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The neon lights of the club were cutting through the heavy, humid air. Bass vibrated through the floorboards in a thudding pulse that rattled straight through Ilya’s body and echoed the dull, persistent ache in his chest. It was loud enough to drown out any thought, which was exactly why he had come there.
But it wasn’t working. The bitter aftertaste of seeing the pics of Hollander with Rose Landry still hung thick on his tongue. No amount of cheap vodka could wash it away.
Ilya leaned against the sticky wood of the bar, broad shoulders hunched as if trying to shield himself from the chaotic sea of moving bodies around him. His fingers idly swiped across the rim of his glass. He was just staring into the clear liquid, watching the neon lights reflect on its surface.
He felt entirely detached from the music, but suddenly, he felt like someone was watching him. It was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Ilya raised his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the bar. Through the hazy red strobes, his gaze locked onto a face he recognized from social media feeds; one of Rose Landry’s close friends.
The guy was standing just a few feet away from Ilya, a bottle of beer in his hand and looking directly at Ilya. He wasn’t even trying to hide a smug, mocking curl on his lips.
As soon as he registered that Ilya had caught him staring, the guy didn’t look away. Instead, he slowly lifted two fingers to his temple and gave Ilya a slow salute. It was deliberate. A silent, arrogant taunt.
Ilya’s jaw clenched so hard that a muscle ticked in his cheek. He kept looking at the man for a few seconds longer, before the sudden realization hit him. If Rose Landry’s friend was here…then that meant Rose Landry would be there too. And that meant…fuck no.
His heart skipped a beat as he turned, blue eyes scanning the room slowly. The club seemed to slow down around him, the flashing red and blue lights turning the crowd into a reel of shadows. He looked past the neon signs, past the VIP booths, forcing his gaze to cut through the heavy smoke and moving bodies.
And then, his eyes stopped.
Right in the middle of the pulsing dance floor, was Rose Landry. And Hollander.
His hands were settled on her waist as they moved to the heavy rhythm of the music. From this distance, under the lights, he looked composed. He was playing the part of the attentive boyfriend perfectly. Like the tuna melt had never happened. Like Ilya didn’t even exist.
A violent wave of raw jealousy and adrenaline flooded Ilya’s veins. It was turning his stomach over. The arrogant salute from Rose’s friend suddenly made perfect sense.
Ilya’s grip on his shot glass tightened until his knuckles turned white. Without breaking his gaze from the man who owned every single one of his thoughts, he lifted the glass and slammed the vodka down his throat. The liquid coated his throat in a fire, fueling the rage screaming in his chest.
He dropped the empty glass back onto the sticky counter and pushed himself away from the bar. Shoving ruthlessly through the sweaty bodies, he plunged straight into the madness of the dance floor. He had no plan, no logic left in his head. He just needed to turn off his head completely.
On the other side of the crowded floor, Shane spun Rose around, forcing a polite smile that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.
He was trying. He was genuinely trying to lose himself in the noise and to drown out the lingering echoes of what had happened. But the music was just a hollow thump against his ribs and the air felt too thick to breathe.
Over Rose’s shoulder, a sudden movement caught his attention through the flashing blue lights. It was a towering, broad frame that Shane would recognize anywhere.
Cliff Marleau.
Shane’s breath hitched, chest tightening instantly as if someone had wrapped a fist around his lungs. Cliff was here. And if Cliff were here, in this exact club…
Shane’s eyes frantically swept around, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked past the massive speakers, past the dark corners of the lounge and then his gaze stopped.
There he was.
Ilya wasn’t looking at him. He was tangled up with a gorgeous blonde near one of the concrete pillars. His large hand was buried deep in her hair, tilting her head back and pressing her body flush against his. As Shane watched, utterly paralyzed, Ilya leaned down and kissed her slowly under the blinding lights.
Shane’s grip on Rose’s waist tightened so hard she let out a startled gasp, but he couldn’t loosen his fingers. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink as he watched Ilya make out with a stranger.
It felt like a betrayal, even though Shane knew he had no right to feel betrayed. Not when he was standing here with Rose. As if to make the torture complete, Ilya broke the kiss and his lips slowly slid down the blonde’s jawline. His hand anchored her by the back of her neck as he buried his face into the crook of her throat. He began to drag his lips across her skin, pressing open, bruising kisses into her neck. The girl arched into him, her hands clutching at Ilya’s broad shoulders.
Shane felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. The club around seemed to blur into a smear of flashing colors. Beneath Shane’s hand, Rose was entirely oblivious to what was happening right in front of her, lost in the rhythm of the heavy bass. She closed her eyes, hips swaying as she pressed closer to him, guiding his body with her own. Shane didn’t move, he couldn’t. He just let himself be swayed and moved like a lifeless doll.
Ilya lifted his head just a little and his piercing blue eyes locked right onto Shane’s.
Shane froze completely, but Ilya didn’t look away. He kept his eyes heavily fixed on Shane, while his lips continued to move against the blonde’s throat. It was a cruel provocation meant entirely to destroy whatever composure Shane had left. Look at me, Ilya’s eyes seemed to say, Look what you did to us.
Every single touch from Rose felt distant, while the heat of Ilya’s gaze felt like a burning through his clothes. He hated Ilya at that moment. He hated him with a passion that terrified him, because he knew that beneath all that hatred was a terrifying truth: he would give anything to be the one pressed against that pillar right now.
Shane couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. He tore his gaze away from Ilya, the sudden movement making his head spin.
“I’ll be right back,” Shane muttered near Rose’s ear. His voice sounded tight and completely raw over the roaring bass of the club. He didn’t even wait to see her nod or register the confusion on her face. He just dropped his hand from her waist and turned on his heel.
His frame cut through the shifting crowd as he walked blindly. He needed to get out. He needed a wall, a locked door, anything to stop the suffocating spiral turning his stomach inside out.
Shane shoved through the heavy wooden door at the back of the club and stumbled into the restroom. Thankfully, it was empty. He stormed over to the row of porcelain sinks and gripped the cold edge so hard his knuckles turned white. He leaned forward, chest heaving as he stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
His eyes dropped to the side of his neck and his stomach turned. Right there, against his flushed skin was a smudged streak of Rose’s pink lipstick. A reminder of the life he was supposed to be living.
He hated him. He absolutely hated how much power Ilya Rozanov held over his entire existence. Just one look, one toxic provocation and Shane was completely reduced to a trembling wreck.
Wanting any kind of distraction to stop his hands from shaking, Shane reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The bright screen illuminated his face.
12:05 am
The numbers seemed to mock him, like a cold reminder of how late it was. He huffed and shoved the phone back into his pocket, hand coming back to grip the edge of the sink.
A second later, the heavy restroom door clicked.
Shane’s eyes instantly shot back up to the mirror. Through the glass, he watched the door swing open and a tall, broad silhouette stepped into the room.
The door shut with a heavy thud and then, the lock turned with an echoing snap. Shane didn’t turn around, he kept staring through the mirror at the man leaning casually against the locked door.
Ilya looked devastating. His curls were slightly messy and his ridiculously ugly button-down shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show his chest and the dangling gold cross. He looked completely unfazed, tilting his head with a smirk playing on his lips. The same lips that had been buried in a stranger’s neck just minutes ago.
“Lost your girlfriend, Hollander?” Ilya asked, his voice a low rumble that cut through the muffled thumping of the bass outside. He sounded amused, his accent thick and heavy in the small room, “You looked so cozy out there. I thought you were staying for the whole show,”
The last thread of Shane’s control snapped. He ripped his hand off the sink and spun around, his chest heaving as he took a step forward.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he spat, voice shaking with a fury, “You follow me here to say that? Fuck you, Rozanov,”
Ilya didn’t flinch. He didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets. He just watched Shane close the distance, his blue eyes darkening and tracing the erratic movement of Shane’s chest.
“I did not follow you,” Ilya lied smoothly, tone dripping with that cocky confidence, “Maybe I just needed to wash my hands. Or maybe I wanted to see if you always run away when things get a little too hot for you,”
“Fuck you,” Shane snarled, now standing inches from Ilya. He reached out, his open palm slamming against Ilya’s chest and pushed him hard against the wooden door, “What the fuck was that out there? You think you’re funny? You think you can just do this after…after everything?!”
Ilya let himself be pushed, his back hitting the door with a dull thud, but his smirk never vanished. Instead, his eyes dropped to Shane’s lips, then slowly traveled back up to meet his furious and…glassy brown eyes.
“Why do you care, Hollander?” Ilya whispered, the amusement suddenly dropping from his voice. He stepped forward, erasing the distance Shane had tried to create and used his size to crowd him back toward the sinks.
“You have your pretty Rose. You dance with her. You touch her,” Ilya tilted his chin up, staring straight into Shane’s soul, “But you still hated that she was touching you while you wanted to watch me,”
“Shut up,” Shane choked out, his back hitting the cold edge of the sink again, getting trapped between the counter and Ilya’s body, “Shut the fuck up, Rozanov,”
“Make me,” Ilya challenged.
But before Shane could even say anything, his large hand shot out, gripping Shane’s hips with bruising force. He crowded him completely and slammed his mouth down onto Shane’s.
Shane’s mouth opened into a gasp against Ilya’s lips and instead of leaning into it, he instantly fought back. He gripped Ilya’s open shirt, trying to tear his mouth away, teeth clashing together in a desperate struggle for control. For a split second, it was a battle; Shane’s fingers clawing at him, head jerking back as he was trying to prove he wasn’t completely helpless.
But Ilya was a wall. He didn’t budge and inch. His hand shot up, fingers burying deep into the hair at the base of Shane’s skull, tilting his head back, which completely put an end to the struggle.
Shane let out a low, defeated whimper into the kiss, his body instantly going soft under the pressure. The fight evaporated and he was entirely at Ilya’s mercy. His hands shifted to grip Ilya’s shoulders for dear life. Ilya slid his tongue past Shane’s lips and Shane let him.
It was a full, filthy makeout session; wet and frantic. The sound of their wet lips and ragged breathing echoing loudly in the small bathroom. Ilya’s tongue was demanding, mapping out Shane’s mouth.
Gasping for air, Shane suddenly placed his palms against Ilya’s chest and gave a hard shove, “Stop, wait-,”
Ilya stumbled back just half a step, his lips wet and swollen and his eyes burning with hunger. His gaze dropped straight down to where Shane’s thighs were still hooked over the edge of the sink.
Because of the angle and how tightly Ilya had been crowding him, the front of their pants had been pressed completely flush. And Ilya didn’t miss the massive bulge stretching the fabric of Shane’s jeans.
A slow, dangerous smile crept back onto Ilya’s face as he looked back up at Shane.
“You want me to stop, Hollander?” Ilya murmured as he reached out, his palm settling directly over the hard length and squeezed it through the denim.
Shane let out a sharp gasp, hips involuntarily twitching forward. He bit his lips and his face flushed red under the lights.
“Look at you,” Ilya murmured, thumb rubbing over the leaking tip through the jeans, “Fucking pathetic. You were just out there holding your little girlfriend and pretending to be a good boyfriend. But then you come in here and get this hard for me the second I touch you?”
“Ilya, please,” Shane choked out, head dropping back. The humiliation of Ilya’s words was doing things that he couldn’t control. He was so hard it ached.
“Please what?” Ilya growled as he grabbed Shane’s jaw, forcing him to look into his eyes, “You like being a dirty little secret, Hollander? You like watching me kiss someone else because it makes you realize you belong to me? Say it,”
Shane managed to just look at him with wide, blown eyes.
“Say it, Hollander,” Ilya demanded, “Tell me who you belong to,”
“You,” Shane whimpered as his fingers clawed into the fabric of Ilya’s shirt, “To you. God, Rozanov, please,”
Ilya let out a low hum of satisfaction, but instead of giving Shane what he wanted, he stepped back just enough to break the body heat. Shane let out a needy, protesting whine, hips twitching forward to chase the touch.
“Not yet,” Ilya murmured, “You do not get it that easy,”
Before Shane could protest, Ilya sank down, dropping onto his knees right between Shane’s parted thighs. He didn’t waste time, he ripped Shane’s belt open with a metallic clack and popped the button. Hooking his calloused fingers into the waistband of both the denim and the boxers, he dragged them down past Shane’s thighs.
Shane’s breath hitched, hand flying back to grip the edges of the counter behind him as his hard, leaking length sprang free.
“Look at you,” Rozanov hummed with a smirk, he reached out and his index finger caught the heavy bead of pre-cum at the tip, smearing it over the sensitive tip, “You are practically dripping. So fucking pathetic. Did you get this wet while you were holding her? Hm?”
“Ah- Rozanov, no. Please, stop talking,” Shane cried out, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” Ilya commanded.
Shane opened those glossy eyes and looked down at him. Ilya didn’t give him a warning, he leaned in and licked a deliberate stripe from the base of Shane’s cock all the way to the tip. Shane choked on his own saliva, hips bucking forward, but Ilya’s large hands locked onto his thighs, anchoring him in place.
Ilya gathered a thick string of saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto his palm, rubbing the wet slickness all over the aching shaft. He started stroking Shane’s cock achingly slowly and lifted his head to look up at him.
Then, Ilya parted his lips and swallowed him deep until his nose buried in Shane’s pubic hair. His throat wrapped tight around the painfully hard length and tongue swirling against the underside of the tip. The suction was intense, filthy, wet noises echoing loudly off the tiles. Shane’s hand lost grip on the counter and his fingers buried into Ilya’s messy curls, pulling him closer.
Shane was sobbing out nonsense as Ilya worked his mouth down his cock. His wet, rhythmic hums vibrating straight through Shane’s body.
Ilya sucked him until Shane was on the absolute edge. Shane’s hips started to roll into the friction, cock pulsing in Ilya’s mouth, ready to blow, but Ilya pulled off him with a wet pop.
Shane let out a devastated whining cry, “Ilya no, no, don’t, please, I’m so close-,”
“I told you, not yet,” Ilya growled and stood up. He grabbed Shane’s hips, spinning him around and forced his chest down against the cold porcelain of the sink with a push of his hand right in the centre of his back. Shane’s face was pressed almost against the mirror, his bare ass pushed high and exposed.
“Look at yourself,” Ilya ordered, as his chest pinned Shane securely over the counter. He reached up and grabbed Shane’s chin, forcing his head up so Shane had to look at his own reflection, “Look at what a dirty little mess you are for me,”
Shane didn’t have any other option, he just looked at himself in the mirror.
Ilya gathered another mouthful of spit and let it drop directly onto Shane’s trembling and exposed hole. The warm saliva dripped down between his cheeks. As if that wasn’t enough, Ilya spat into his own palm again. He reached down, fingers brushing over the tight hole. Shane whimpered, his thighs shaking.
“You are so tight, Hollander,” Ilya whispered dirtily right into hir ear, slowly pressing the pad of his index finger against the fluttering hole, stretching it slightly. Shane let out a sob, fingers clawing at the smooth porcelain, “I’m going to stretch you out so wide you won’t be able to go back to your girlfriend,”
Shane let out a broken whimper as Ilya’s first finger slid in.
“Look at the mirror, Hollander,” Ilya growled into his ear in a low command. He pushed the finger deeper, searching for the sweet spot. Shane’s hips twitched violently, a choked sob escaping his throat as he looked into the mirror.
His vision was blurry with tears. He could see his own ruined face, swollen lips and Ilya’s predatory eyes locked on his finger in Shane’s ass.
Without giving him a chance to adjust, Ilya spat directly at his hole again and pushed a second, then a third finger inside.
Shane cried out into the empty bathroom, fingers helplessly trying to grip something. He felt his walls stretching against Ilya’s thick fingers.
“Fucking beautiful,” Ilya rasped behind him as he began to pump his fingers inside him, widening the tight opening, “You are so wet, Hollander. So fucking ready to be ruined,”
“Ilya- please, now, please, I can’t- I need you,” Shane begged, voice cracking. He was completely broken by Ilya’s fingers pressing on his prostate and the dirty words coming out of Ilya’s mouth.
Ilya let out a low grunt and he withdrew his fingers with a wet, squelching noise. Shane cried out at the sudden loss, hips twitching back trying to chase Ilya’s fingers.
But Ilya gave him no time to breathe. With quick movements, he ripped a condom out of his wallet, tore it open with his teeth and rolled it onto his rock hard cock.
With one hand, he squeezed Shane’s ass cheek and spread it, revealing a pretty hole winking at him. He dragged his thumb over his own lips, gathering more spit and smeared it over the fluttering entrance, before guiding the blunt head right against it.
“Hold onto the sink, Hollander. You are taking all of it,”
His fingers dug into the skin of Shane’s hip so hard it would leave bruises and with one heavy thrust, Ilya buried himself inside of Shane’s body.
Shane practically screamed. His back arched and eyes went wide as his tight walls were forced to stretch around Ilya’s thick cock. It was so deep that Shane swore he felt him straight in his stomach.
Ilya let out a curse in Russian as Shane’s hole clamped down on him.
“Yes, choke on it,” Ilya growled into the back of Shane’s neck, “Squeeze me like that. Show me how fucking much you missed this while you were out there holding her,”
Before Shane could even gasp for air, Ilya pulled back until he was nearly out and then drove back in with a slamming force.
The sound of skin on skin echoed loudly against the tiled walls; filthy, rhythmic slaps. Ilya went fully into it, pounding into Shane fast and hard with all the pent-up frustration. Claiming him.
Shane was completely ruined. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. Every time Ilya hit his prostate perfectly, his head knocked toward the mirror. Ilya’s fingers found their place in Shane’s hair, pulling his head up. Shane was forced to watch his own reflection bouncing with every thrust. His mouth was open in a silent wail, body completely pliant under the weight of the Russian.
“Look at who is fucking you, Hollander. Not her. Me! You are fucking mine,”
Shane’s knees buckled, his entire weight was supported only by Ilya’s iron grip on his hip.
“Yes- ah! You!” he moaned as he tried to push back against Ilya. The pleasure was so intense. His hard, dripping cock rubbing against the cold edge of the sink with every movement, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without even being touched. He started pushing his hips back into the thrusts in a desperate chase.
Ilya shifted his angle, pulling Shane up slightly so he could ram into him even deeper. The pace was punishing now. He was making sure that Shane wouldn’t be able to think about anyone else for weeks.
His heavy chest pressed flat against Shane’s back and his gaze caught the side of his neck. The faint streak of Rose’s lipstick was still visible and Ilya’s jaw clenched. He leaned down, grazing over it with his teeth, before biting down into the skin. And Shane moaned loudly.
“I see you like being marked, Hollander,” Ilya murmured against his neck and sucked the soft skin into his mouth, marking Shane himself.
He sucked and bit until the pink lipstick was completely replaced by an angry purple mark that would be impossible to hide. Ilya’s hand shot up to Shane’s chin again, tilting his head with a twist, so Shane was forced to stare at the fresh hickey.
“Look at it,” Ilya ordered as he thrusted into the tight, wet heat again and Shane let out a high-pitched whimper. The cold reality of what the bruise meant should have made him push Ilya away. Instead, it made his hole clamp down tighter, his body betraying him completely.
Every single thrust was overwhelmingly loud now, echoing off the cold tiled walls of the small room. The wet, messy friction of Ilya’s cock sliding deep inside Shane’s tight hole created a filthy noise that filled space between their ragged breaths. Ilya went completely animalistic, his hips hitting against Shane’s bare ass with loud slaps. He kept one hand firmly in Shane’s hair, leaning down to plant two more dark hickeys.
Shane couldn’t even form words anymore, his mouth open as moans spilled from his throat.
As Ilya slammed into him again, with another punishing slide, he noticed Shane’s rock-hard cock weeping pre-cum onto the porcelain. A cruel, breathless laugh escaped his lips. He reached down and wrapped his fingers carelessly around the shaft before letting it go with a slap.
“Such a big, useless cock. What a waste, huh?”
Shane let out a broken sob, “I-Ilya, please,”
“You are so big, Hollander, and yet, you are right here, happiest when you are getting your pretty ass destroyed by your rival,”
Ilya leaned down even closer, teeth grazing the shell of Shane’s ear, “Poor, sweet Rose. She has no fucking idea, does she? I bet you do not even know how to use it on her, because all you can think is about me filling you,”
Shane was sobbing openly now, hips bucking backwards. He didn’t care about Rose. He didn’t care about his pride. He just needed Ilya to ruin him.
“You are a dirty whore, Hollander,” Ilya murmured as he quickened the pace, “My dirty little whore,”
Driven by the adrenaline, Ilya brought his large hand back and delivered a stinking slap right across Shane’s bare ass cheek. The sharp crack echoed loudly in the room, leaving a red mark on Shane’s skin.
Shane let out a choked gasp and then, he finally broke. Hot, thick tears spilled over his eyelashes, blurring his vision as they tracked down his flushed cheeks and dripped onto the cold porcelain of the sink. He was crying openly now, a mixture of pleasure and frustration tearing through his chest.
Ilya didn’t soften, he hummed in approval and delivered another heavy slap. Then his hand moved to Shane’s face, wiping the tears roughly from his cheeks.
“Keep looking at me through those tears,” Ilya growled demandingly as he kept ramming into him, “Show me how much you love this,”
“Fuck, Rozanov, I- I’m gonna-,” Shane cried out, Ilya’s dirty mouth and the brutal thrusts were bringing him close to his release.
Ilya began to ram into his poor abused hole with more force. Shane’s eyes went completely wide, loud moans escaping his parted lips. He stared at his reflection in the mirror as his cock started twitching.
With two more deep thrusts and without a single hand touching his dick, he finally came. Thick ropes of cum splattered across the sink and up onto the glass of the mirror.
The intense fluttering of Shane’s hole around his cock, combined with the sight of Shane’s completely fucked-out face in the mirror, were the final triggers Ilya needed. With a loud groan, he buried himself as deep as he could, pinning Shane’s twitching hips against the sink, and came hard. His whole body was shaking as he filled the condom with hot cum.
Shane collapsed forward, forehead resting against the cold counter. His pants were pooled around his ankles and he was covered in sweat and spit.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by their echoing breaths. The whole bathroom now smelled like sex and sweat.
Ilya stayed buried inside him for long minutes, his forehead pressed against Shane’s shoulder blade. The grip on Shane’s hip softened and his thumb gently brushed the bruised skin.
When Ilya finally pulled out with a wet sound, he didn’t leave. Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Shane’s neck. Shane let out a shaky breath, his thighs were trembling so hard he could barely stand. He stayed slumped over the counter.
“I’ve got you,” Ilya murmured as he caught Shane’s exhausted body. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, pulling him back against his chest.
He let him catch his breath and then he grabbed some paper towels, wetting them under the sink and gently wiped Shane down.
But his blue eyes darkened as he stared at his own heavy handprints on Shane’s bare ass. He lowered his head, sinking down slightly. Without warning, he nipped and sucked tightly at the center of one plump cheek, dragging his teeth over the flesh until he left a dark hickey there.
Shane let out a sharp gasp, hips twitching backward. He looked over his shoulder through glassy eyes, but Ilya was already pulling away with a smug, satisfied smirk.
Once Shane’s clothes were pulled back, he finally turned to face Ilya. His eyes were still glassy and his pretty pink lips still swollen.
Ilya reached out and cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking over his flushed cheeks. Then, he leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to Shane’s lips that made Shane’s heart swell.
“You belong with me, Hollander,” Ilya murmured after he pulled back just an inch.
Shane let out a shaky breath, clutching Ilya's wrists tightly with his own hands. For a second, the heavy knot of anxiety completely dissolved, he genuinely thought they would leave together.
But then, Ilya’s hand slowly dropped from his face.
The warmth vanished instantly and before Shane could even process it, Ilya stepped back. He walked over to the heavy wooden door, turning the lock with an echoing sound.
With his hand on the doorknob, Ilya stopped. He didn’t look back at Shane directly, he just caught his broken, confused reflection in the mirror one last time.
“Do not make her wait too long,” he whispered and then, he opened the door and disappeared.
Shane was left standing entirely alone. His body was still trembling, his skin still hot from Ilya’s touch. The phantom weight of him was still burning inside his stretched walls. But Ilya was gone. And Rose Landry was still waiting for him on the dance floor.