Hollanov, Hollanov x Cliff Marlow | E | college/frat AU, eventual smut, fluff and humor
Hollander rolls up to Marly's birthday party dressed like a whore and flanked by roughly two dozen incredibly hot women. His big shoulders are out, his nipples are visible through his skimpy shirt, his hair is flippy. One of his big biceps is shimmering like someone with glittery palms has been grabbing at him. Ilya can even just make out the waistband of Hollander's Calvins peeking out the top of the pants that Ilya told him to buy.
"I am going to kill myself," Ilya mumbles around his cigarette as he watches the group make their way up the path to the front steps. He's on the porch with Marly, lounging against the railing and keeping Luca company while he does his door shift.
The house is loud and sticky with humidity and spilled drinks. Ilya's sweaty, but he knows he looks good, at least. The humidity is good for his curls and he's sure his muscles are glistening in the dim porch light. He's not wearing a shirt, and neither is Marly. They opted to smear some green and black body paint over their exposed skin. It's making a fucking mess, smudging all over everything they come into contact with, but it's sexy, so it's a worthy trade off.
"If he's as gay as you think he is, you have nothing to worry about," Marly insists, exhaling a cloud of mango scented smoke. Ilya wrinkles his nose and waves the smoke away as he turns his attention back to his prospective man, who's laughing brightly at something one of the girls said. Ilya blanches when he recognizes the willowy figure hanging from Hollander's left arm.
"Fuck, I am going to kill myself two times."
"Huh—"
"He is with Sveta," Ilya hisses, and Marly snickers under his breath. "She will tell him fucking everything!"
"S'your own fault for never shutting the fuck up about him," Marly tells him, a hazy, shit-eating grin on his face, and the worst part is he's right. If Ilya had any self control, Svetlana wouldn't know a thing about his infatuation with Hollander.
