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    Summary

    “Turn around,” Ilya groans into Shane’s mouth. “I want you to sit on my face,”

    Shane stills and pulls back slowly. “What?”

    “I need to taste you, Hollander, come on.” He elaborates, tapping his hip impatiently.

    Shane just shifts uncomfortably, slowly turning his body around and looking at Ilya over his shoulder.

    “Uhm, are you sure? I don’t want to, like, hurt you?”

    Jesus christ, does he think Ilya’s made of fucking glass?

    OR

    Ilya wants Shane to sit on his face. And Shane has never been able to say no to him.

    Series
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