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Summary
“Ilya,” he gasps. “You’re drunk, hey, ah, wait,” he adds, and he’s trying so hard to do the right thing here, but Ilya’s cock is still sliding against his and he can’t stop himself from moving his hips to chase it.
“Yes,” Ilya says. His mouth trails down over Shane’s collarbone and his chest, leaving a trail of spit because he’s being so messy. “Waited all night to have you,” he mumbles, looking up to meet Shane’s eyes, and takes his nipple between his lips.