously wanted it.
“You want to suck me,” Ilya stated, inching closer again and hooking a finger into the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants. “I want you to suck me. What is problem, Hollander?”
Shane’s breath stuttered when Ilya’s hand dipped into his sweats, past the elastic of his boxers, and then—
Ilya’s hand caught on something hard. But it wasn’t the kind of hardness he expected to find. It wasn’t warm, wet and throbbing, as Shane’s cock always felt. It was completely solid and felt like metal.
Oh fuck.
Shane jerked away like he was burned, adjusting his sweatpants when Ilya’s hand slipped out of them. His cheeks were flushed red even in the dim light of the room, and he was looking somewhere past Ilya. That just wouldn’t do.
Ilya approached slowly and stopped right in front of Shane. His hand came up to grip Shane’s chin again, tipping it up. Shane’s face followed, and yet his eyes stayed stubbornly fixed elsewhere.
“Hollander.” Ilya’s voice lowered. “What is this?”
“You know what this is,” Shane muttered. He was shifting on his feet, but didn’t try to pull away anymore, which Ilya took as a win.
“Tell me.” His thumb pressed into Shane’s jaw to keep his face upright.
Shane swallowed. “Fuck you, Rozanov. It’s a cock cage, alright?”
Ilya had already guessed it, of course, but hearing it said in Shane’s annoyed, embarrassed voice still did something pleasant to his guts. His eyes drifted down, and now that he knew what to look for, he did notice a faint outline of narrow bars, taut against the grey fabric of Shane’s sweatpants.
“And why do you wear cock cage?” he asked, looking up at Shane’s face again. It was flushed even deeper now, and Ilya suddenly wanted the light to be brighter, just to see how Shane’s freckles looked when he was blushed this deep.
“To focus on the game.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. For a brief moment, he wondered if Shane was fucking with him. To hear that he needed some kind of help to focus on the game was as much of an anomaly as the sky falling upside down.
“Focus? Hollander is so horny he cannot focus on hockey?”
“Fuck you,” Shane spat out. “It’s just for when we play Boston. It helps.”
The thought of Shane genuinely needing a cock cage to focus when he played him was a shock to the system. It made Ilya’s own cock throb almost painfully. And seemed like it had the same exact effect on Shane, because Ilya felt the cage twitch against his thigh.
“Can you get hard in it?” he asked, slowly walking Shane backwards until the back of his knees hit the living room couch. Shane fell onto it, barely catching himself on his elbows.
“Not really.” His voice was breathier now. He was looking at Ilya with that mix of desire and defiance that made Ilya want to drop to his knees and suck his caged cock right into his mouth.
He did drop to his knees between Shane’s legs, but didn’t suck. Somehow, and he had no idea how, he managed to hold back. Instead, his hands landed on Shane’s thighs, spreading them further apart, and… There it was. Ilya got a perfect eyeful of the bulge between them. He could see the outline of the bars clearer now. His mouth filled with saliva, and he had to lick his lips to stop himself from drooling.
“It swells inside, but it doesn’t get, like… rock hard.”
Fuck, that didn’t help. Ilya could only imagine—
“Let me see.”
Shane’s pretty mouth opened, and Ilya almost surged forward to capture it with his. Shane looked like he was about to protest, but another twitch of the caged bulge gave him away. He let out a shaky breath and nodded.
Ilya hooked his fingers into the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants again. Shane helpfully lifted his hips without being asked, and just that silent, unspoken obedience could make Ilya come undone. He pulled Shane’s pants down his legs along with his boxers and placed the clothes carefully on the couch despite the urge to just ravish Shane right there. And then—
Fuck.
There it was. The cage. Silver bars encasing Shane’s cock, with a small padlock hanging from a snug ring around the base. The end of the cage glistened under the dim light of the lamp, and it wasn’t just the metal, Ilya noticed. It was damp where the red tip of Shane’s cock strained against it.
Ilya looked up. Shane was watching him through half-lidded eyes, every breath shallow and hot from his parted lips. He was reaching under his hoodie, fumbling with something and groaning when he failed to grab it.
Ilya raised an eyebrow. Shane’s jaw clenched, and he finally fished out something that looked like a pendant from under his hoodie. A thin silver chain, holding a tiny key.
“Come on, Rozanov.” Shane quickly took off the chain and shoved the key into Ilya’s chest. He pushed his hips up, right into Ilya’s face.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Ilya smirked and shook his head, snatching the key from Shane and throwing it onto the coffee table.
“Hey! What the—”
Shane couldn’t finish the sentence because it was swallowed by Ilya’s hungry lips. He kissed Shane deeply, his tongue licking into Shane’s mouth and eagerly tasting the inside of his cheeks. Shane’s hand flew up, tangling into Ilya’s hair to press him closer. Ilya’s lips moved to the corner of his mouth, then to his neck, and it was all it took for Shane to melt into him like warm butter. His back hit the couch, one hand clutching at one of the many cushions.
Ilya moved down his body, pulling his hoodie up and over his head. His lips found Shane’s stiff nipple and closed around it. He took his time, the tip of his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his fingers teased and squeezed the other. Ilya could feel Shane leaking through the cage against his stomach, soaking his t-shirt. Somehow, he got even wetter locked up. A fact Ilya liked immensely.
With one last squeeze to Shane’s pec Ilya straightened on his knees and grabbed the backs of Shane’s thighs, pushing them up to his chest. Shane moaned somewhere above him. Ilya bent down and blew a breath on the cage. Shane’s cock twitched inside it, straining against the bars.
“Horny Hollander cannot control himself,” Ilya murmured, his voice more even than he expected from himself. On the inside, he was bursting at the seams. “I am so sexy he has to wear cage just to play.”
Shane made an incoherent sound of pleasure — or it could be frustration, or both, Ilya wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. He chuckled, glancing up at Shane’s rosy scrunched up face, and leaned closer to his hole. It was right there at Ilya’s mouth, spread out and twitching deliciously around nothing.
“Next you wear plug during game, yes?”
Before Shane could retort, Ilya’s tongue flicked out, tracing a circle over the tight rim. Shane whined — fuck, it was so sweet. His hips shifted, trying to cant forward, but Ilya’s grip held him in place. He licked a broad stripe up to Shane’s taint, and then his mouth closed over Shane’s hole.
Ilya ate him out slowly — as slow as he could go, at least. His own desire throbbed relentlessly between his legs, and he had to let go of one of Shane’s thighs to palm his cock through his jeans. He tried not to press too hard, though, because he didn’t want this to end so embarrassingly soon. And he had a feeling it could.
Shane was as tasty as ever: salty, slightly tangy, short hairs catching against Ilya’s tongue. The sounds he was making… Ilya could stay down there for hours, if he had them, just to hear those pretty little moans and whimpers. Shane could get so loud just from that, just from Ilya feasting on him. And Ilya imagined the cage didn’t help.
Ilya could feel Shane getting close. He glanced up to see his caged cock twitch every time Ilya’s tongue dipped into his hole, his balls drawing up, as if he was about to spill. Ilya wondered briefly if Shane could actually cum like this, locked up, just from being eaten out. The cage was all wet now, the precum dripping down and mixing with spit on Ilya’s chin. Shane would probably make a fuss about the sloppy mess on the couch later.
But fuck, it was terrifically hot, how Shane got even leakier like that. Like a broken faucet beyond repair.
Ilya heard a strangled “fuck, Rozanov” from above when his tongue dipped particularly deep, the muscle loosening around it. He lifted his head, licking his swollen lips. Shane was sweating at the temples, his skin shiny and damp. Ilya wanted to lick it too.
“What was that, Hollander?”
“Fuck me,” Shane whined, his hand tugging at Ilya’s curls in an attempt to pull him up. “I’m close, so just— Unlock this thing and fuck me.”
Ilya could refuse. He almost did. He could go back to eating and teasing Shane until he was a whimpering, begging mess. But Ilya was just a man, and his own cock was nearly tearing through his jeans at this point.
He reached for the key.