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    Summary

    Shane's body feels warm and still inclined to movement — he rubs his own thighs gently, long strokes up and down. It seems like Ilya and Sasha just kiss for a long time, but Shane's still not sure he can be trusted to sort seconds from minutes from hours.

    Finally, they shed some clothes — Sasha’s shirt, which flutters so elegantly to the ground. Ilya's top. Sasha puts a hand in the centre of Ilya's chest.

    "How do you want to do this?" His eyes flick over to Shane. "I am guessing these days you have a… habit." His lips twitch. "But as you know, I'm flexible."

    Shane is fixated on the way Sasha's fingers look against Ilya's skin, so it takes a moment to process the words.

    "Sorry," he says. "Wait. What?"

    I asked myself, what would it take for Hollanov to switch, and it turns out my answer was Shane experiencing a total psychic collapse, featuring Sasha being an absolute menace.

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