Chapter Text
“Come here, Ilya. He posted more. Look.”
It’s Monday, nine eighteen in the fucking morning, and these morons already want to dive into the sexual adventures of people whose names they don’t even know. XVideos is rotting their fucking brains.
“What’s he saying this time?” Ilya asks, sliding on his chair over to his coworker Cliff Marlow’s desk.
Cliff, Ilya, Hayden, Troy, and Rose all crowd around Cliff’s monitor, each of them trying to read a different part of the website that has, somehow, become mandatory reading at Ilya’s office. Someone who was friends with someone who was friends with God knows who heard about a sex worker who has been reviewing his clients and posting it all on a website for everyone to see. And ever since, Ilya has spent his mornings eating a croissant and reading absurd stories about men who are literally having their sex lives put on display. Hopefully by their own choice.
“Oh my, look at the first one,” Rose says with a grin.
Captain America — ★★★
Looks: If I ever see him naked again, I’m telling him to trim his bush. Other than that, he’s beautiful in a very specific way. Sadly, not like Chris Evans.
Personality: Fun, charismatic. I’m guessing he’s the goofball in his group of friends.
Sex: Great size—not too big, not too small. Thick and uncut. Smells good, clean, stayed hard for me the whole time, but seriously, the hair was a real obstacle. Came twice while I spanked him. Very naughty boy.
General Comments: You’re welcome to come back whenever you want, baby, but if you don’t trim, I will. Not included in the session fee.
“You can’t just make that shit up,” Troy screams from his side.
“Maybe you’ll listen to this guy and start fucking trimming your bushes,” Rose adds.
Ilya remains quiet in his chair, sipping on his coffee because he doesn’t have anything else to add to this shitshow.
“Next one,” Cliff calls.
Khal Drogo — ★★★★
Looks: His nickname was the first thing that came to my mind when he knocked at my door.
Personality: Quiet, objective, not the kind of guy that makes jokes.
Sex: But he is the kind of guy that will hit your prostate in the right place and make you cum like a thirsty bitch. Sorry, bad language. But it’s all true.
General Comments: Seriously, call me Daenerys Targaryen. I’d totally learn Dothraki for him. A boy never knows when he might need to learn a new language.
Laughter breaks out around the office, and with no more new reviews to read, everyone starts drifting away, finally getting back to the jobs they’re actually paid to do.
“Don’t tell me you don’t have time to get me the Mizuki account report, Cliff,” Ilya says, sliding back to his desk across the office on his chair. “Not when you have time to read all this bullshit.”
“Ilya, you’re an idiot. You were right there with the rest of us. Nobody buys that shit from you.”
Ilya grunts something somewhere between “Fuck off” and “Get the fuck off my ass” and turns his monitor back on. It’s at times like this that he’s grateful his monitor faces the wall, making it impossible for anyone to see what he’s accessing or doing. So he opens his browser and immediately types in an address and then, the familiar words appear on his screen.
Oh No, Shane Fucking Writes
The exact same website Cliff has been showing him and his other coworkers minutes ago.
About three weeks ago, Ilya stumbled across the website while looking for something interesting to jerk off to. He started reading with his dick in his hand, and half an hour later, his dick was no longer in his hand and he was still focused on reading through the many reviews this guy posted about his clients.
Something—several things—about the website intrigued him. How could someone willingly have a part of their life, however small, exposed on the internet for everyone to see? Written about by someone else? Who was the mysterious sex worker behind all of this? There wasn’t a single picture of him anywhere on the website, just a phone number to contact him.
Shane. That was it.
That night, Ilya didn’t cum watching porn or looking at some magazine. He imagined himself walking into a dark room, where Shane was already waiting for him, lying on the bed, hard and ready to satisfy his every sexual desire. His face was unclear but his kiss was wet and tempting and his touch was firm and gentle at the same time. The orgasm ripped through Ilya, strong but incomplete, because he wanted the real thing.
He wanted Shane. Whoever the fuck he was.
As he cleaned himself up, he decided he would let it go. He had jerked off to it and that’s that. After all, would he really want his private life posted on some blog on the internet? What if Shane said his dick was ugly? What if he said Ilya couldn’t get it up? What would be his nickname?
Russia’s Greatest Love Machine. No.
The Sexy Accountant. Fuck no.
Never mind, it didn’t matter anyway. He punched his pillow, trying to find a better position to rest his head, but it didn’t work. His eyes remained open, fixed on his bedroom ceiling—which was almost never a good sign.
How many stars would he get? Did Shane ever lie in his reviews?
After struggling for what felt like forever, Ilya finally managed to fall asleep. For approximately five hours before his alarm went off again. While he waited for the coffee maker to make his coffee, he scrolled through Oh, NSFW again until he found the contact number.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
Ilya:
hi is this Shane’s number
Shane:
yes, this is him
Ilya:
hi
He stared at the conversation window, not exactly sure how to proceed from there. It’s not like he’s an expert at hiring sex workers. Ilya could say it was a mistake, that he typed in the wrong number.
Except he already asked for Shane, and Shane already confirmed that he is, in fact, Shane. Fuck. Well, he probably deals with this kind of message every day. It’s his job, so this has to be normal for him. Dealing with an idiot who doesn’t even know how to book an appointment.
Ilya:
I want to know how this works
Shane:
you want to book an appointment?
Ilya:
yes
The reply took a little longer this time.
Shane:
in three weeks
Shane:
is that okay?
Fuck. How full is this guy’s schedule? Good for him.
Ilya:
okay
Shane:
it’s $400. beforehand
Ilya:
sure, what’s the account number
Shane:
I need your email
Shane:
I’ll send the account thereShane:
and the details after payment
Ilya sent him his email address and, for a moment, wished he’d created another one just for this, because the address he sent is simply his first and last name. Ilya hoped that, besides being a smart-ass and extremely organized, Shane also knew how to be discreet when it actually matters.
Shane:
sent
Shane:
the payment must be made within ten minutes
Shane:
otherwise, your booking will be cancelled
Ilya:
okay
Ilya opens the email and proceeds with the payment.
Ilya:
payment doneShane:
thank youShane:
I sent all the details on your email, address and instructions
Ilya:
right
Shane:
a copy of the service agreement is attached to the email too
Shane:
feel free to read it now
Shane:
but we’ll go over everything before the appointment
Shane:
any other questions?
Ilya:
no, it’s okay
Ilya:
see you in 3 weeks
Shane:
💋
Okay, back then, Ilya had three weeks to lose his fucking mind thinking about how many stars he would get. And today, somewhere between Marvel and Game of Thrones, he feels like a Looney Toon.
His appointment with Shane is tonight.
By tomorrow, his colleagues will be reading fucking Daffy Duck’s review.
—
At exactly nine o’clock, Ilya presses the number indicated on the intercom and waits. In the reflection of the glass door, he manages to give his hair one last adjustment and straighten the collar of his shirt, which he definitely should’ve gone over with the iron a little more.
With a click, the door in front of him magically opens, and he steps inside. Within moments, he’s standing in front of Shane’s door. He takes a few more deep breaths, trying to get his nerves under control, but when he hears the sound of keys unlocking the door, all that breathing goes straight to fucking hell and he starts trembling again.
How the fuck is his dick supposed to get hard like this?
The door opens.
“Hi, I’m Shane.”
The first thing Ilya notices is the freckles, scattered all over Shane’s face, standing out slightly against the pale skin underneath. Shane greets him shirtless and wearing a pair of thin sweatpants that outline the exact curve of his dick, and Ilya has to force himself to look away.
He’s smiling, and it doesn’t look forced. His smile makes a little dimple appear on the right side of his cheek, and Ilya immediately wants to devour it.
“Uh, hi.”
“Come on in,” Shane says, stepping aside to let him through. “You can sit in the armchair. Would you like some water?”
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Ilya says.
He takes off his coat, hangs it on the coat rack, and heads toward the armchair Shane indicated. It’s the only armchair in the room, which also has a couch, a coffee table, and a small counter against the wall opposite the armchair. Before Ilya can examine the rest of the place, Shane materializes in front of him, sitting on the couch with a tablet in his hands.
“Before we get to the good stuff, we need to go through the important stuff,” he begins.
Ilya nods.
“First of all, you need to give me a name. It doesn’t have to be your real one. You can make one up. It’s just the name I’ll use when I talk to you.”
Ilya thinks about it for approximately three seconds and says fuck it.
“Ilya…,” he hesitates. “That’s my real name.”
Why the fuck did you say that?
Shane doesn’t seem particularly impressed by the fact that Ilya gave him his real name. On the contrary, he simply smiles at Ilya and looks back down at the tablet. Okay, it’s not like Ilya was expecting congratulations for saying his own name correctly.
“Have you ever hired a sex worker before?”
“No,” Ilya says.
Shane makes a tiny note on the tablet.
“What are you looking for tonight?”
What kind of fucking question is that? Sex, of course.
“I don’t know… I guess…”
“You’re allowed to say ‘sex,’” Shane says for him.
Ilya takes a breath. “Okay. Sex.”
He never imagined an appointment with a sex worker would start with so many questions. But when Ilya stops to think about it, they kind of make sense in the context of the whole thing. If the client is paying, the provider needs to know exactly what to offer.
And Shane does this very well.
Maybe that’s why it took Ilya three weeks to get an appointment with him.
“Good. So, regarding sex… What do you like?”
Ilya’s brain freezes for a second. I like to do it. But he figures that wouldn’t give Shane much to work with. He thinks of two or three things he wouldn’t be willing to give up, sexually speaking.
“I like to top, to suck, and to be sucked.”
There. Fifteen years of sex life summarized in three actions.
“And what don’t you like? I mean, what are you not willing to do?”
That one is easy. “Bottoming, basically.”
Shane keeps writing down little words Ilya can’t make out from where he’s sitting. It’s almost like he’s putting together a perfect version of Ilya on that tablet, one made entirely out of things he likes and stripped of everything he doesn’t.
Ilya has never really thought about sex that way before. Usually, you figure things out as you go. You try something, watch for a reaction, adjust. Sometimes you get it right, sometimes you don’t. By the time they’re done with all these questions, Shane will probably know exactly what version of himself to give Ilya.
The interview continues, going over the clause about condoms being mandatory during anal sex, the consent clause—which Ilya agrees to immediately—and privacy and confidentiality. Everything said during this interview, as well as anything that happens from this point forward, is confidential.
Ilya agrees to absolutely everything and is dying to just get to the bedroom already and do what he came here to do, but apparently Shane still has a few more things to establish.
“Last one, I promise. It’s the clause about the reviews.”
“From the website?” Ilya plays dumb.
“Yes,” Shane begins. “The review is posted under a nickname. You can choose whatever you want, or you can leave it up to me.”
“I’d rather leave it up to you,” Ilya says with a mischievous smile.
“Works perfectly for me,” Shane says with a laugh. “The review won’t include anything that could identify you. Physical characteristics, specific tattoos, your profession…”
“I believe you won’t be talking about my accent, then,” Ilya says.
“I surely will not.”
He continues. “If you have any issues with the review, you can click the button on the website and we’ll get in touch.”
“Okay,” Ilya says.
“One last thing… The payment for the appointment does not guarantee publication of a review.”
Ilya frowns. “What do you mean?”
“It means I don’t have to post reviews just because you paid for my services,” Shane says dryly. “And just because you agreed to the reviews doesn’t mean I have to post one, if I don’t want to or for any other reason.”
“Really?” Ilya starts laughing, mostly shocked at his audacity, but also impressed. “If someone didn’t get a review, they must’ve been fucking pissed…”
“Why?”
Ilya huffs. Doesn’t this guy know what he’s doing?
“Because it’s kinda part of your whole deal. You must know that.”
Shane suddenly drops the whole professional-organized-secretary act and leans back against the couch, in a move clearly calculated to seduce Ilya. And the worst part is that Ilya lets himself fall for it.
“Well, a boy's gotta make ends meet…,” Shane spreads his legs slightly, the thin sweatpants outlining the muscles of his thighs. “And it’s been working so far.”
Ilya is genuinely curious, but he also really wants to get down there right now and suck Shane’s dick until he cums down Ilya’s throat.
“How?”
“For one thing,” Shane licks his lips. “If I give you a good review, you come back for more.”
Ilya can’t even pretend he’s still focused on the conversation anymore. He really wants to understand how the whole review thing works, but Shane is making it impossible. He rests his forearms on his knees and leans forward, staring directly at Shane’s dick, which keeps getting harder under his sweatpants.
“That… sounds fair,” Ilya says, swallowing hard.
“And for another,” Shane slides his right hand down his torso until it reaches the bulge between his legs. “If I give you a bad review…”
“What happens?” Ilya pants.
Shane gives his dick a light squeeze through his pants. “You come back to prove me wrong.”
Ilya is completely transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of him. A hot man made of pure muscle, slowly rubbing his dick through fabric so thin it might as well not even be there. The whole thing is fucking beautiful to look at, and as far as Ilya is concerned, he could sit here all night watching this man put on a show for him while he practically drools.
Ilya adjusts himself slightly, his own dick threatening to burst out of his pants. Shane isn’t even pretending anymore either, his gaze fixed on Ilya’s crotch as he strokes himself. Ilya can see a small dark spot on Shane’s sweatpants, a clear sign that Shane is leaking like a fucking fountain.
“Would you?” Shane asks.
And since Ilya would never come back to prove this man wrong, he just says the first thing that comes into his head.
“I… I would never do that.”
“Good boy,” Shane raises an eyebrow.
And then, out of absolutely fucking nowhere, the bastard slips right back into his professional-organized-secretary mode.
“Any other questions about the agreement?”
Ilya is completely dazed, blinking over and over as he tries to focus on what the fuck is happening, his dick painfully hard. Shane obviously must find the whole thing very amusing, but he looks completely focused, as if the last five minutes had never happened at all.
“No, no, it’s good.”
Oh my god, you fucking dickhead. Just get a fucking grip.
Shane finally gets to his feet and positions himself in front of Ilya, one leg between Ilya’s and the other beside him. Ilya tilts his head back and remains seated, admiring Shane as if he were a Michelangelo sculpture because that's how gorgeous he is.
A big man, with big thighs, and, from what Ilya could see, an amazing ass. He is really everything Ilya ever looks for in a man.
He brings both hands to Ilya’s hair, his fingers roaming through it. Once he realizes Ilya has completely surrendered to his touch, he pulls his hair back and tilts Ilya’s head, leaning in until their lips are almost brushing.
“So, Ilya, ready to have some fun?”