601 – 603 of 603 Works in Bottom Shane Hollander
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It was Ilya’s thing, apparently. A week of texts leading up to this game. Blurry photographs of toys laid out on a quilted over and links to videos that had Shane achingly hard in anticipation. It was a promise, not a request.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,319
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #74972396
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“You wanted this, didn’t you? You want to choke on my come?” Ilya murmured. “Yes,” Shane gasped, taking the Russian’s cock off his mouth to breathe for a second. The admission ripped from his, surely soon, sore throat. “More. Harder, Ilya.” The request was a match to Ilya’s wick. His movements doubled in speed, his hips bucking hard. Shane was lost, his consciousness reduced to Ilya’s thick head constantly pressing on the back of his throat and the iron grip on his neck. or the one in which Ilya and Shane can't keep their hands off each other.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,087
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #74506941
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Shane Hollander was a man defined by rigor. By structure. By the elegant logic of a system mastered through sheer, unyielding effort. He spoke seven languages, not because they came naturally—though French and English had been a delightful exception—but because he pursued fluency like a grand, intellectual hunt. He, however, was failing Russian 301, and the solution was an enforced, peer-led intervention. His required tutor was a junior who knew the language “by osmosis”, and who, Shane knew from the university bulletin and an unfortunate run-in near the campus gym, belonged to the most obnoxious caste on campus: the frat star athletes. Ilya fucking Rozanov.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 7,518
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #73631196
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