🙏Henry Park Safe Haven🙏

Maisy | she/her | 30-ish | 18+ MDNI ilya has never done anything wrong I write freak shit for freaks. AO3 | All Fics and Drabbles

[ilyarizzanov]

hello ♡︎ my name is ❀ maisy ❀ (she/her). i am 32, bi, and i'm having a great time ♡︎ i am very much an ilya defender and i will not hear a single word against him. perfect angel, never done anything wrong. i love my hollanov babies, i love my hudcon babies.

i write a lot of fic for *°❀.ೃ࿔ hudcon and hollanov °❀.ೃ࿔* and i have never felt so inspired. i'm open to requests, but no guarantees they will come to fruition.

i have many horny thots about these characters and these men. also, i am chill with the entire cast and crew of the show, and i am not interested in any weird bullshit negativity or fandom/shipping wars. i am also very at home with the taboo and the kinky. this will always be a kink-safe and taboo-safe space. this will always be an anti-censorship space.

fuck transphobes. fuck homophobes. fuck racism. fuck misogyny. fuck xenophobia.

MOST RECENT FICS:

Hollanov

Looking through Our Best Takes (6k) -> Summary: Shane watches one of his and Ilya's old sex tapes after they have split up, but he gets rudely interrupted. -> tags: broken engagement!hollanov, canon divergent during TLG, sex tapes, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, rimming, unprotected anal, light feminization, Shane being weird about Ilya’s bisexuality

Aperture (13.5k) -> Summary: Shane only knows of Ilya Rozanov because his sex tape leaked on campus. It only made him more intriguing. -> tags: light d/s, fratboy!ilya x college captain!shane, shane has a pussy and a dick, daddy kink, oral sex, vaginal deflowering, praise kink, degradation kink, anal sex, fingering, squirting, leaked sex tapes and making sex tapes

Caught in Between (20.2k) -> Summary: Luca once joked you should never meet your heroes. Maybe it’s because he wasn't fucking them yet. -> tags: m/m/m threesome, dom!ilya rozanov, sub!luca haas, brat!shane hollander, anal, anal deflowering, anal fingering, blowjobs, snowballing, praise kink, degradation kink, married!hollanov

Hudcon What I Signed Up For (7.7k) -> Sequel to Places We Went that I'll Keep to Myself or standalone. -> Summary: Connor can't stop fucking Hudson, despite Hudson still being in a relationship. Until that isn't enough anymore. | tags: infidelity outside hudcon, d/s, dom!connor, angst, anal, deepthroating, safewording, dom drop, boys fighting

perfect beautiful banners by the incomparable leo @ilyasmole (top) and @shanepervert (bottom) (not the positions)

[ilyarizzanov]

re: ficlets - i NEEEEEED more intox hollanov content PLEEK!! “the vodka is your reward” ending with ilya pouring shots down shane’s throat and his head spinning but sooooo beyond horny he’d let anything happen to him that he’s still begging for more bc he can see the hunger behind ilya’s eyes 😳 that boy is obsessed with giving up control in a kink setting and i think intox would go hand in hand w that

OF COURSE HERE U GO. I am so so so fucking sorry, shit kind of got away from me so I deeply, deeply apologize if there are some kinks in here you don't jive with but I just go where my ellipsus doc takes me these days.

—

Soft: A Hollanov Ficlet

rating: e | wc: 2.4k (that's not even ficlet length but fiwb) | tags: intox kink (weed/alcohol), dubcon, alcohol-induced erectile dysfunction (Shane’s got whiskey dick y’all), degradation kink, humiliation kink, dildos, masturbation, drunken incontinence…(sorry not sorry), married!hollanov, that’s enough tags

—

Shane wrinkles his nose violently, jerking his head away from Ilya’s hand. “You know I don’t like it.”

Two fingers guide Shane’s chin back forward, and the scent of the vodka wafts and bites at his olfactory senses. His taste buds are already bitter from the two hits off the joint Ilya had stuck between his lips ten minutes ago. 

“Mmm, but you like me, yes?”

Shane flicks a glowering glare up at Ilya. He mutters out a petulant, “Yes.”

Ilya catches the tone, but only sizes Shane up with his gaze rather than punishing him for it. Yet, anyway, Shane is sure. “And you like making me happy, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then drink.”

Shane’s face sours, but he opens his mouth for the shot. Ilya pours it in deftly, but Shane still sputters, coughs around the sharpness of it. 

“This is good vodka, Shane. Very smooth. And you are choking like a baby,” Ilya mocks, filling the shot glass again immediately. 

He winces, his head shaking at the errant taste. “I don’t wanna do this, Ilya.”

“I know,” Ilya answers, a hint of sympathy in his voice, stroking a thumb over his cheek as he poises the next shot to his lips. “But you are going to. So, please stop arguing with me. I do not want to have to use the cuffs, but I will.” 

Shane whimpers, but opens again. He sputters less this time, but his body shudders. “I’m feeling fuzzy.”

“Good. A few more should do the trick. You’re a big boy, you can do this.”

Ilya forces four more shots down his throat before he’s satisfied. Shane’s head is filled with fog, and his eyes scarcely open anymore. He feels himself swaying each time his body moves, but his limbs seem leaden. His tongue lolls as if swollen in his mouth, his words thick with the laborious slog it requires to speak them. 

“Ilya…” he slurs sleepily, eyelids drooping as he sags into the pillows of the bed. “Can’t move.”

“That’s perfect, baby.” 

Ilya slaps his cheek three times in succession, quick and sharp smacks to gauge his attention. Shane’s cheeks feel numb, and he barely reacts. 

“Fucking beautiful. This is how I want you.”

Shane’s brain wades through the grogginess, squinting at the two hazy Ilyas hovering over him and willing them into one solid being. 

“Look at those eyes, huh? So fucking horny for me when you’re like this. You want me to take advantage of you, моя любовь? I know you’d like that. Take you when you can’t say ‘no’ properly. Let me have what I want and be too confused to fight.”

Ilya grips Shane’s drooping head by the chin and nods for him. 

“Yeah? You want to give me what I want?”

Ilya’s hand has him nodding again. But Shane does want it. They’d agreed on it before. That truth exists as a kernel in the back of his muddy mind. He had said yes, he had said please, he had said use me. 

If he doesn’t remember everything crystal clearly, that’s his own fault. He agreed to this. 

Didn’t he? Ilya had told him he had, and he trusts Ilya with his life. 

If anything is for sure, his cock is hard and his tip is wet and it’s twitching against his abdomen. 

“Mmm, you like this?” Ilya asks, running the backs of his fingers over the exposed underside of his weeping cock. 

A tiny sound scrapes from his throat. “Yeah.”

Ilya coos at him, dragging a thumb through his wet slit. Shane’s hips buck at the welcome sensation, needing him to do more. Two fingers coax his mouth open, and his jaw goes slack as he looks up at his husband. Ilya smiles softly at him. Then, he spits directly into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane moans at the gesture, the taste of him, and swallows it down in a daze, his lips parting again in case Ilya wants to give him another hit. 

Instead, Ilya’s mouth hovers tauntingly over his as he whispers, “You want me to fuck your drunk little hole?”

He doesn’t need the guidance this time. His head flops up and down of its own accord. 

“Okay. Suck my fingers so I can stretch you,” he instructs, poising those same two fingers to him, and Shane takes them inside without further prompting, hollowing out his cheeks as if the simple gesture has stimulated a part of his brain reserved for obeying Ilya. A part that, regardless of his level of sobriety, knows how to please him. 

After a moment, the fingers are extracted from his mouth, strings of saliva snapping as Ilya pulls, and they press against his hole. They slip inside with no resistance, and Ilya almost gasps. 

“Oh, baby, you’re already all stretched for me. You did this before I got home? What a good boy,” he praises him, and Shane tries to break through the mist in his brain. 

Shane was already stretched. He’s ready to take cock. So “past him” had definitely wanted it. He’d taken the time to prepare. 

Ilya’s eyebrows pop up, and his lips round. “Oh,” he says, staring down at Shane’s pelvis. “I think someone got shy.”

The befuddlement brewing in his brain manifests on his face as he wordlessly follows Ilya’s gaze. 

Somehow he isn’t hard anymore. Not at all. Completely flaccid. 

“Do you not want to play anymore?” Ilya asks, and the mess of Shane’s head knows very well that nothing as trivial as a soft cock is going to keep Ilya from playing with him if that’s what he wants. “Am I not interesting enough for you?”

“You are,” Shane slurs. “Baby, you are. I don’t…”

Ilya tuts at him, flicking his floppy genitals. “I don’t know. It does not look like it. You know, if you can’t get it up for me, then maybe I should not get myself up in you, hm?” He threatens sweetly, taking Shane’s softness between his fingers and tossing it the opposite direction from where it laid on his thigh, lifeless and unimpressive. It lands with a pathetic, mortifying thump against his other thigh.

“I-I can get up. Can get it up. I can do it,” Shane stutters past his alcohol-laden tongue, wrapping a hand around it and jacking the flaccid skin. It doesn’t harden an inch. “Fuck,” Shane whines, and he feels a burning behind his eyes, the shame thick in his chest. 

Ilya sighs dramatically. “You do not deserve me if this is how your body reacts to me. We must think of something else.”

“I want you,” Shane whimpers, tears brimming his eyes. 

“I don’t think you do,” Ilya taunts, dragging out his words woefully. He clambers off the bed and opens their side drawer. He emerges with lube and a dildo and tosses them on the bed. “This is fair, yes?”

“No,” Shane sobs, not sure why his emotions are hitting him so aggressively, but he falls forward onto his hands, watery eyes pleading up at his husband. “Not fair. You’re hard. You wanna fuck me.”

His eyebrows quirk again. “I do? You are going to tell me what I want to do?”

There’s a lurching in Shane’s chest. “You always wanna fuck me. You always do. Forever. The ring,” he says erratically, holding his left hand up and showing off his wedding band and then pointing to Ilya’s left hand, propped on his hip. “Rings. You wanna fuck me. That’s what you said. Not at the altar, you couldn’t, but in bed before you fucked me. You always wanna fuck me. Forever.”

Ilya smirks at the sudden burst of verbosity from him. “You can remember all that, but you can’t remember how to get it up for me?”

Shane sobs pathetically again. “I’m sorry. I’m so…and my brain is so…you…I don’t know how,” he finishes anticlimactically, his lip wobbling. 

“Hush,” Ilya commands sternly. “Lay back.”

Heavy limbs drop back against the pillows, and Ilya follows, situating himself between Shane's legs with the supplies. He hadn’t even chosen the larger of their dildos. This one was perfectly average, which meant it was significantly smaller than Ilya, what Shane is accustomed to. The reality has another whine parting his lips. 

“Please, Ilya. Want your cock.”

Ilya looks up from his lap where he’s lubricating the silicone, and his expression is no longer placating. “Well, you are not getting it. You get this,” he dictates sternly, waggling the dildo in his grip and sending it wobbling, “and you are going to thank me for fucking you at all when you’re this embarrassingly drunk.”

Shane blinks, stemming his tears in the process. And of course, his memory is fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure Ilya is the one who got him drunk. Forced vodka down his throat until he was seeing double. 

When did this become his fault? And why is he so fucking horny, but his body won’t reflect it?

“So say it,” Ilya commands, shoving Shane’s legs toward his chest for him to hold back before pressing the lubed tip of the toy to Shane’s pre-stretched entrance, and fixing him with an inarguable stare. 

Shane squeaks, the blunt head of the dildo chilled against his hole. He manages a quiet, “Thank you.”

He groans as the fake dick breaches his asshole, digging his fingers into the backs of his knees. It's light work, considering what Shane is used to taking, and he knows he’ll be feeling that absence soon. 

“This not enough for you? Are you being ungrateful to me?” Ilya asks, and Shane is confused, because he feels he his hiding his disappointment quite well, all things considered. Then he realizes that the toy is already balls deep inside him in a matter of seconds from him rolling his hips down onto it, nearly swallowing it whole. 

“No, Ilya, it’s—it’s enough,” he moans, but the dissatisfaction is glaring in his tone as he fucks down harder. “Let me show you. Let me show you, please,” he whimpers. 

Shane humps down on the dildo as Ilya rams it up his asshole, thrusting it hard and relentless into him as Shane eats it up like nothing. 

At a loss for how else to prove how grateful he is to him, Shane takes hold of the toy from Ilya. He forgets to even look at his husband’s expression before he’s shifting to his knees and steadying the dildo shakily against the bed, beginning to ride. He throws his head back and lets himself go, fucking himself on the toy and trying to imagine that it’s his husband. That he’s being filled how he wants, how he’s used to, and this is all he needs. 

“Christ,” he hears Ilya mutter, but it doesn’t sound impressed. “I’ve fucked plastered sorority girls that were less desperate than you. With more self-respect. Fucking look at you.”

But he can’t look, he still can’t quite see straight, even though his bleary eyes are open. He’s just impaling himself, taking what he’s been given, putting on the performance of his lifetime to compel Ilya compliment him again. 

“Look at your cock. Now,” Ilya orders. 

Shane groans, and his eyes crack open, and he stares down at his hips as he drives himself up and down. Still soft, still pathetic, and flying wildly as he fucks himself stupid. 

Horny as fuck and not hard at all. Like his brain is hardwired to perform for his husband, give him exactly what he wants, without a thought to his own needs. 

“This is what I fucking want,” Ilya sneers, leaning back on one hand and jerking himself off with the other as he watches Shane debase himself in his intoxicated, flaccid state. “Embarrass yourself for me. Make me fucking come. Keep fucking yourself, just like that.”

He obeys without argument, throwing himself onto the fake cock, his dick flailing uselessly, his head spinning, stomach churning with the dizziness, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop humiliating himself. Doesn’t stop watching his husband pleasuring himself until he grunts out his climax, tossing his head back as his tip erupts in ropes of glistening come all over his fingers and stomach. 

Shane’s cock remains cucked by the stupid fucking vodka and weed. 

His aching thighs at last get reprieve as he falls back against the pillows, the dildo slipping from his asshole and leaving him gaping and hollow. 

“How do you feel?” 

Shane’s swimming head pops up, taking in his husband sprawled out, resting on his palms, droplets still splattered over his skin. 

Shane presses his eyes shut and slams his head back onto the pillow. “Soupy.”

He hears laughter in Ilya’s voice. “Soupy, huh?”

He tries to nod, but fails, and he feels his consciousness wavering as he settles into the plushness of the bed. 

“Baby,” he hears distantly. 

“Baby,” he hears again. 

“Baby, you’re pissing yourself.”

Shane groggily blinks open. “Huh?”

He lifts his heavy head again and—shit. He doesn’t even have the energy to stop it. He just stares at it with the extent of horror his shitfaced self can muster, which isn’t much. He observes the steady stream of piss spitting from his soft cock and over his hip, unable to even shift his pelvic muscles to cut it off. Ilya has already swiped up a shirt and is holding it at his side, soaking up the urine before it hits the mattress. 

A flush heats his face as Ilya’s eyes flick up to him, his expression dripping with derision as he mops up his mess. “So useless tonight, aren’t you? Cock full of piss, but no come.”

Shane whimpers as he feels his bladder finally empty. Ilya wipes up the remnants and tosses the shirt successfully into their laundry basket to deal with later. He drapes himself over Shane, and all at once, Shane feels warm and molten with his weight on him again. Fingers trace along his tired face. 

“I think is time for bed. You’ve done enough,” he says gently. 

“‘M’sorry,” Shane sobs quietly. 

“Don’t be sorry. You gave me what I wanted. Which is what you want, yes?”

Shane nods, eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

“Good. Then let’s go to bed. You did so good for me baby,” he praises, kissing his forehead, guiding him onto his side and pulling him against the line of Ilya’s body, and sending Shane drifting immediately in his arms. “So good.”

[ilyarizzanov]

googles how to not punish myself for things I’ve already done that I cannot change

[ilyarizzanov]

google said it was impossible and to drain my meager bank account on frivolities

[ilyarizzanov]

googles how to not punish myself for things I’ve already done that I cannot change

[fairycosmos]

i noticed my horrible patterns! i think the process stops there

[probablily]

thinking about hollanov tpe punishment on this beautiful morning whats everyone else up to

[probablily]

okay so shane's not allowed to touch himself without asking but he's been without ilya for soooo long and if he asks ilya then ilya might say no and its not like shanes gonna come, he'd stop himself before that and ilya wouldn't even know, it wouldnt have to be a Whole Thing. so shane does it. once. feels kinda guilty but he didnt come so its really not a big deal. he does it again maybe a few days later, ilya didn't find out the last time it was literally fine, theres something kinda Thrilling about disobeying like this. only, ilya video calls shane while hes in the middle of it and shanes literally kicking himself as he accepts the call, he should have just ignored it but he would have felt worse, he's showing ilya only his half face and hes trying to say hi normally but ilyas squinting and him and he asks "are you touching yourself right now? seriously?" and shanes like "no. im not" and ilya like "okay then show me you cock." shanes face flushes. "I dont need to do that. I wasnt touching myself." "then prove it"

and, well, obviously shane is proven a Liar and ilyas sooo disappointed over the phone like, "I cant believe you, I thought you were good and youve been doing this behind my back the whole time" "I wasnt gonna come," shane says, frantic and so so guilty, ilyas disappointment hitting him like a truck. "I promise i wasnt gonna come, it just hurts. I need it so much" and ilyas like "i know what you need. but youve been lying to me. how many times have you done this?" and shane, still being stupid, is like "it was just this time I promise" and ilya narrows his eyes and says "if I find out youre still lying itll be so much worse for you" and a part of shane is like, dont tell him he'll never know, but shane feels bad enough already so he confesses to the first time and ilya soooo disappointed.

they're not gonna be together for a few days still and so ilya gives shane a new rule, to message ilya everytime he thinks about touching himself, since clearly he needs something else to do. and shanes like, "everytime? seriously? what if im in the middle of game?" and ilya laughs at him "you think about touching yourself in the middle of a game? wow shane. I guess you can wait until your game is over to tell me, but you better tell me." and so for the next few days while shane's waiting to see ilya and Be Punished, he's filling their text thread with "thinking about it" "wanna touch myself so bad right now" "need it" and ilya doesnt even acknowledge these texts, even if shane asks for permission to touch, ilya just acts like he doesnt see them.

anyways, when ilya finally is set to come to montreal shane is soooo nervous. he was So Bad. hes never been this bad before, he doesn't know what to expect for a punishment and he's scared. so instead of waiting for ilya by the door, he hides. feels extra stupid doing it but now that hes sitting under the desk he feels a little safer and yeah ilya is probably going to find him eventually but its nice here in the dark. anyways cue Fear Response as he hears ilya searching for him. ilya's saying things like "you wont like what happens if I have to find you, you better come out now" but shanes doesnt come out, feels his heart beating fast in his chest.

ilya does find him eventually, taps his foot as he stares down at shane underneath the desk and shane feels soooo stupid and small. ilya tells him "your punishment is already three times worse than I had initially had planned. are you really going to make me haul you out from under here? or can you fucking stand up?" shane shakes his head, feels frozen, unable to move or answer him. "what happened to you?" ilya asks. "you used to be so good for me and now you're being naughty. stand the fuck up or I will make you."

[eleadore]

isnt it funny how ilya rozanov is 6'8" tall and blocks out the sun with his shoulders keeping us trapped in an eternal winter to shane hollander's average man standing with arms at side build while connor "thumbelina" storrie can and does live in the front pocket of an angel's skinny jeans and hudson "greaser paul bunyan" williams pops him in his mouth and eats him in one bite like a particularly ripe cherry tomato several times a day

[ilyarizzanov]

be honest are we sick of all the ficlets yet

[kermit4president-of-the-swamp]

Are you angry? Do you hate me?

[alicentsgf]

no you do not need to hold fictional characters "accountable". they are not real.

[alicentsgf]

[caffeinateddreamersoul]

[moldavite]

you are so fucking hot holy shit

but do you think i'm worth saving?

[ilyarizzanov]

re: ficlets - i NEEEEEED more intox hollanov content PLEEK!! “the vodka is your reward” ending with ilya pouring shots down shane’s throat and his head spinning but sooooo beyond horny he’d let anything happen to him that he’s still begging for more bc he can see the hunger behind ilya’s eyes 😳 that boy is obsessed with giving up control in a kink setting and i think intox would go hand in hand w that

OF COURSE HERE U GO. I am so so so fucking sorry, shit kind of got away from me so I deeply, deeply apologize if there are some kinks in here you don't jive with but I just go where my ellipsus doc takes me these days.

—

Soft: A Hollanov Ficlet

rating: e | wc: 2.4k (that's not even ficlet length but fiwb) | tags: intox kink (weed/alcohol), dubcon, alcohol-induced erectile dysfunction (Shane’s got whiskey dick y’all), degradation kink, humiliation kink, dildos, masturbation, drunken incontinence…(sorry not sorry), married!hollanov, that’s enough tags

—

Shane wrinkles his nose violently, jerking his head away from Ilya’s hand. “You know I don’t like it.”

Two fingers guide Shane’s chin back forward, and the scent of the vodka wafts and bites at his olfactory senses. His taste buds are already bitter from the two hits off the joint Ilya had stuck between his lips ten minutes ago. 

“Mmm, but you like me, yes?”

Shane flicks a glowering glare up at Ilya. He mutters out a petulant, “Yes.”

Ilya catches the tone, but only sizes Shane up with his gaze rather than punishing him for it. Yet, anyway, Shane is sure. “And you like making me happy, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then drink.”

Shane’s face sours, but he opens his mouth for the shot. Ilya pours it in deftly, but Shane still sputters, coughs around the sharpness of it. 

“This is good vodka, Shane. Very smooth. And you are choking like a baby,” Ilya mocks, filling the shot glass again immediately. 

He winces, his head shaking at the errant taste. “I don’t wanna do this, Ilya.”

“I know,” Ilya answers, a hint of sympathy in his voice, stroking a thumb over his cheek as he poises the next shot to his lips. “But you are going to. So, please stop arguing with me. I do not want to have to use the cuffs, but I will.” 

Shane whimpers, but opens again. He sputters less this time, but his body shudders. “I’m feeling fuzzy.”

“Good. A few more should do the trick. You’re a big boy, you can do this.”

Ilya forces four more shots down his throat before he’s satisfied. Shane’s head is filled with fog, and his eyes scarcely open anymore. He feels himself swaying each time his body moves, but his limbs seem leaden. His tongue lolls as if swollen in his mouth, his words thick with the laborious slog it requires to speak them. 

“Ilya…” he slurs sleepily, eyelids drooping as he sags into the pillows of the bed. “Can’t move.”

“That’s perfect, baby.” 

Ilya slaps his cheek three times in succession, quick and sharp smacks to gauge his attention. Shane’s cheeks feel numb, and he barely reacts. 

“Fucking beautiful. This is how I want you.”

Shane’s brain wades through the grogginess, squinting at the two hazy Ilyas hovering over him and willing them into one solid being. 

“Look at those eyes, huh? So fucking horny for me when you’re like this. You want me to take advantage of you, моя любовь? I know you’d like that. Take you when you can’t say ‘no’ properly. Let me have what I want and be too confused to fight.”

Ilya grips Shane’s drooping head by the chin and nods for him. 

“Yeah? You want to give me what I want?”

Ilya’s hand has him nodding again. But Shane does want it. They’d agreed on it before. That truth exists as a kernel in the back of his muddy mind. He had said yes, he had said please, he had said use me. 

If he doesn’t remember everything crystal clearly, that’s his own fault. He agreed to this. 

Didn’t he? Ilya had told him he had, and he trusts Ilya with his life. 

If anything is for sure, his cock is hard and his tip is wet and it’s twitching against his abdomen. 

“Mmm, you like this?” Ilya asks, running the backs of his fingers over the exposed underside of his weeping cock. 

A tiny sound scrapes from his throat. “Yeah.”

Ilya coos at him, dragging a thumb through his wet slit. Shane’s hips buck at the welcome sensation, needing him to do more. Two fingers coax his mouth open, and his jaw goes slack as he looks up at his husband. Ilya smiles softly at him. Then, he spits directly into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane moans at the gesture, the taste of him, and swallows it down in a daze, his lips parting again in case Ilya wants to give him another hit. 

Instead, Ilya’s mouth hovers tauntingly over his as he whispers, “You want me to fuck your drunk little hole?”

He doesn’t need the guidance this time. His head flops up and down of its own accord. 

“Okay. Suck my fingers so I can stretch you,” he instructs, poising those same two fingers to him, and Shane takes them inside without further prompting, hollowing out his cheeks as if the simple gesture has stimulated a part of his brain reserved for obeying Ilya. A part that, regardless of his level of sobriety, knows how to please him. 

After a moment, the fingers are extracted from his mouth, strings of saliva snapping as Ilya pulls, and they press against his hole. They slip inside with no resistance, and Ilya almost gasps. 

“Oh, baby, you’re already all stretched for me. You did this before I got home? What a good boy,” he praises him, and Shane tries to break through the mist in his brain. 

Shane was already stretched. He’s ready to take cock. So “past him” had definitely wanted it. He’d taken the time to prepare. 

Ilya’s eyebrows pop up, and his lips round. “Oh,” he says, staring down at Shane’s pelvis. “I think someone got shy.”

The befuddlement brewing in his brain manifests on his face as he wordlessly follows Ilya’s gaze. 

Somehow he isn’t hard anymore. Not at all. Completely flaccid. 

“Do you not want to play anymore?” Ilya asks, and the mess of Shane’s head knows very well that nothing as trivial as a soft cock is going to keep Ilya from playing with him if that’s what he wants. “Am I not interesting enough for you?”

“You are,” Shane slurs. “Baby, you are. I don’t…”

Ilya tuts at him, flicking his floppy genitals. “I don’t know. It does not look like it. You know, if you can’t get it up for me, then maybe I should not get myself up in you, hm?” He threatens sweetly, taking Shane’s softness between his fingers and tossing it the opposite direction from where it laid on his thigh, lifeless and unimpressive. It lands with a pathetic, mortifying thump against his other thigh.

“I-I can get up. Can get it up. I can do it,” Shane stutters past his alcohol-laden tongue, wrapping a hand around it and jacking the flaccid skin. It doesn’t harden an inch. “Fuck,” Shane whines, and he feels a burning behind his eyes, the shame thick in his chest. 

Ilya sighs dramatically. “You do not deserve me if this is how your body reacts to me. We must think of something else.”

“I want you,” Shane whimpers, tears brimming his eyes. 

“I don’t think you do,” Ilya taunts, dragging out his words woefully. He clambers off the bed and opens their side drawer. He emerges with lube and a dildo and tosses them on the bed. “This is fair, yes?”

“No,” Shane sobs, not sure why his emotions are hitting him so aggressively, but he falls forward onto his hands, watery eyes pleading up at his husband. “Not fair. You’re hard. You wanna fuck me.”

His eyebrows quirk again. “I do? You are going to tell me what I want to do?”

There’s a lurching in Shane’s chest. “You always wanna fuck me. You always do. Forever. The ring,” he says erratically, holding his left hand up and showing off his wedding band and then pointing to Ilya’s left hand, propped on his hip. “Rings. You wanna fuck me. That’s what you said. Not at the altar, you couldn’t, but in bed before you fucked me. You always wanna fuck me. Forever.”

Ilya smirks at the sudden burst of verbosity from him. “You can remember all that, but you can’t remember how to get it up for me?”

Shane sobs pathetically again. “I’m sorry. I’m so…and my brain is so…you…I don’t know how,” he finishes anticlimactically, his lip wobbling. 

“Hush,” Ilya commands sternly. “Lay back.”

Heavy limbs drop back against the pillows, and Ilya follows, situating himself between Shane's legs with the supplies. He hadn’t even chosen the larger of their dildos. This one was perfectly average, which meant it was significantly smaller than Ilya, what Shane is accustomed to. The reality has another whine parting his lips. 

“Please, Ilya. Want your cock.”

Ilya looks up from his lap where he’s lubricating the silicone, and his expression is no longer placating. “Well, you are not getting it. You get this,” he dictates sternly, waggling the dildo in his grip and sending it wobbling, “and you are going to thank me for fucking you at all when you’re this embarrassingly drunk.”

Shane blinks, stemming his tears in the process. And of course, his memory is fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure Ilya is the one who got him drunk. Forced vodka down his throat until he was seeing double. 

When did this become his fault? And why is he so fucking horny, but his body won’t reflect it?

“So say it,” Ilya commands, shoving Shane’s legs toward his chest for him to hold back before pressing the lubed tip of the toy to Shane’s pre-stretched entrance, and fixing him with an inarguable stare. 

Shane squeaks, the blunt head of the dildo chilled against his hole. He manages a quiet, “Thank you.”

He groans as the fake dick breaches his asshole, digging his fingers into the backs of his knees. It's light work, considering what Shane is used to taking, and he knows he’ll be feeling that absence soon. 

“This not enough for you? Are you being ungrateful to me?” Ilya asks, and Shane is confused, because he feels he his hiding his disappointment quite well, all things considered. Then he realizes that the toy is already balls deep inside him in a matter of seconds from him rolling his hips down onto it, nearly swallowing it whole. 

“No, Ilya, it’s—it’s enough,” he moans, but the dissatisfaction is glaring in his tone as he fucks down harder. “Let me show you. Let me show you, please,” he whimpers. 

Shane humps down on the dildo as Ilya rams it up his asshole, thrusting it hard and relentless into him as Shane eats it up like nothing. 

At a loss for how else to prove how grateful he is to him, Shane takes hold of the toy from Ilya. He forgets to even look at his husband’s expression before he’s shifting to his knees and steadying the dildo shakily against the bed, beginning to ride. He throws his head back and lets himself go, fucking himself on the toy and trying to imagine that it’s his husband. That he’s being filled how he wants, how he’s used to, and this is all he needs. 

“Christ,” he hears Ilya mutter, but it doesn’t sound impressed. “I’ve fucked plastered sorority girls that were less desperate than you. With more self-respect. Fucking look at you.”

But he can’t look, he still can’t quite see straight, even though his bleary eyes are open. He’s just impaling himself, taking what he’s been given, putting on the performance of his lifetime to compel Ilya compliment him again. 

“Look at your cock. Now,” Ilya orders. 

Shane groans, and his eyes crack open, and he stares down at his hips as he drives himself up and down. Still soft, still pathetic, and flying wildly as he fucks himself stupid. 

Horny as fuck and not hard at all. Like his brain is hardwired to perform for his husband, give him exactly what he wants, without a thought to his own needs. 

“This is what I fucking want,” Ilya sneers, leaning back on one hand and jerking himself off with the other as he watches Shane debase himself in his intoxicated, flaccid state. “Embarrass yourself for me. Make me fucking come. Keep fucking yourself, just like that.”

He obeys without argument, throwing himself onto the fake cock, his dick flailing uselessly, his head spinning, stomach churning with the dizziness, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop humiliating himself. Doesn’t stop watching his husband pleasuring himself until he grunts out his climax, tossing his head back as his tip erupts in ropes of glistening come all over his fingers and stomach. 

Shane’s cock remains cucked by the stupid fucking vodka and weed. 

His aching thighs at last get reprieve as he falls back against the pillows, the dildo slipping from his asshole and leaving him gaping and hollow. 

“How do you feel?” 

Shane’s swimming head pops up, taking in his husband sprawled out, resting on his palms, droplets still splattered over his skin. 

Shane presses his eyes shut and slams his head back onto the pillow. “Soupy.”

He hears laughter in Ilya’s voice. “Soupy, huh?”

He tries to nod, but fails, and he feels his consciousness wavering as he settles into the plushness of the bed. 

“Baby,” he hears distantly. 

“Baby,” he hears again. 

“Baby, you’re pissing yourself.”

Shane groggily blinks open. “Huh?”

He lifts his heavy head again and—shit. He doesn’t even have the energy to stop it. He just stares at it with the extent of horror his shitfaced self can muster, which isn’t much. He observes the steady stream of piss spitting from his soft cock and over his hip, unable to even shift his pelvic muscles to cut it off. Ilya has already swiped up a shirt and is holding it at his side, soaking up the urine before it hits the mattress. 

A flush heats his face as Ilya’s eyes flick up to him, his expression dripping with derision as he mops up his mess. “So useless tonight, aren’t you? Cock full of piss, but no come.”

Shane whimpers as he feels his bladder finally empty. Ilya wipes up the remnants and tosses the shirt successfully into their laundry basket to deal with later. He drapes himself over Shane, and all at once, Shane feels warm and molten with his weight on him again. Fingers trace along his tired face. 

“I think is time for bed. You’ve done enough,” he says gently. 

“‘M’sorry,” Shane sobs quietly. 

“Don’t be sorry. You gave me what I wanted. Which is what you want, yes?”

Shane nods, eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

“Good. Then let’s go to bed. You did so good for me baby,” he praises, kissing his forehead, guiding him onto his side and pulling him against the line of Ilya’s body, and sending Shane drifting immediately in his arms. “So good.”

[formulaonedirection]

🥰 attitude problem 🥰

Bonus

[ilyarizzanov]

re: ficlets - i NEEEEEED more intox hollanov content PLEEK!! “the vodka is your reward” ending with ilya pouring shots down shane’s throat and his head spinning but sooooo beyond horny he’d let anything happen to him that he’s still begging for more bc he can see the hunger behind ilya’s eyes 😳 that boy is obsessed with giving up control in a kink setting and i think intox would go hand in hand w that

OF COURSE HERE U GO. I am so so so fucking sorry, shit kind of got away from me so I deeply, deeply apologize if there are some kinks in here you don't jive with but I just go where my ellipsus doc takes me these days.

—

Soft: A Hollanov Ficlet

rating: e | wc: 2.4k (that's not even ficlet length but fiwb) | tags: intox kink (weed/alcohol), dubcon, alcohol-induced erectile dysfunction (Shane’s got whiskey dick y’all), degradation kink, humiliation kink, dildos, masturbation, drunken incontinence…(sorry not sorry), married!hollanov, that’s enough tags

—

Shane wrinkles his nose violently, jerking his head away from Ilya’s hand. “You know I don’t like it.”

Two fingers guide Shane’s chin back forward, and the scent of the vodka wafts and bites at his olfactory senses. His taste buds are already bitter from the two hits off the joint Ilya had stuck between his lips ten minutes ago. 

“Mmm, but you like me, yes?”

Shane flicks a glowering glare up at Ilya. He mutters out a petulant, “Yes.”

Ilya catches the tone, but only sizes Shane up with his gaze rather than punishing him for it. Yet, anyway, Shane is sure. “And you like making me happy, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then drink.”

Shane’s face sours, but he opens his mouth for the shot. Ilya pours it in deftly, but Shane still sputters, coughs around the sharpness of it. 

“This is good vodka, Shane. Very smooth. And you are choking like a baby,” Ilya mocks, filling the shot glass again immediately. 

He winces, his head shaking at the errant taste. “I don’t wanna do this, Ilya.”

“I know,” Ilya answers, a hint of sympathy in his voice, stroking a thumb over his cheek as he poises the next shot to his lips. “But you are going to. So, please stop arguing with me. I do not want to have to use the cuffs, but I will.” 

Shane whimpers, but opens again. He sputters less this time, but his body shudders. “I’m feeling fuzzy.”

“Good. A few more should do the trick. You’re a big boy, you can do this.”

Ilya forces four more shots down his throat before he’s satisfied. Shane’s head is filled with fog, and his eyes scarcely open anymore. He feels himself swaying each time his body moves, but his limbs seem leaden. His tongue lolls as if swollen in his mouth, his words thick with the laborious slog it requires to speak them. 

“Ilya…” he slurs sleepily, eyelids drooping as he sags into the pillows of the bed. “Can’t move.”

“That’s perfect, baby.” 

Ilya slaps his cheek three times in succession, quick and sharp smacks to gauge his attention. Shane’s cheeks feel numb, and he barely reacts. 

“Fucking beautiful. This is how I want you.”

Shane’s brain wades through the grogginess, squinting at the two hazy Ilyas hovering over him and willing them into one solid being. 

“Look at those eyes, huh? So fucking horny for me when you’re like this. You want me to take advantage of you, моя любовь? I know you’d like that. Take you when you can’t say ‘no’ properly. Let me have what I want and be too confused to fight.”

Ilya grips Shane’s drooping head by the chin and nods for him. 

“Yeah? You want to give me what I want?”

Ilya’s hand has him nodding again. But Shane does want it. They’d agreed on it before. That truth exists as a kernel in the back of his muddy mind. He had said yes, he had said please, he had said use me. 

If he doesn’t remember everything crystal clearly, that’s his own fault. He agreed to this. 

Didn’t he? Ilya had told him he had, and he trusts Ilya with his life. 

If anything is for sure, his cock is hard and his tip is wet and it’s twitching against his abdomen. 

“Mmm, you like this?” Ilya asks, running the backs of his fingers over the exposed underside of his weeping cock. 

A tiny sound scrapes from his throat. “Yeah.”

Ilya coos at him, dragging a thumb through his wet slit. Shane’s hips buck at the welcome sensation, needing him to do more. Two fingers coax his mouth open, and his jaw goes slack as he looks up at his husband. Ilya smiles softly at him. Then, he spits directly into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane moans at the gesture, the taste of him, and swallows it down in a daze, his lips parting again in case Ilya wants to give him another hit. 

Instead, Ilya’s mouth hovers tauntingly over his as he whispers, “You want me to fuck your drunk little hole?”

He doesn’t need the guidance this time. His head flops up and down of its own accord. 

“Okay. Suck my fingers so I can stretch you,” he instructs, poising those same two fingers to him, and Shane takes them inside without further prompting, hollowing out his cheeks as if the simple gesture has stimulated a part of his brain reserved for obeying Ilya. A part that, regardless of his level of sobriety, knows how to please him. 

After a moment, the fingers are extracted from his mouth, strings of saliva snapping as Ilya pulls, and they press against his hole. They slip inside with no resistance, and Ilya almost gasps. 

“Oh, baby, you’re already all stretched for me. You did this before I got home? What a good boy,” he praises him, and Shane tries to break through the mist in his brain. 

Shane was already stretched. He’s ready to take cock. So “past him” had definitely wanted it. He’d taken the time to prepare. 

Ilya’s eyebrows pop up, and his lips round. “Oh,” he says, staring down at Shane’s pelvis. “I think someone got shy.”

The befuddlement brewing in his brain manifests on his face as he wordlessly follows Ilya’s gaze. 

Somehow he isn’t hard anymore. Not at all. Completely flaccid. 

“Do you not want to play anymore?” Ilya asks, and the mess of Shane’s head knows very well that nothing as trivial as a soft cock is going to keep Ilya from playing with him if that’s what he wants. “Am I not interesting enough for you?”

“You are,” Shane slurs. “Baby, you are. I don’t…”

Ilya tuts at him, flicking his floppy genitals. “I don’t know. It does not look like it. You know, if you can’t get it up for me, then maybe I should not get myself up in you, hm?” He threatens sweetly, taking Shane’s softness between his fingers and tossing it the opposite direction from where it laid on his thigh, lifeless and unimpressive. It lands with a pathetic, mortifying thump against his other thigh.

“I-I can get up. Can get it up. I can do it,” Shane stutters past his alcohol-laden tongue, wrapping a hand around it and jacking the flaccid skin. It doesn’t harden an inch. “Fuck,” Shane whines, and he feels a burning behind his eyes, the shame thick in his chest. 

Ilya sighs dramatically. “You do not deserve me if this is how your body reacts to me. We must think of something else.”

“I want you,” Shane whimpers, tears brimming his eyes. 

“I don’t think you do,” Ilya taunts, dragging out his words woefully. He clambers off the bed and opens their side drawer. He emerges with lube and a dildo and tosses them on the bed. “This is fair, yes?”

“No,” Shane sobs, not sure why his emotions are hitting him so aggressively, but he falls forward onto his hands, watery eyes pleading up at his husband. “Not fair. You’re hard. You wanna fuck me.”

His eyebrows quirk again. “I do? You are going to tell me what I want to do?”

There’s a lurching in Shane’s chest. “You always wanna fuck me. You always do. Forever. The ring,” he says erratically, holding his left hand up and showing off his wedding band and then pointing to Ilya’s left hand, propped on his hip. “Rings. You wanna fuck me. That’s what you said. Not at the altar, you couldn’t, but in bed before you fucked me. You always wanna fuck me. Forever.”

Ilya smirks at the sudden burst of verbosity from him. “You can remember all that, but you can’t remember how to get it up for me?”

Shane sobs pathetically again. “I’m sorry. I’m so…and my brain is so…you…I don’t know how,” he finishes anticlimactically, his lip wobbling. 

“Hush,” Ilya commands sternly. “Lay back.”

Heavy limbs drop back against the pillows, and Ilya follows, situating himself between Shane's legs with the supplies. He hadn’t even chosen the larger of their dildos. This one was perfectly average, which meant it was significantly smaller than Ilya, what Shane is accustomed to. The reality has another whine parting his lips. 

“Please, Ilya. Want your cock.”

Ilya looks up from his lap where he’s lubricating the silicone, and his expression is no longer placating. “Well, you are not getting it. You get this,” he dictates sternly, waggling the dildo in his grip and sending it wobbling, “and you are going to thank me for fucking you at all when you’re this embarrassingly drunk.”

Shane blinks, stemming his tears in the process. And of course, his memory is fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure Ilya is the one who got him drunk. Forced vodka down his throat until he was seeing double. 

When did this become his fault? And why is he so fucking horny, but his body won’t reflect it?

“So say it,” Ilya commands, shoving Shane’s legs toward his chest for him to hold back before pressing the lubed tip of the toy to Shane’s pre-stretched entrance, and fixing him with an inarguable stare. 

Shane squeaks, the blunt head of the dildo chilled against his hole. He manages a quiet, “Thank you.”

He groans as the fake dick breaches his asshole, digging his fingers into the backs of his knees. It's light work, considering what Shane is used to taking, and he knows he’ll be feeling that absence soon. 

“This not enough for you? Are you being ungrateful to me?” Ilya asks, and Shane is confused, because he feels he his hiding his disappointment quite well, all things considered. Then he realizes that the toy is already balls deep inside him in a matter of seconds from him rolling his hips down onto it, nearly swallowing it whole. 

“No, Ilya, it’s—it’s enough,” he moans, but the dissatisfaction is glaring in his tone as he fucks down harder. “Let me show you. Let me show you, please,” he whimpers. 

Shane humps down on the dildo as Ilya rams it up his asshole, thrusting it hard and relentless into him as Shane eats it up like nothing. 

At a loss for how else to prove how grateful he is to him, Shane takes hold of the toy from Ilya. He forgets to even look at his husband’s expression before he’s shifting to his knees and steadying the dildo shakily against the bed, beginning to ride. He throws his head back and lets himself go, fucking himself on the toy and trying to imagine that it’s his husband. That he’s being filled how he wants, how he’s used to, and this is all he needs. 

“Christ,” he hears Ilya mutter, but it doesn’t sound impressed. “I’ve fucked plastered sorority girls that were less desperate than you. With more self-respect. Fucking look at you.”

But he can’t look, he still can’t quite see straight, even though his bleary eyes are open. He’s just impaling himself, taking what he’s been given, putting on the performance of his lifetime to compel Ilya compliment him again. 

“Look at your cock. Now,” Ilya orders. 

Shane groans, and his eyes crack open, and he stares down at his hips as he drives himself up and down. Still soft, still pathetic, and flying wildly as he fucks himself stupid. 

Horny as fuck and not hard at all. Like his brain is hardwired to perform for his husband, give him exactly what he wants, without a thought to his own needs. 

“This is what I fucking want,” Ilya sneers, leaning back on one hand and jerking himself off with the other as he watches Shane debase himself in his intoxicated, flaccid state. “Embarrass yourself for me. Make me fucking come. Keep fucking yourself, just like that.”

He obeys without argument, throwing himself onto the fake cock, his dick flailing uselessly, his head spinning, stomach churning with the dizziness, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop humiliating himself. Doesn’t stop watching his husband pleasuring himself until he grunts out his climax, tossing his head back as his tip erupts in ropes of glistening come all over his fingers and stomach. 

Shane’s cock remains cucked by the stupid fucking vodka and weed. 

His aching thighs at last get reprieve as he falls back against the pillows, the dildo slipping from his asshole and leaving him gaping and hollow. 

“How do you feel?” 

Shane’s swimming head pops up, taking in his husband sprawled out, resting on his palms, droplets still splattered over his skin. 

Shane presses his eyes shut and slams his head back onto the pillow. “Soupy.”

He hears laughter in Ilya’s voice. “Soupy, huh?”

He tries to nod, but fails, and he feels his consciousness wavering as he settles into the plushness of the bed. 

“Baby,” he hears distantly. 

“Baby,” he hears again. 

“Baby, you’re pissing yourself.”

Shane groggily blinks open. “Huh?”

He lifts his heavy head again and—shit. He doesn’t even have the energy to stop it. He just stares at it with the extent of horror his shitfaced self can muster, which isn’t much. He observes the steady stream of piss spitting from his soft cock and over his hip, unable to even shift his pelvic muscles to cut it off. Ilya has already swiped up a shirt and is holding it at his side, soaking up the urine before it hits the mattress. 

A flush heats his face as Ilya’s eyes flick up to him, his expression dripping with derision as he mops up his mess. “So useless tonight, aren’t you? Cock full of piss, but no come.”

Shane whimpers as he feels his bladder finally empty. Ilya wipes up the remnants and tosses the shirt successfully into their laundry basket to deal with later. He drapes himself over Shane, and all at once, Shane feels warm and molten with his weight on him again. Fingers trace along his tired face. 

“I think is time for bed. You’ve done enough,” he says gently. 

“‘M’sorry,” Shane sobs quietly. 

“Don’t be sorry. You gave me what I wanted. Which is what you want, yes?”

Shane nods, eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

“Good. Then let’s go to bed. You did so good for me baby,” he praises, kissing his forehead, guiding him onto his side and pulling him against the line of Ilya’s body, and sending Shane drifting immediately in his arms. “So good.”

[gaynehollander]

For once, Shane actually catches onto an internet trend before Ilya - if only because JJ sends it to him and tells him he would pay good money to see Rozanov's reaction to Shane pulling this shit on him.

Ilya's pulled quite a few of these internet pranks on Shane and Harris always loves them so, eager to get one over on his husband, Shane sets up his phone, makes sure the camera is rolling, and sits down at their kitchen island with his morning smoothie. When Ilya makes his way into the room, Shane offers him a sip of his drink, which Ilya happily takes, with a softly spoken "thank you, любовь." Shane knows he doesn't like his smoothies but they've reached an agreement, where Ilya will always taste it and, in return, Shane won't make him drink a full glass.

Shane then carefully wipes off the rim of the glass with a napkin before sipping it himself.

He can see Ilya freeze up in his periphery and Shane can feel every nerve ending tingle as he desperately tries to remain nonchalant, so as to not give the prank away.

"What was that?" Ilya asks, his voice perfectly level, if slightly cold.

"Nothing," Shane tells him, trying not to vibrate out of his skin, trying not to look at the camera.

"Was not nothing," Ilya replies. "What did you do?"

Shane shrugs, "just wiped the glass."

"Why?" Shane makes the mistake of looking directly at Ilya and can feel a thrill shoot up his spine. He's not afraid of his husband but in that moment he can understand why some people are. Ilya looks imposing. His mouth a thinly drawn line, his eyes steely, arms crossed over his bare chest in a way that makes his already impressive biceps and pecs bulge out. Shane's throat suddenly feels dry.

"Hygiene?" It comes out sounding like a question, weak and croaky.

Ilya slowly raises his eyebrows before repeating Shane's answer back to him. "Hygiene," he says. He lets the word sit there between them for a while, as though to give Shane the chance to retract it.

He doesn't.

The footage never gets shared and when JJ asks Shane if he ever went through with the prank, he blushes from the roots of his hair down to his chest. He thinks he says no. He knows it's not believable. JJ doesn't press the matter but the look in his eye makes Shane fear he knows exactly what went down. Although, he can't, can he? How could he?

There's no way he can tell, just by looking at Shane, that Ilya slowly walked over to him and grabbed his glass before tugging at the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them drop to the floor. He can't know how Ilya took himself in hand and tugged at himself, eyes firmly on Shane who sat at their kitchen island and watched on, frozen, as Ilya brought himself to climax straight into Shane's smoothie. He can't know how he walked over to their cutlery drawer and swirled it into Shane's drink before bringing the glass back over and sitting down, watching Shane expectantly. He can't know how Shane felt like every muscle in his body had locked up as he watched the display, nor how quickly he reacted when Ilya simply said, "drink." There's no way he knows that Shane drained the glass. He doesn't know the intensity of Ilya's gaze as Shane swallowed it down. He doesn't know how he then stood and grasped Shane's face with the same hand he had brought himself off with, hooking his fingers behind Shane's bottom teeth to open his mouth, as though to ensure that he had indeed swallowed it all down, before he spat into his mouth and closed it, tilting his head back to watch Shane's Adam's apple bob as Ilya's saliva slid down the back of his throat. He doesn't know how Ilya patted his cheek before walking out of the room. He doesn't know how long Shane sat there, completely immobile, his cock fully hard and straining against his trousers, before he gained enough awareness to collect his phone and stop the recording.

There's no way he can know any of that.

[shanepervert]

making pride blinkies for my favorite ao3 tags