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Summary
He nuzzles closer, desperate for… something. For more. Ilya lolls his tongue out to lick at the side of his neck rhythmically. Over and over. Waiting for the reproof. Instead, Shane allows it, only letting out an amused huff as Ilya laps at him dumbly. So he works his way up, sticking his tongue in his ear, just to see what he’ll do. Shane jerks, the spatula flinging a few egg particles on to the counter.
“Stop it, you aren’t a dog,” Shane mumbles, voice still rough from sleep.
Ilya giggles, belly tightening. Pleased for some reason. Happy to get a reaction.
