like . shane smashing his stick to pieces. shane dropping gloves . shane dissociating . shane sped up X2 arguing with a ref for soooo long . shane yelling over the boards . that's MY crashout king
I feel bad that future teens won't have the cw everyone needs to get unnaturally obsessed with an Objectively Bad teen soap with mid level production and the worst dialogue you've ever heard (you write 100k worth of fanfic for this and argue about the show on tumblr dot com)
a camp au ficlet | 781 words | warning: underage sexual content (they are about 16 here)
Shane pushes Ilya up against the wall of the boat shed. He's shirtless and still damp from the lake, clammy skin cool against Ilya. That's the one problem with lifeguarding in this heat—Ilya can't get in the water. Shane's lips hover close, but he won't close the gap. Ilya has to be the one to kiss Shane for the second time.
Ilya hopes this doesn't mean Shane's going to ignore him for another two weeks. At least he isn't pulling away again. Last time, Ilya was left out in the dark behind the cabin, heart stuttering from a single chaste kiss as he tried to collect himself enough to face a cabin full of ten-year-olds again.
Now, Shane presses himself against Ilya, hands fisting Ilya's t-shirt, mouth parting for Ilya's tongue. He tastes like lake water, and Ilya's hands push through his still wet hair. Shane gasps, the sound tugging in Ilya's gut... then down to his dick.
"Shane," he breathes, drawing him closer, a solid line of heat. Shane still isn't pulling away. "Fuck."
The dusty slats of the shed press against Ilya's back, a rouge paddle board touches his shin, and the air in here is stuffy, thick with heat. Ilya doesn't care. Shane's in his arms.
"Been thinking of this," Shane says, one of his hands pushes Ilya's shirt up; Ilya supposes it's only fair. "Thinking of you."
He sounds frantic, unlike the careful way Shane usually carries himself. Ilya wants to know why, know everything Shane's thinking of—but he thinks if he asks Shane to explain, he'd only scare him away.
"Me too," is all Ilya can say. He shifts slightly and finds Shane hard against his leg. Shane makes a whiny sort of noise as Ilya presses back, thigh rubbing now on Shane's cock.
Shane moves his hips once, instinctively chasing the friction, then freezes.
"No, keep going." Ilya's hands fly to Shane's hips, thumbs on his lower back, hoping the touch will still Shane's thoughts. Holy fuck. Ilya can't believe this is happening.
"I don't— We shouldn't." Shane bites his lower lip, looks at Ilya again. His expression is open, something that so rarely appears on Shane that it takes Ilya a while to place where he usually sees it.
Campfire. Shane across the circle, other side of the fire, looking up at the sky or into the flames, always seeing something that Ilya can't. God or Jesus, or maybe the Holy Spirit. Shane sings like it means something, like there's someone out there worthy of his worship.
Ilya sings only for his mother.
"Is okay," Ilya says now. Brushes a thumb over Shane's cheek. Shane has more freckles now than he did at the beginning of the summer. "You can move."
Ilya shoves a hand down the front of his shorts while Shane ruts against his leg. Shane breaking down like this—composure loosening, small noises escaping him as his movement speeds up—is one of the hottest things Ilya's ever seen. And he's had real sex before.
It's over in probably three minutes. Shane slumps against Ilya, forehead pressing against him. Their breath sounds louder than it did a minute ago, and Ilya's hot all over, the humid thickness of the air overwhelming. Jesus fucking Christ.
Ilya can't believe what just happened. His hand is still at the nape of Shane's neck, it's wet with water and sweat. He watches as the tension returns to Shane, shiftness drawing his shoulders back together.
"Shoot." Shane peels away from Ilya, only their legs touch now. He looks down at his swim trucks. "I'm all— It's gross."
"Same." Ilya wipes his hand off on the inside of his shirt. "Felt good though, yes? You have to shower off after lake anyways."
Shane inhales, high and anxious. "I don't—Oh my gosh. We should— We have to get out of here."
"I know." Ilya thinks his hands might be shaking as he brushes back Shane's hair once more, sweat keeping it where he puts it. He tries to keep the rest of himself steady.
He kisses Shane again, and now he tastes only of spit—his own and Ilya's. Shane pulls back before he can deepen it, but it's good.
It's good.
Shane hurries out of the shed after another mumbled excuse. Leaves Ilya alone again. Ilya can't be mad about it, not really—he knows some of what must be going on in Shane's head. He knows how many rules Shane just broke.
So Ilya's not mad, just... disappointed. And he trips over the paddleboard on his own way out.
Later, at campfire, Ilya watches Shane's face, the open way he sings. He'd expected something to change—doubt creeping into Shane's singing. Ilya thought maybe he'd ruined him. But there's no difference... Shane sings the same today as he did yesterday, as he did before the first kiss.
And as Shane looks into the fire, sees something flickering in the ashes that Ilya can't, Ilya thinks he looks the same as he did in the shed.
———
more camp au
would appreciate a reblog if you liked this :)
tag list: @allstarrocks @inshanely @larkral @nirby-wirby @shaneholeander @siighonic @st-hollender , let me know if you want to added to the tag list for more ficlets in this au :)
tumblr is actually almost usable if you just filter 400 terms and block 900 blogs and have anons off and have messages off and have comments off and have reblogs off and never post any of your opinions and never express mild annoyance at anything ever!
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