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Summary
“I'm not drunk. Just… a little—”
“I smell alcohol,” Ilya says, nose wrinkling. “And Rose.”
Shane sways. “We were just talking.”
“I didn’t ask,” Ilya says.
Then, with no further ceremony, he unbuttons his pants and takes his cock out, lazily strocking himself, not because he’s impatient, but because he knows exactly how it looks and what it does to Shane.
“Kneel.”
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Shane goes to a bar with Rose. Ilya gets jealous.