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Shane wakes up to loud buzzing. Like every night, his phone is switched to Do Not Disturb mode - if someone's choosing to notify anyway, it must be urgent. He rolls over to look at the screen.
Incoming call from Lily
Shane’s shot with adrenaline immediately. Rose is literally in bed next to him. He can’t possibly pick up.
He picks up.
“Hollander.”
Shane quickly fumbles with the phone volume. Even with the white noise machine, he’s positive the faint trace of Ilya’s voice through the phone is blaring like a siren.
“Hollander. I know you’re there.”
Ilya’s slurring. There’s loud music in the background, thumping bass, people laughing.
“Hollander.”
His voice is rough and low. Strained. Maybe he’s hurt? Shane tenses, ready to respond to an emergency.
“Fuck, Hollander, I know you hear me. Need to talk to you.”
Shane doesn’t dare respond. He barely dares to breathe. Rose stirs in the bed next to him, her back turned. The background noise on the line suddenly goes quiet with the sound of a door closing.
“Okay, is okay. I can talk. Just listen."
The sound of a belt buckle.
"I need you. Want to feel you. Want to touch you, Hollander, so bad, I need your mouth, I’m so…fuck, need to hear you."
Shane goes very still. He presses the phone up against his ear to catch the words.
"I know we shouldn’t be talking, I know I should pretend I don’t want to talk or see you. What does it matter? Impossible anyway. Always you are there, Hollander. Everywhere. Even when I don’t want.”
There’s a short pause before Ilya continues.
“You look pretty with her.”
Fuck, the paparazzi photos. Shane flushes with horror – somehow, he’d managed to block out the idea of Ilya seeing news stories about him and Rose. He hadn’t wanted that. Doesn’t want to hurt Ilya, not at all. Feels a curl of shame and dread every time he remembers the look on Ilya's face, his outstretched hand, when Shane absconded with his loungewear back in Boston.
“Prettier with me, though,” Ilya continues. Some of his words run into and over each other. “Can’t stop thinking about you, Hollander. You know you have the best mouth ever made, perfect on my cock, fuck, so fucking perfect, made to take me…”
No. Oh no. He can’t. Shane can’t listen to this.
“You remember my cock in your mouth? I know you love it. It's all over your face. You get this beautiful look like you could almost sleep. I am so crazy to see.”
He’s starting to breathe faster, Shane can tell. He can imagine Ilya's hand wrapped around his cock, pants barely pulled down. Leaning against a bathroom stall. Eyes closed. Imagining Shane's mouth wrapping around him. Shane can almost feel the tile bruising his knees.
“The first time I felt your mouth, God… Hollander, I will never, ever forget it. I don’t care if I forget everything else, forget my name, doesn’t matter. I can never forget how wet and hot and soft your mouth is…so red, open wide for me…”
Ilya groans like he’s being stabbed.
“Oh my God Hollander, I wish you could feel your mouth. I want you to know how good it is. And your throat. So tight but open. Squeezing me but not pushing me out. Like you always want me deeper. I can’t think about you blowing me or I get nothing done. Have to use your mouth, Hollander, need it, need to put my fingers and cock and tongue in it so it cannot say stupid things to stupid Rose Landry. I know she does not know how to use your mouth like I do. I know.”
Shane can’t help it. A little whimper comes out of his mouth. His fingers squeeze around the outline of his dick where he’s palming it through his boxers.
"And you have to miss me too. I know you miss me. I miss you so much. I miss how much you say with your face. Everything. Right there. You are so hungry for me, always. You feel like an animal when I touch you. Jumpy, but then there is always moment when you switch over. Jumpiness goes away, you get so hot and…melty. Drunk on my cock and mouth, fuck Hollander.”
Maybe Shane’s imagining the sound of Ilya’s hand stroking his cock. Maybe not. Either way, he can hear it in Ilya’s voice, tight and staccato.
“Do not try to tell me Rose Landry can make you do this. I know you need to drop to your knees only for me. Bend over on your hands and knees and spread your ass like you’ve been wanting it forever. Like your body feels wrong until my cock is in it. In your ass. Fingering you open and then fucking your ass. Jesus – fucking – God, Hollander, your hole pulling me in and squeezing around me, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you riding me. So desperate. Slutty just for me. Moaning loud, looking at me, watching me need you. Needing me. I know how good it is. I did not make this up. It was so good. I don’t know if I will ever have it again. I need it again. Fuck, need to fuck your ass until you forget everything.”
The pillow in Shane’s mouth isn’t enough no matter how hard Shane clamps his jaw down on it. He can’t hold himself back. He tries, really tries, to slow his hand.
Maybe this is a dream.
“Oh, oh, fuck, I hear you, Hollander. Fuck. You are stopping it but you are moaning for me. Begging me to fuck you. Needing me. Just me. My cock. You know I am touching it right now for you. Thinking about your freckles covered in my come. And your glasses. I want to make your glasses sticky. Tell you to leave them on so you can keep your eyes open and watch me get off to your beautiful face. Your face. God, Hollander, it’s everywhere. You’re everywhere. Is haunting me. You haunt me everywhere. Don’t you have enough fucking ad money? Do you really need to do all these commercials? What, you don’t have enough fancy watches and orange soda? You have everything you need, everything you could ever want. Still you chase me.”
Ilya sounds almost angry now as he chokes out the words.
“Hollander. Fuck, so fucking. Close. Tell me you want it.”
Silence.
“Do you miss me?” Ilya's voice is more of a raspy whisper now. “You have to. You are still on the phone. I know you are touching yourself. I know you. I can hear it. Fuck, go faster.”
Shane speeds up his movements. The bed frame rocks just a little.
“Yes, mm, there you go. I know you want me. I can fuck you better than anyone else. You will never get it as good with Rose Landry. Maybe you want pussy too, okay, I can get you pussy. We fuck together, whoever you want. Pick. I can get anyone for you. But I know you can’t feel right without my dick in your ass and I need you to come back so I can give to you. Come back, Hollander. I need to see you. When can I see you?”
Shane is so close. His heartbeat is loud enough to wake the neighbors.
“I can feel you, Hollander, is like you are on my dick. Have to come in you, Shane, come with me, right now – ahh –”
“Shane?” Rose’s soft mumble snaps Shane back to himself with a full-body panic.
It’s too late to stop; Shane pulls his hand away, but he feels his orgasm start to rise in his low stomach.
“Sorry,” he gasps, rolling onto his side away from her and pressing his cock into the mattress. “Um…just a dream–”
He frantically jerks his hips against the bed a few times on the pretense of tossing and turning. Instead of the usual burst of pleasure, though, he feels the come dribble out of him in weak spasms, leaving him with just a wet spot and a spreading ache.
“ ‘S okay,” Rose says. She sounds mostly asleep still. Thank God.
With a new wave of adrenaline Shane remembers his phone. He feels around his side of the bed for it, then reaches his hand down to the floor and connects with its smooth case. Flips it over.
Call ended
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. Did he tap the screen by mistake? Or did Ilya hang up on him? He’s drowning in panic and loss and it’s threatening to spill over his lashes.
But no, this is better. Much better that it be over. He doesn’t even know what he was thinking, answering in the first place.
“Um,” he whispers, “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”
Slow, even breaths answer from Rose’s side of the bed. Shane gets out of bed as gently as he can to avoid disturbing her. He clutches his phone in the darkness.
He sits on the toilet seat with the lid closed and pulls up his text thread with Lily.
Nothing new. Of course, that’s for the best. No need for them to say anything more. Shane’s pretty sure Ilya won’t even remember any of this in the morning.
Good. He’ll forget about it too.
Text message from Lily, 8:43 a.m.: sorry. I made a mistake
Text message from Lily, 8:43 a.m.: forgot to say I would clean your glasses after I cum on them. do not want you to think I am rude
…
Text message from Lily, 8:58 a.m.: won’t happen again