Respectfully Freaky

“Is it…is it for you?” Shane knows it’s not. 

Ilya chuckles. “No, moya lyubov."

“But I don’t…why?” Shane asks with a frown. Ilya loves Shane’s cock. After all these years, Shane is sure of that. He loves how it looks, how it tastes, how it twitches and drips in his hand, in his mouth, without even being touched. Shane looks at the cage and thinks about losing that, about not being able to give that to Ilya, and he’s not scared, he’s not, it’s just—

“Shane, sweetheart. Look at me, Shane.” Ilya’s voice is as firm as the hand on Shane’s chin, and Shane meets his eyes eagerly. He feels a bit lost, needs Ilya to find him and show him the way. Ilya’s eyes are warm and unyielding. He picks up the cage and dangles in front of Shane’s face.

“Read it, moya lyubov.”

Once it’s out of the box, Shane gets a better look. It really is beautiful. The shaft is all filigree metal, twisting and curling toward the tip, but interrupted over halfway down by a solid arching band that reads—

“Property of Ilya Rozanov,” Shane murmurs, barely a whisper. His whole body feels cold, then hot.

“Is true, yes?” Ilya says softly.

“Ilya,” and then Shane’s kissing him, open-mouthed and needy, and of course Ilya kisses him back, but he’s pulling back too soon, pressing gentle pecks to Shane’s mouth instead of taking him deeper. Shane whines and tries to pull him back in.

“Shhh, malysh, listen,” Ilya says, running soothing hands over Shane’s chest, the back of his neck. “You have to be soft for me to put it on, sweetheart.” His eyes flick down to where Shane’s started to chub up from a few quick kisses. “You will wear it for me, yes?” 

Shane takes a steadying breath. “Yes, Ilya.”

“Good boy.” 

It takes a few minutes for Shane to calm down enough to fit inside the cage. Ilya is all patience. He keeps Shane tucked into his neck and runs gentle hands along Shane’s back until his breath evens out and he goes soft all over. With quick fingers, he slips the cage over Shane’s cock and locks it into place. Shane’s pulse jumps as the click echoes in his ears. 

“Look, malysh. So beautiful.” 

Shane lifts his head from his hiding place in Ilya’s neck. Ilya’s hand looks huge next to his caged cock. Shane almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking, like it’s not his to look at anymore. The fit is snug but comfortable. From this angle, he can’t miss Ilya’s name stamped across the top. Shane twitches inside the cage. 

“Beautiful,” Shane echoes. It’s true, if inadequate. 

“Hmm, yes. Such a good gift for me.” Ilya teases his fingers along the metal swirls. Shane doesn’t know what to do. Ilya’s hand is on him, but he can hardly feel it. All he knows is firm metal around his cock, and Ilya. His name swims in front of Shane’s eyes and in his mind, Ilya Ilya Ilya. Shane whines and hides in Ilya’s neck again. Ilya’s answering chuckle rumbles in his chest. 

“No, no, sweetheart. Like this,” and then Ilya’s moving him just where he wants, head buried in the pillows, ass up and on display. From this position, the cage is a persistent tug on his cock that makes Shane whimper. Ilya answers with a groan, “So, so beautiful.” 

Shane knows Ilya’s close by, but his voice sounds far away. He thinks about how he must look to him, spread out and shaking, a caged cock hanging heavy between his thighs. His morning preparation is a distant memory until Ilya’s fingers find his hole, stretched open and ready for his cock. “Oh, such a good boy,” Ilya coos. 

“S’for you, Ilya,” Shane has trouble forming the words, but he needs Ilya to know. He did have a plan.

“Yeah? Got all stretched open for me, huh?” Shane registers the question but can’t find his voice to give an answer. He pushes his hips back instead, trying to fuck himself on Ilya’s searching fingers. The heavy cage resists the movement, and the answering pull makes Shane’s cock pulse. 

“Poor baby. This hungry hole’s been waiting all morning.” Shane whines and nods into the pillow. Without warning, Ilya spreads him open and licks into him with a groan. Shane might just die. His face is so hot, and his cock is so hard. Or he thinks it is. The cage is a tight, hot pressure wrapped around him, and Ilya’s tongue is a wet, hot pressure against his rim. Shane’s heart is pounding in his cock and his chest and his ears. It's so loud he almost misses the words tumbling from Ilya’s mouth. 

“Christ, you look so good, sweetheart. Got this cock all wrapped up for me, yeah? Keeping it so safe and locked up for me. Do you want me to touch it?” The words make tears prick in Shane’s eyes. He tries and fails to speak around the lump in his throat. Ilya gives the cage a small tug. “Answer me, Shane.” 

Shane draws in a shuddering breath. “Don’t—don’t want to choose. It’s not my cock, Ilya. S’yours.” He swallows hard as his tears start to fall. 

“Oh baby, you’re so good. Thank you.” Ilya says, and then his hands are tight on Shane’s hips and he’s pushing in, deep and hard and perfect. Shane melts into the mattress as Ilya fucks him. It’s a relief to have something to clench around. He’s desperate for a distraction from the unforgiving metal wrapped around his cock. Ilya holds nothing back. Shane feels him all the way down to his toes. Heat spreads from his balls to his cock and up into his stomach. It pushes more tears from his eyes, makes him cry out into the pillow beneath him.

Shane doesn’t understand what his body is doing. Distantly, he knows that if the cage weren't there, he would have come already. As it is, every fuck of Ilya’s hips jostles his caged cock, sending delicious aching shockwaves of pleasure throughout his body. His stomach and balls clench tighter and tighter as Ilya pounds his prostate on each stroke. All he can do is shake and sob and clench around Ilya’s cock. 

“Yeah, yeah, fucking hell, sweetheart. Gonna make you come, yeah?” Shane cries out at the thought. He can’t, he can’t. There’s no room, no space for him to let go in the confines of the cage. He’s helpless, trapped between the unrelenting pressure of the metal wrapped around him and Ilya fucking into him. For a wild moment he thinks he might never come again. Still, Ilya doesn’t let up.

“C’mon, I know you can give it to me. It’s my cock, yes? My cock and my choice, and I want to see it come. Be a good boy and let me have it, malysh.” And then Ilya’s pressing him even harder into the mattress, his hand tight on the back of Shane’s neck, and Shane’s body is burning, so hot it must be able to melt the metal. There’s no other way to explain the heat that washes over his cock as he lets go with a shout.

When Shane comes to, he's wrapped in Ilya’s arms, Ilya's voice in his ear telling him how lovely and good he is, how proud Ilya feels. He opens his eyes as Ilya asks, “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

Shane’s not sure how to answer. Sore. Wrung out. Remade. Instead, he burrows into Ilya’s shoulder and says, “Ilya, holy shit. How did you know I could—”