Summary:

Ilya pivots smoothly and turns towards Shane, raising one dark eyebrow. If you're horny, let's do it Ride it, my pony My saddle's waitin' Come and jump on it His jacket comes off next, and he drops it carelessly on the floor. The tank comes off, slow and sensual, as if his body is fighting him to keep it on. It doesn't drop to the floor. This time, Ilya hurls it across the bed. Shane laughs despite himself as he catches it, resists the hysterical urge to sniff it and quickly tosses it aside, “You asshole, what if that hit my glasses—” Ilya continues undeterred, hands trailing up his chest, and Shane's breath catches, his body heating as his nerves spark to life. Ilya’s hands make their way to his curls, where he squeezes them with both hands as he thrusts his crotch up in the air. Shane snickers, then he falls back against his pillows as a breathless sound erupts from him again. Inspired by yet another tweet from @paulasoldestson. OR, Shane's ever-growing list of songs he has banned because Ilya does not know how to behave himself.