guilty hands can’t hide their plans
content: shane hollander x nb!reader. same universe as compress / repress, ilya’s turmoil and complicated. unresolved feelings. SEX! - kissing, making out, grinding, heavy petting, d/s themes, slapping, choking (barely), penetration (hole not specified. shane tops (!)), fingers in mouth, hair pulling. ilya is still haunting the narrative (his two sub bottoms go at it while thinking about him & they both drive themselves and each other into subdrop <3).
author’s note: listen i don’t know how we ended up here. this was pulled out of me like an exorcism. enjoy!?!!!?!
god knows how and when they end up tangled together. they don’t know whose bed this is. they know the why, though.
the invisible thread that connected them individually to ilya had tangled at some point. shane wanted to see. he felt compelled to learn the curves and angles of their body as he imagined ilya had once done. he was a little upset, and he kept waiting for the spell to fade but it never did. the want was surpassing the neurotic questions bouncing around his head— especially now, with their hands in his hair and their lips on his neck.
“you’re not doing anything bad, shane.” ilya had told him over the phone while shane was still hiding in the bathroom.
shane hadn’t wanted to hear that. a sick part of him wanted ilya to tell him off, to tell him he shouldn’t do or want this. shane wanted ilya to act… territorial, just so shane could press against it and do it anyway. deal with the consequences later.
“feels wrong.” they mutter against his skin, echoing his own thoughts. shane kisses them to shove the feeling away, swallows down a moan (his or theirs, he doesn’t know).
their thighs part easily when he moves, draping himself on top of them like it’s a place he’s been before. it is, indirectly, he thinks.
they are looking up at him with a fondness that makes both of them uncomfortable. we don’t know each other. you don’t know me. that’s also not completely true and i hate that. shane kisses it away again, drags his teeth against their lip rougher than he needs to. rougher than he ever would with ilya.
the thought feels like a punch in the stomach. it also makes him moan.
“when you— do stuff,” he starts, threading one hand in their hair to steady himself and feeling his stomach churn when they sigh. “who gives?”
they smile at his choice of words, at the pink tint spilling over his cheeks. they blink away some of the haze settling where their thoughts should be. “i take. ilya gives.”
“yeah. same.” the words seem to hurt him physically. they huff out a breath as his fingers tighten on their hair.
“shane.” they call softly, wrapping a hand around his jaw how ilya always does, only softer. it grounds them, so it must ground shane too, right? his eyes snap closed. “we don’t have to… do anything.”
“i want to.” he whispers, leaning into their touch.
he’s so lost. he keeps reminding himself he didn’t drink any alcohol. he’s sober. he shouldn’t be feeling so weird. so… stupid.
they pull him down for a kiss that drives them both under some more, until there’s nothing but the sound of rustling fabric where they’ve started grinding against each other at some point, and the soft gaps they’re breathing into each other’s mouths.
shane isn’t even trying to get off. the angle is so bad, his jeans are too tight. but they sound so, so good, and their face is scrunched up as if they’re already close. it’s maddening. it makes his dick ache.
this must be how ilya feels, he thinks distantly.
“what does he call you?” shane hears himself ask, mouth pressed just under their ear. “in bed. or out. in… general.”
they hum, petting the hair at the back of his head. “zayka. baby, sometimes.”
he wants to throw up. he is jealous and envious all in one, and he doesn’t know where to put these feelings. he shoves a hand between their bodies to slide his zipper down.
“baby.” he repeats, tasting the word on his tongue. his eyebrows are furrowed so tight it almost hurts. he ignores the way they call his name, both because it’s too soft and because he needs to focus or he’ll lose it. he leans back, pawing at the waistband of their pants. “can i fuck you?”
they gape up at him. their eyes widen until they think they might pop right off their head, and part of them thinks that might be easier than whatever is happening right now.
“you don’t have to. shane—”
shane wants to scream. “do you want to?”
“yes.”
ilya is expecting the notification, but he almost lurches out of bed when he sees the preview.
Jane (03:21 a.m.)
[video attachment]
the video starts with a high pitched keen he recognizes all too well. shane’s hand is obstructing half of the screen. he is propping the phone up and making sure it stays there. even though ilya knows who he’s with, he still feels a lump in his throat when he sees their hand clawing at shane’s arm to pull him closer. always so needy.
ilya feels outside of his own body as he watches shane — his precious hollander — finally meet their eyes before kissing them. it’s not soft. he is panting into their mouth, and ilya just barely notices how hard shane’s hands are shaking as he pulls one of their legs over his shoulder and thrusts once.
he pauses the video. his hands are trembling so hard he thinks he may be having a medical emergency. he is hallucinating.
he presses play again.
ilya’s mind reels as shane’s hand lands on their cheek, a half tentative slap that turns their face away from the camera.
ilya pauses the video again. unpauses.
“too much?” shane gasps, but there’s a dopey smile forming on his face. he dips his head to bite at the skin of their neck, a hand on the back of their knee to press their leg further back so he can thrust deeper.
they are making all kinds of sounds, strangled sobs that get stuck in their throat every time shane moves. they are pawing at him, pulling him closer and then pushing him away when shane starts moving faster. i won’t last like this, ilya can almost hear their voice in his mind.
and shane— shane is lost. ilya’s mouth drops as he recognizes his own mannerisms in the way shane palms cruelly at the meat of their thighs; the way his hand wraps around their throat to make them look at him.
ilya palms himself lazily at the sight of the two people he loves defiling each other in a close-to-perfect depiction of everything he’s taught them. he wonders for a moment if it’s bad that he likes this. he knows shane has taken over that role to please him, and oh, is he pleased.
“good?” shane asks, and ilya notices how his hips falter when their eyes roll back into their head. their nails dig into shane’s forearms, and they let out a garbled string of syllables that ilya translates into yes, fuck, please, more.
shane glances at the phone, and that does ilya in. he looks intoxicated, jaw slack and eyes half lidded. blissful.
ilya thinks he watches the rest. he could be making it up.
he convinces himself he must have imagined the ease with which shane moves them around so they can ride him. and he is for sure imagining their hands on shane’s chest, squeezing and feeling him up before they dip down to lick at shane’s nipple. the sound he makes when they close their lips around it.
ilya feels faint.
they come hard and fast when shane wraps a hand around the back of their neck and slaps them again. they have half a mind to shove two fingers in shane’s mouth with a grunted “suck”. he comes like that.
ilya’s eyes stay on the screen until it fades to black and locks on its own.
yes. this is a figment of ilya’s imagination.
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soooo thoughts? 🤓
