gayguyintraining
Content warning for sexually explicit scenes and light BDSM. Characters inspired by Heated Rivalry, although you do not need any familiarity with the series. One character is a trans man; the other is nonbinary and transmasculine.
Author’s Note: This is my first time posting! It is loosely based on some of my own experiences. Feedback is welcomed.
In the Barbershop
Ilya and Shane walked through the North End of Boston. Ilya had a home game scheduled for the next day, but today? They were all for Shane, and they certainly had a plan in store for him. Shane could see Ilya thinking as they walked, a soft smirk spread across their face. Shane felt like his heart could beat out of his chest.
Shane hardly noticed the quaintness of the neighborhood—the cobblestoned streets and the brick buildings with ornamented windows. His gaze was fixed ahead, focused on the spinning barber’s pole at the end of the street. Part of him felt ill looking at it; he wanted to reach out and grab Ilya’s hand, turn them around, and run straight back to Ilya’s penthouse. At the same time, he ached for what was about to happen.
—
During one of their many video chats, Ilya had asked Shane a question.
“Do you have any… interests that you haven’t shared with me yet?”
He knew that Ilya knew him, inside and out. He felt a warmth in his chest as he thought about Ilya’s upcoming move to Ottawa. Things were getting real. Still, he felt ashamed of something deep in him. He let out a nervous laugh; he began to stutter as he realized how any other answer other than the one blaring in his mind would seem unconvincing. God, he wanted them to know.
“T-there’s one thing. It’s just bizarre… This will sound like a joke.”
The words had tumbled out of him; he could barely recall what he had said. His thoughts were racing back to his high school girlfriend. She had once asked him a similar question. Her expression of disapproval in response to his disclosure was clear in his mind. They had never talked about it again.
Still, he was desperate for this; he didn’t know why these wires were crossed in his head, but it was something he longed for constantly. Something that regularly made him wet with anticipation, but something that he had never quite acted upon in practice.
He wished he could have explained in person, but the distance of the video call almost made it easier for him to lay out his proclivity. As he spoke about a particular fantasy, the scene that had been washing over his mind recently before going to sleep, he had half-expected Ilya to laugh. He heard silence on the other end of the phone, and so he continued to ramble.
He could not look at his phone’s screen as he spoke. He knew Ilya was watching him speak, and it felt too intense to return his stare as he spoke about this—he couldn’t believe he was speaking about this. His eyes darted around the hotel room, but for one moment, he let his vision flicker back to the phone screen. He could see Ilya looking at him intently, the corners of their eyes crinkled with pleasure.
He interrupted himself. “I know! I know. It’s ridiculous. We don’t have to do it.”
“It is not ridiculous. I know a place where we can go.”
—
They stood outside of the barbershop for a moment. Shane could see through the windows. He felt like a voyeur; he observed a barber bringing a straight razor up along the area around an older man’s ear. The barber was giving him a severe crew cut, making the sides and back of his head as smooth as the skin on his face. On the wall opposite the windows, he could see photos of men, seemingly Slavic, sporting similarly short haircuts—some even shorter. His breathing quickened. He also noticed a few plastic red seats inside for people to wait their turn. Would this be where Ilya would wait as an audience to his humiliation?
“Everyone who works here is Russian. You can let me do the talking.” Ilya gave Shane a small, reassuring smile, and Shane nodded.
Ilya opened the door for them, and a bell chimed overhead. Shane was hit with the smell of barbicide and shaving cream. Everything about the shop seemed old and severe.
Ilya strode inside. Shane knew that Ilya had made an appointment beforehand for him with a particular barber. He could see a stocky, bald man working towards the back of the room, finishing up sweeping up hair from a prior appointment. The man turned towards Ilya as he approached, and the two seemed to swap pleasantries in Russian. Shane heard Ilya say his name, and the barber beckoned him to come forward; Shane nodded politely and shook his hand, noticing how strong and calloused it felt. The barber turned away for a moment to organize his workstation; then, he looked back at Shane and motioned for him to take a seat. It was beginning.
Shane surveyed the barber chair, which appeared simultaneously well-worn and meticulously maintained. He stepped onto the sparkling metal footrests, and he noticed how the leather was soft yet firm as he settled into the seat.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, taking in his slightly wrinkled blue button-up and his chinos. He looked meek, with his hands wrung in his lap and his shoulders tense. He took a deep breath and shifted, placing his arms on the armrests and spreading open his legs, attempting to take on a more confident position. The leather against the bare skin of his arms felt sensual. As he adjusted, he felt the seam of his pants rub against his crotch.
He felt perverted for feeling turned on in a barbershop. He was acutely aware of the fact that he was getting hot and bothered—and nothing had even happened yet! However, he had a sense of what Ilya had in store for him, and it was making him feel insane.
He usually tried to not draw too much attention with his haircuts, opting for a high-numbered guard on the sides and a cut with scissors on top. One time, desire had overcome him, and he had asked for a medium skin fade. He remembered how he was teased by his teammates, who told him he looked like a soccer player. He blushed as he thought about how Hayden had come up behind him and rubbed the back of his head while they were in the locker room, feeling the bristles towards the top of his scalp. He made some sort of joke about Shane trying a new look, but all Shane could focus on was suppressing a moan.
He tried his best to maintain a poker face as the barber secured a cape around his neck; he found the pressure of the cape at the base of his throat to be particularly erotic. It felt more intense than during his normal haircuts, probably due to the fact that he had no clue what this man was about to do to him. Ilya was standing on the other side of the chair. The barber seemed to be asking them a question, and Ilya was pulling out their phone, presumably to show him images for inspiration. However, the screen was outside of Shane’s view.
He had no clue how much Ilya was leaning into this. It was a thrill, but it also terrified him. He worried about news outlets commenting on his change in appearance. He was used to attention, but he was concerned about whether people would somehow be able to tell that he got a haircut for sexual reasons. Moreover, if the media found out he was trans, too, he was scared that his kink could be used to both undermine his gender identity and harm the broader community.
Still, the idea of Ilya shaping him to be more masculine made him feel dizzy. Sweet Ilya, one of the few people that understood him. He looked up at them, admiring their built frame and their polite demeanor as they continued to talk with the barber. Despite existing in between genders, they seemed fully comfortable with the language of masculinity. Shane still felt nervous in rooms like this one; not just because of his desires, but because even after being on testosterone for several years, he still felt like he hadn’t quite mastered the codes of male social spaces. He often felt awkward and docile. This was part of why he leaned into hockey as much as he did; there, he had no choice but to think fast and hit hard.
He felt especially vulnerable as the barber’s thick fingers touched the back of his skull and guided him to tilt his head forward. He looked down at his feet, and then he looked to his right. Ilya had taken a seat in one of the plastic seats; they were watching as though this was a game. When they made eye contact, Shane had trouble reading Ilya’s expression, but it seemed somewhere between concern and amusement. He wondered if Ilya could tell how nervous he was. Shane knew how much Ilya liked having power over him; he knew it from the first time that Ilya had him jack off in bed in front of them. He realized this could be similar; Ilya watching as Shane bared a part of himself that felt equal parts embarrassing and explosive.
He saw the barber grab his pair of chrome hair clippers. He waited for him to snap on a guard to the blades. He did not.
Fuck.
What the fuck did Ilya tell him?
The barber switched on the clippers, and he immediately got to work. The clippers buzzed to life at the nape of his neck. The sound always reminds him of the magic wand that he stuffs between his legs; the wand that he used in a frenzy shortly before coming here, and that he yearned for Ilya to use on him after this. He felt the clippers push upwards, shearing off all of the hair in its path. He was used to the feeling with guards, but here, the vibrations were so intense that they echoed through his occipital bone. He couldn’t see the back of his head, but he imagined his dark hair falling to the ground, leaving pale skin in its place.
The barber worked quickly, guiding the clippers through his hair with ease. He was going up shockingly high with them, all the way up to his stubborn cowlick. He wondered whether he was going to be shaved bald, made to look like this barber. The thought made him want to shiver, but he was nervous that any motion could cause the man to accidentally cut even higher. Ilya had asked for some examples from Shane beforehand, and the photos that he showed didn’t include any bald men—mainly just haircuts that Shane daydreamed about but that wouldn’t seem too like drastic of a change to a general observer—but he did give Ilya free reign to pick whatever style he wanted.
While keeping his head down, Shane tried to sneak a glance at himself in the mirror, but he struggled to see much. The barber noticed him straining and let out a chuckle before spinning the chair ninety degrees. Shane now had no view of the mirror, just a full view of Ilya. He imagined how pathetic he must look to them, trembling slightly under a big cloak. He looked up with a downturned head, similar to how he gazed up during all of the times that his tongue circled around his cock. He could see now that Ilya was entertained, taking in whatever was happening to his locks.
At this point, the barber was working on the left side of his head. He felt both brusque and precise. He leaned in to line up the hairline near the top of Shane’s forehead, to his surprise. The man’s hot breath smelled like meat.
The barber stepped in front of him to circle around to work on the right side. He could see that the man was well-endowed through his jeans, which were very European in the way that they hugged his thighs.
He wondered whether the barber could tell if he was trans, or if he thought he was just effeminate. Could he tell that this was a gay relationship, and that this was some sort of sick and twisted sex game, or did he think that this was some sort of bet? Did he know they were hockey players? Rivals?
The barber paused for a moment and grabbed a comb. He then began to use the clippers on the top of Shane’s head, with the comb creating the slightest bit of distance from his scalp. Shane looked at Ilya in shock. Even the time he had tried getting a fade in the past, they had just used scissors for that area. Whatever this was, this was going to be shorter than anything he has tried before.
He felt desperately wet as the barber passed the clippers through all the parts of his hair. Shane imagined that there couldn’t be more than half-an-inch of length anywhere on his head. Oddly, he noticed the barber circle back to the area at the back of his head. He seemed to be paying special attention there, pushing the clippers further up, going right through the middle of the top of his head. His nerves felt electrified as he began to realize the style that Ilya had chosen—a style that was by far the shortest of the examples he had shown him.
Shane looked back up at the photographs on the wall. He could see the style depicted there, on a man who looked like he could be serving in the military. It was more than a regular flat top; it was the horseshoe variation, where the top is cut so short that it is intersected by the rounding of one’s skull, causing a landing strip of barren skin to form. Some barbers emphasize this landing strip, leaving only a U-shaped ring of hair towards the front of the head.
Shane felt heat rising to his cheeks. He had presented this as an option to Ilya, and he had secretly hoped he would pick it. He felt incredibly turned on, but he also felt like this would make him into a spectacle. He didn’t understand how something could be so arousing but cause him to feel so conflicted. He felt like he would feel hot and masculine like this, but he was also concerned about the cut being so short that it would seem ridiculous to others.
Shane was still oriented away from the mirror, so he did not have a sense of his appearance yet. He watched the barber put down the clippers and pick up an electric foil shaver. He circled back through the back and sides, making sure those areas were 100% smooth. He thought back to the straight razor being used on the man he saw throw the window; he loved the idea of the barber rubbing and lathering his head with shaving cream. Perhaps he would have to come back. For now, the vibration of the foils was similarly satisfying to the clippers.
Soon, that vibration also stopped. The barber grabbed some product, which smelled strongly of cedar, and applied it to the remaining tuft of hair at the top of his head, combing through to create the appearance of a stiff, consistent peak. He then applied talc powder to the shaved portion of Shane’s head, using a little duster to brush it around and push away any remaining bits of hair. Ilya appears to have a look of approval on his face, no doubt excited to see Shane’s reaction to the cut.
Shane felt like all of the blood in his body was flowing towards his bottom growth, making him want to grind against the seat. If the barber wanted to flip him over and fuck him then and there, he would let himself be taken in an instant.
The barber seemed to ask Ilya a question in Russian, and Ilya appeared to respond in the affirmative, his eyes hungrily glancing over all of Shane. The barber then spun the chair back around to face the mirror.
Shane’s eyes widened. Even though he had a sense of how short it would be, it was a whole different experience to get confirmation. He genuinely looked like a new army recruit, masculine like a 1950s American movie star. He worried slightly that he looked like a thumb, with the sides of his head smooth and then a little squared-off bit of hair at the top of his head. He wanted to reach up to touch the smoothness of the sides and the spikiness of the top, but before he could, the barber began to massage his shoulders. Shane grew even more taken aback and even more turned on. He shot a confused glance at Ilya.
“He said you seemed tense. This is offered as a free service.”
Shane attempted to flash a smile in the mirror, but he felt like he was about to lose control of his face. The barber adjusted him forward in the seat and began to rub in circles on his upper back, and he felt a moan escape through his lips. He could have died of embarrassment right then, but he also did not want it to stop.
The barber softened his pressure, moving to the upper part of Shane’s arms before stopping entirely. He then held up a handheld mirror for Shane to look at the back of his head. He could see the landing strip at the top of his head, the horseshoe shape incredibly visible. This would take weeks to grow out. At the same time, he didn’t want it to grow out. He imagined coming back once a week to get this touched up. How would he explain this to his teammates, to the media? Could he say that this was more convenient with his helmet? Doubtful, but his mind raced. He remembered to give a little thumbs up to the barber, who nodded and placed the mirror down.
Ilya stood up, exchanged a few more words with the barber, and then handed him cash.
Shane took this as his cue to stand up as well; his legs wobbled slightly as he stepped out of the seat. He saw Ilya notice, and he wished they could grab each other’s hands, but they still were not out, and they were still in a barbershop, so Shane gathered himself on his own. He stepped through the door as Ilya held it. Ilya took one hand and did a joking pat on the top of his head. Shane felt like he was going to come.
Once they exited and had walked away from the windows, Shane looked at Ilya, and Ilya looked at Shane.
“If you pat my head like that again, I am going to get so horny that I will explode.”
Although Ilya still couldn’t take Shane’s hand in public, they began to rub the smooth back of their head as the two of them walked back to Ilya’s penthouse. Shane looked over at them with pleading eyes.
“I would like to see that,” Ilya responded.
In the Penthouse
They finished their walk back to Ilya’s building in relative silence, both of them clearly filled with anticipation. Shane’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment. He wished he could slide a beanie over his head to hide the state of his hair, but he was fully on display. It was evening now, so at least he had the cover of darkness on his side, but still, he felt mortified. He was thankful that there had been no paparazzi along their route, and seemingly, nobody had recognized them.
They made it into the building unnoticed and entered into the private elevator to Ilya’s penthouse—an elevator fitted with mirrors on three sides. As Shane entered, he was once again reminded of how stupid he looked. He turned to Ilya.
“Did you really have to do the most extreme haircut I showed you? You piece of shit.”
“I know you wanted that,” Ilya grabbed Shane by the hips and pushed him against the wall. “You look fucking hot like this. Very Russian, in a way.” They ran a hand along his head and brought their lips against his jawline.
“You’re humoring me,” Shane responded. Ilya stopped their kisses along his cheek to give him a little smooch on the lips. “I’m not. It’s cute to see you like this.” Shane could feel his heart swell with affection, but also with sick, rampant desire. He wanted to continue to kiss them so badly, but Ilya seemed to have other plans. Ilya once again brought their hands up to the top of Shane’s head, which felt like a stiff, soft brush. Shane began to feel against Ilya’s body, running his hands under their shirt and along their sculpted torso.
The elevator opened with a ding into Ilya’s penthouse. Shane took the opportunity to pounce on Ilya, kissing them with ardor. He deftly removed Ilya’s shirt; he took a moment to neatly place it on the console table by the entrance before returning to Ilya’s lips. Ilya was back against a wall now, but they took on a powerful stance, gripping Shane’s shoulders as they made out.
Shane was quick-moving, desperate in a way that Ilya had never seen before. After a minute of hungry kissing, Shane shifted downwards, moving his mouth along their chest. He knelt down, putting his hands along Ilya’s hips, and started to kiss along their happy trail.
Instinctively, Ilya jerked their crotch forward and put their hands near the top of Shane’s head. They rubbed the short stubble they felt, and Shane clearly grew more excited. He shifted into an obedient position on his knees, unzipped the fly of Ilya’s jeans, and tugged them down. He gripped Ilya’s boxer briefs for a moment, ready to pull them down as well, but he paused in his tracks. Even though Ilya’s underwear was black, Shane could see that a wet spot had formed near the front of the gusset. He rubbed his hand along Ilya’s crotch for confirmation, and he felt them shudder slightly. Was Ilya getting off on this too? Shane felt a bit of joy tinge his insatiable horniness. He leaned in and kissed this area of the underwear, using his tongue to soak it further. He heard Ilya moan above him, deep and throaty. He began to suck through the fabric, feeling for Ilya’s bottom growth. He simultaneously ran one of his hands along the cloth on Ilya’s taint.
“You’re teasing me,” Ilya put his palms on Shane’s temples and pushed him backwards. “That’s my job, asshole.” Ilya stepped out of their jeans, which were pooled around their ankles, and removed their underwear. They gripped the back of Shane’s head again and shoved his mouth into their groin.
Shane felt their thick pubic hair against his face, the animalic scent of their musk filing his nose. He swirled his tongue around, lapping up their wetness. And, of course, he felt how their cock filled up his mouth. Shane remained eternally in awe of Ilya’s cock. He didn’t know bottom growth could be this big until he met Ilya. Shane was pleased with the effect of testosterone on his own clit, which had surged in size not long after he first started transitioning, but Ilya’s growth was on another level. Shane had gasped the first time he saw it, and he continued to admire its size each time that he sucked them off. They were especially hard at that moment, the head jutting out past the foreskin around it.
He stiffened his tongue and moved in darting, staccato motions around Ilya’s dick, flitting around the area. When he began to move his tongue in longer, slower strokes around one side of the head, he heard Ilya’s breathing quicken. He continued with the movement, and Ilya’s grip on Shane’s head strengthened; although there wasn’t much hair left to pull, they took the top of Shane’s skull and pushed his face in further. Shane struggled to breathe, but that wasn’t going to stop him. As he continued to go down on Ilya, he took his right hand and placed his fingers in a V-shaped position just behind Ilya’s dick. He rubbed back and forth along the folds, collecting wetness from Ilya’s opening along the way. Shane could tell that Ilya liked this; their groans were becoming louder, and they were beginning to grind their hips against his face with even more force.
Ilya continued to rub Shane’s head, which was making him dizzy with excitement. The feeling of coolness along his scalp felt foreign. He loved the contrast between the scratchy hairs at the top of his head and the polished, clean-shaven area behind his ear, where Ilya was currently holding him. He felt like he was in a trance, even more subservient than how he usually felt while on his knees.
Shane couldn’t believe what they had done earlier that day; he couldn’t believe that he looked like this. He couldn’t believe that he was a man, and that he was a man who was sucking someone’s dick. Someone who was like him. His late night dreams, dreams that had once felt out of the question, were being actualized.
He flattened his tongue as he massaged it near the tip of Ilya’s dick, as he could tell that Ilya was approaching completion. “Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moaned. Shane glanced up at Ilya and saw that they were tilting their head back, their mouth open in pleasure.
Shane made deeper lapping motions with his tongue. Ilya was close, and he wanted to see how quickly he could get them off.
“You’re such a good boy,” Ilya sputtered out. Shane immediately moaned into their cunt with an intensity that surprised himself. God, he was Ilya’s good boy, wasn’t he?
In public, Shane was stealth, the epitome of masculinity, the “Sexiest Man Alive” on the cover of magazines. However, he felt most like a man at this moment, in private, while being a dumb little slut at Ilya’s feet.
Shane felt Ilya’s legs begin to shake. They came moments later, filling up his mouth. Ilya’s body relaxed, their hands slipping to their sides. Shane left a few gentle, slow kisses on Ilya’s inner thigh before delicately standing up.
Ilya wrapped their arms around him, taking him into a tender embrace. Shane could not tell for a moment whether he had sucked all of their energy out of them.
Then, Ilya began to kiss him, their passion seeming to rebound immediately. Shane could feel himself getting even more wet as Ilya’s hands made their way around his body. As Ilya touched him, he became aware of how he was still clothed, standing in stark contrast to Ilya’s gorgeous, naked frame.
He took off his shirt, gathered Ilya’s underwear and jeans, and folded all three items next to Ilya’s shirt on the entryway console.
“You are so neat,” Ilya chuckled and grabbed one of the belt loops on Shane’s chinos, pulling him towards them. Shane looked expectantly at Ilya, moving his hands to unzip himself. Ilya stopped him, grabbing him by the wrists. “Not so fast.”
Ilya guided the two of them through the kitchen, the living room, and finally, to the bedroom. They play-wrestled Shane onto the bed. Shane tried to fight back, to no avail. Ilya managed to pin both of Shane’s arms with one hand; they used their other hand to dig into a container next to their bed. They produced a skein of rope. Shane’s eyes widened slightly. The two of them hadn’t done this before.
Ilya assessed Shane’s expression. “I think you’ll find this hot,” they said nonchalantly. “Do you want me to do this?”
Shane nodded, although he wasn’t totally sure how being tied up would work in practice. “How will you do it?” he asked.
Ilya gestured towards the wall sconces on either side of the bed frame. “These should be strong enough.”
Shane felt some doubt about the strength of the lighting fixtures, but he was too curious and horny to care. Ilya took his wrists and wrapped the rope around them, fashioning some sort of secure knot. They then secured the top of the rope to one of the sconces, leaving Shane with his head against a pillow and his arms hanging above him.
“I have you where I want you,” Ilya said, seemingly with a sense of pride. Shane laughed slightly, feeling both further humiliated and befuddled. Ilya leaned in and kissed him—in a way that felt surprisingly tender to Shane given the scene.
“Aren’t you going to take my pants off?” Shane asked.
“We’ll see about that,” Ilya responded. Shane felt the tip of Ilya’s left knee press into his crotch. Shane began to grind against it, savoring the pressure against his clit. Ilya pushed their left thigh in a similar rhythm in response, heightening the deep, weighted sensations. Shane knit his eyebrows and clenched his jaw as he tried to hold back soft, bleating sounds. Whatever this was, it was working for him. He continued to try to stimulate his dick through his chinos by pushing against Ilya.
It went on like this for minutes, both of them getting lost in the rhythm of rubbing against each other. Heat built in Shane’s body, concentrated in his head and between his legs. His nerves felt alight with pleasure, and his cock pulsed, feverishly aching for more. His heart felt light and fluttering, with icy, electric desire entering between his lips, sliding through his throat, and entering into his bloodstream. He could feel an alertness in the back of his neck, eager to experience whatever Ilya was going to do to him next.
He was acutely aware of his hair. He had to be; his head was pressed against the pillow, moving back and forth as Ilya pushed into him. He could feel the back of his head—smooth and bald—slipping against the fabric, but what really brought him towards ecstasy was the short, bristled hairs at the top of his head. They felt prickly, like pins and needles, against the pillow.
He liked that Ilya had left their mark on him in this way, chosen to make him like this, shaped him into something more manly.
He also felt exposed, unarmed, vulnerable. He knew he looked somewhat ridiculous because of this haircut, and he knew that Ilya was learning in real time about something that really makes Shane tick—about a button that they can press at any time to turn Shane into a pliable, even more submissive plaything. All they have to do is take them to the barber.
Ilya began to feel along Shane’s legs and the side of his ass, feeling how Ilya’s muscles tensed as he continued to hump their left leg. They moved their hand back and squeezed Shane’s ass through his pants with as much force as they could muster.
“Fuck,” Shane looked up at Ilya, his eyes begging them for more.
A soft smile spread across Ilya’s face. They thrusted the rest of their body forward and began to kiss Shane’s neck with vigor. Shane felt Ilya’s weight on top of him, felt their lips sucking in a way that he felt near certain would leave a mark, and felt so desperately full of want that he could barely take it. Shane continued to push his hips up towards Ilya. His chinos continued to rub against his bottom growth, bringing him close to climax. He whimpered as Ilya continued to push his knee inwards.
“You are precious,” Ilya said between mouthfuls. “And pathetic. Like an excited dog.”
Ilya rose up and positioned their legs to be outside of Shane’s. They stroked the side of his face, then grabbed his chin and kissed him. With their other hand, they caressed his body. They ran their hand along his clavicle before reaching his chest. They pinched his nipple, eliciting a familiar groan from Shane. Shane knew that Ilya adored the fact that he somehow had nipple sensation, even after top surgery. They ran their fingers around the sensitive area a few more times, and then squeezed his pec as they continued to make out. Ilya’s tongue was penetrating his mouth, and Shane snaked his tongue around theirs in response; it was almost too much.
Shane hoped this was a preview of what was to come—of how he was going to come. He imagined Ilya throat-fucking him with their strap, then pounding him to his deepest parts. He was throbbing now.
Ilya slid their right hand down Shane’s pants and past their underwear. They struggled slightly against the layers of fabric, but they managed to make it in. Their fingers began to glide in deliberate circular motions around their puffy clit, finding little friction around the way.
They brought their hand down deeper to gather more of the silken fluid. They swiped their fingers up and down, further lubricating the area. “You are wetter than I’ve ever felt,” they remarked. They increased the intensity of their circles around his bottom growth.
Shane let out a deeper, more guttural moan. “Please, keep going.”
“If I keep going like this, you’ll be gone before I have time to fuck you,” Ilya teased him, switching back to the back-and-forth motion, which stimulated Shane, but couldn’t push him over the edge in the same way.
“Please,” Shane’s eyes were fixed on Ilya’s, his gaze deep, sweet, insatiable.
Ilya returned his fingers to focusing on the foreskin around the head of Shane’s dick, pushing it so that it rubbed around the area. Shane continued to let out needy moans.
“I want you to fuck me so badly.” There was nothing that Shane wanted more than to grab Ilya, but being tied up meant that he could get no such relief.
“Do you?” Ilya paused, taking their hand out of Shane’s pants. They rose out of bed. “Wait here,” they instructed.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“I know,” Ilya chuckled.
Shane realized how silly he must look, shaven and tied up. He tried, in vain, to get himself out of the hold around his wrists, flopping around on the bed.
“I hate you,” Shane protested.
“No, you don’t,” Ilya said, self-satisfied, as they left the room.
Between His Legs
Ilya walked back into the bedroom, wielding their harness, their strap-on, and a bottle of lube. Shane couldn’t resist straining for some sort of sensation, helplessly grinding the air.
“You are going to fuck me,” Ilya told him. They launched back onto the bed, crawled on top of Shane, and began to untie the ropes that were keeping his wrists bound above his head.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Shane stared at them in shock; he couldn’t believe his ears. In all his years of knowing Ilya, he had always known them to be a strict top. He had a sense that Ilya may be interested in some light penetration, perhaps a plug or some fingering, but he couldn’t imagine fucking him.
It was too much. He felt overwhelmed. He felt his crotch spasm with excitement, but he also felt a more visceral shame. He didn’t know the right way to thrust his hips, the best rhythm to maintain, or whether he would be able to get Ilya off like this. What if he did a bad job?
“If you want to be a masculine man, which seems to be what is getting you off, you need to learn how to fuck,” Ilya said, putting a flirty emphasis on fuck.
Shane could feel himself zoning out, getting too into his head. He felt like his thoughts were going a mile a minute. Ilya finished untying his wrists, and Shane put his head in his hands.
“I don’t know,” Shane mumbled. The skin around his wrists felt tender, and he suddenly felt a bit overstimulated. He could be a man sucking a dick. Could he be a man who fucks?
In general, Shane likes meticulous preparation. He rewatches hockey plays to prepare for games and scripts difficult conversations in his head. For years, late at night in dark rooms, he would read and watch tutorials about how to suck and take cock. He was prepared for those actions when he met Ilya, although he still struggled with the pesky feelings of guilt that would pang his insides. Why did he have to be so damn neurotic?
Ilya could sense his stress; they took one of Shane’s hands and began to rub their thumb in circles around the meat of their palm and their sensitive wrist. They gave Shane a light kiss on the neck.
Shane didn’t have time to prepare here. Here, he had a blind spot. He hated that, but he also loved Ilya humiliating him. And he knew that Ilya knew this, and that they were clearly relishing in it. God, he loved seeing Ilya all turned on.
At the same time, Ilya was also letting Shane set the pace, as they held his hand and observed his facial expressions. Shane felt so safe with them, comforted by their consideration. He took a few slow and deep breaths before beginning to kiss Ilya’s neck in response.
“What do you think?” Ilya leaned into the kisses, resting their chin on top of his shorn head.
Well, Shane knew how it felt to be fucked—maybe that would be worth something? He thought about all the times that Ilya had entered him. He felt his insides pulse as he remembered how his walls contract around Ilya’s member. He ached as he recalled how Ilya’s rough thrusts could stuff the strap all the way up to his cervix. At a specific angle, Ilya could hit a particularly sensitive segment of Shane—a spot a few inches into the hole, along the upper, ridged section of Shane’s walls, the part nearest to his dick. Ilya loved to concentrate their energy there; they could make Shane come in seconds like that.
He forced his mind to clear. He locked in on trying to picture himself fucking Ilya. He heard his own breathing become more audible. It started to become clear to him.
Shane imagined Ilya splayed out on the bed, taking his cock, begging for more. He thought of Ilya sitting on top of him, bouncing rhythmically, pressing their waist into his chest. And wow, wow, he envisioned Ilya bent over, on all fours, their ass bobbing in the air as he slipped in and out of them.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” Ilya remarked. It was—and Shane’s breaths were practically moans at this point.
“How do I put the harness on?”
“I’ll help you,” Ilya ushered the two of them off the bed. They held Shane as he stepped into the harness, and they secured the nylon leg straps around the curves of his ass. From the back, it looked like he was wearing a jockstrap. Shane turned to see the back of himself through a mirror by Ilya’s closet. He had never seen himself look so gay. His drastic haircut meant that the back of his head looked effectively bald, with just a tiny bit of hair peaking out at the top. His ass looked perky and full in the harness. He arched his back. He could hardly bear it.
He turned back to Ilya, whose hands remained around each side of his waist, securing the buckles of the harness to make sure they were tight. He kissed Ilya in a fervor, pushing his body against theirs.
Ilya’s hands migrated down. They squeezed the meat of Shane’s glutes. They pulled away for a moment before delivering a rough smack to the underside of his ass. Shane moaned loudly.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered breathlessly. “Do that again.”
“Go fuck yourself. It’s my turn to get fucked,” Ilya went back to positioning the pad of the harness along Shane’s pelvic bone. They then moved it down slightly, placing it in such a way as to put pressure against Shane’s bottom growth; they could tell by how Shane’s eyes closed and how their lips parted.
They slapped their hand onto the area—half of their palm hitting the pad of the harness, the other half hitting Shane’s cunt.
“Oh my god,” Shane let out a cry. “Oh my god?” He whined again into Ilya’s ear.
Ilya pushed the fabric of the harness against Shane’s folds for a moment, savoring how he was responding in desperation, before grabbing the dildo off the bed. They secured the strap-on into the metal O-ring on top of the harness pad, making sure it was positioned directly on top of the location of Shane’s clit. They confirmed they had it in the right spot by grasping the sheath of the dildo, using it as leverage to apply force to Shane’s most sensitive part. Shane continued to gasp, his forehead tense and his arms rigid.
Ilya took the lube off the side table and began to rub it along the length of the silicone cock. They treated it as though it was an appendage of Shane, jerking him off as they added the lubrication. Shane nodded, in a delirious haze, his dick twitching under the harness pad—he was really in it now. He felt connected to the member jutting out of him; watching Ilya’s hands work their way around, back and forth, back and forth, was electrifying to him.
He needed to fuck them. Wow, he didn’t know he needed this. He felt a hyper-masculine energy washing over him, something stronger than any of the drugs given to him after his injury on the ice, something more pleasurable than any of his team’s wins. He imagined Ilya, sweet Ilya, submitting to him. He couldn’t wait.
He put his hands on the front of Ilya’s shoulders and shoved them onto the bed. Then, he brought his hands down to their legs, positioning them so that they hung off the foot of the bed. He rubbed their knees, pressing into cartilage. He squeezed their thighs. He pressed his thumb against their clit. Ilya groaned. He swiped his hand along the rest of Ilya’s slit, realizing just how wet they were. He briefly worked his index and middle finger around the opening of Ilya’s hole. He pulled away for a moment and looked down at his hand, taking in the viscous, milky fluid covering them. He leaned forward and shoved his two fingers in Ilya’s mouth.
Ilya’s eyebrows raised, but they graciously took Shane’s fingers in full, sucking them intently. They looked up at Shane as they continued to keep their lips wrapped around the digits tightly, mimicking a blowjob.
“God, you are so hot,” Shane said, taking a moment to stroke their light brown curls with his other hand. He removed his fingers from their mouth and brushed both hands over the rest of their body, bringing himself back down to their waist.
He grabbed the bones of Ilya’s hips, helping him balance as he navigated his cock towards Ilya’s entrance. When he reached the hole, he wiggled the head of the dick around the area. Ilya moaned and shifted, jutting their pelvis upwards, opening up for him.
Shane shoved himself inside without much ceremony. He wasn’t sure how much friction he would encounter, but he was able to slide right in. He had imagined that it would be more difficult, but there he was, six inches into Ilya Rozanov.
He pressed in deeper, seeing how much Ilya could take. Ilya’s mouth opened, and they once again tilted their head back. Shane took this as a positive sign and decided to work his way in deeper. With another thrust, he felt himself hitting the back of Ilya’s walls. He took a minuscule step backwards, allowing him to bring the cock part way out. He then stepped forward and brought it most of the way back in. He repeated this motion, like a dance, as he began to develop a curious little rhythm for fucking them.
“Do you like that?” Shane asked. Ilya nodded and let out a couple breathy moans. They brought their hands up to Shane’s torso.
“You don’t have to step like that. Pretend like you are doing a hip thrust at the gym.” They brought their hands down to his glutes, guiding him into them. They brought him back and forth, and with that, they clearly brought themself pleasure. “You can go a bit harder and faster, too.”
Shane, as always, was good at receiving feedback. He throbbed as he continued to push into Ilya. The pressure was just right against his clit. He realized that he could very possibly burst while fucking them; the idea of them finishing in tandem made him weak in the knees.
He got the hang of fucking them quickly, increasing the speed and the force. He was enraptured by Ilya’s reaction: pleading, uncontrolled moans that were growing louder and louder. They were becoming untethered, unwinding in front of him, beginning to babble out a stream of expletives. They took quick gasps of air as they asked for Shane to fuck them even harder.
Shane, too, felt like he was losing his grip on reality. It was so fucking hot seeing Ilya like this. Shane felt sexy, on top, in control—to some extent. He wanted to shove his fingers into Ilya’s mouth again, but he didn’t want to mess with his rhythm, which seemed like it was about to bring both of them over the edge.
The room felt hot, and both of them were slick with sweat. Shane’s hamstrings felt like they were on fire, and his cock was reaching a point of overstimulation. Still, he felt molten inside, his desire to fuck Ilya overpowering all of his body’s calls for rest. He thrusted with even more force, and he begun to see tears sprout from Ilya’s eyes.
“You feel so, so, so, so good,” Ilya moaned. Shane had never seen them like this. They were almost pitiful, with their glossy eyes and aggressive bedhead, their thighs shaking so much that they could barely hold still. This last part really drove Shane wild. He always loved seeing Ilya shake as they were close to completion, and right now, Ilya was basically a vibrator. Shane was quivering too, as he continued to jackhammer into them. He was on the verge of coming, but he took deep breaths, trying to hold off, trying to get the timing just right.
Shane realized he was moaning too—deep, guttural moans—ones that were melding with the sounds from Ilya. He could see Ilya’s face was contorting as they reached their climax; he immediately felt the build-up of pressure release from his own cock. In an instant, they were coming together in one explosive, unbelievable moment. He let out a desperate gasp, pulled the strap-on out of Ilya, and collapsed on top of them.
They stayed there for a while, sandwiched together, steadying their breaths. Ilya once again stroked Shane’s head, feeling the short hairs and taking in his new appearance with doting eyes. Shane realized what a long day the two of them had. He realized he would have to go out in the world sporting this flat top haircut. He burrowed his head, full of embarrassment and desire, into the crook between Ilya’s neck and shoulder blade.
“Thank you,” Shane murmured. “For everything.”
Ilya gave him a delicate kiss on the cheek. “I love you,” they whispered; Shane mouthed the phrase back to them, their lips nearly moving in unison. Shane remembered the first time they uttered those words to each other; it was not long ago that they were in the cabin, baring their hearts to each other. His heart soared at the idea of Ilya moving to Canada soon.
They cuddled for what felt like hours, eventually snuggling under the blankets and tangling their legs together. After a while, Shane grew curious about what Ilya thought of this encounter.
“Was this… fun for you?” Shane asked, a mixture of trepidation and hope in his voice.
“What part?”
Shane paused. He remembered how scared he had been to show Ilya his interest in haircutting. He had been so nervous in the barbershop earlier that day, where he had been in the barber’s chair, glancing at Ilya to gauge their reactions, holding out hope that they did not suddenly think he was an irredeemable freak.
Well, maybe he was an irredeemable freak. Maybe Ilya liked that about him.
In fact, Ilya had shown him that there were freaky parts of himself that he didn’t even know about. He was so eager to discover more with them.
“All of it, I guess. Being at the barbershop. Tying me up. Me fucking you.” Shane traced a finger along Ilya’s arm as they waited for their response.
Ilya appeared to ponder for a moment. “All of it was great. I like seeing you be an… exhibitionist. I loved how you kept looking at me. You look sexy with the short hair. I wish I could’ve fucked you in that shop right after the barber was done.”
Shane blushed, giving them a little kiss on the mouth.
“You were so horny when we got back, too. Immediately on your knees. Incredible to see you like that. And seeing you tied up?” Ilya chuckled, tickling around Shane’s wrists, eliciting a giggle from him in response.
“And, of course, I liked you fucking me,” Ilya had a cute, surprisingly submissive smile spread across their face. “Although, your moves were a little… robotic.”
“Robotic?” Shane looked at Ilya quizzically.
“It was hot, don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean, robotic?”
“Like, the motions were repetitive.”
“It’s thrusting, of course it is going to be repetitive!” Shane exclaimed.
“Yes, but the way you were doing it, it was just a bit… mechanical, like this,” Ilya demonstrated, rolling over and thrusting their hips in a jerky gesture, up and down.
“I was not doing it like that!” Shane responded haughtily.
“You were. It was sexy though,” Ilya stroked their face. “My little Roomba.”
“Stop!” Shane wrestled them.
“You can practice, robot boy.”
“Shut up!”
“We can practice,” Ilya kissed Shane, and Shane calmed into their arms.
After a few more minutes of holding each other, Ilya had a thought. “Do you remember the first time we had sex?” Shane nodded. “You told me that you briefly put on a suit before I came to your hotel room. Why?”
“I was nervous. I wanted to look good for you,” Shane mumbled.
“Were you excited by the fact that you were wearing a suit? Did it make you feel more masculine?” Ilya looked at Shane with genuine curiosity.
Shane thought for a moment. “I don’t know.” They genuinely weren’t sure.
“Let’s get dressed. I have a suit here that will fit you. It’s from before I bulked up,” Ilya flexed his muscles with a smirk. Shane glared at him, but he rose up to sit on the edge of the bed. He watched Ilya move around the room. He realized how quiet his mind felt for once.
“Have you applied your gel yet today?” Ilya asked, referencing Shane’s daily dose of testosterone gel. Shane shook his head. Ilya procured their own bottle from their nightstand, pumped a few spurts of the liquid onto their hand, and began to rub it into Shane’s shoulders.
“What are you doing? I have my own bottle in my bag,” Shane protested. Still, within seconds, he let himself relax into Ilya’s deft fingers.
“You’re a good man,” they continued to massage the substance around Shane’s skin, the light alcohol scent filling the air. “I want to make you more of one.” Shane shivered, his skin becoming tacky as the gel absorbed. He felt his dick harden once more; he wasn’t sure if this was due to the testosterone coursing through his veins, or if it was his all-consuming desire for Ilya.
Ilya stepped away to their closet. They procured what they had mentioned—a navy blazer, a button-up shirt, slacks, a belt, and a red tie. They checked whether the gel had dried on Shane’s skin before beckoning for him to stand up.
Ilya played dress-up with Shane, tenderly sliding the clothes onto him. Once they were done, they turned him toward the mirror by his closet. They gingerly held Shane from behind and rubbed the bristles on top of his head once more as Shane surveyed the scene.
Shane looked at himself, taking in his hair, his attire, his muscles. He sure was a man. A pathetic, horny man, at that, with a stupid haircut. And here he was, in love with a fellow hockey player. He couldn’t be more thankful.
