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Summary
“I hate fruit pie, Hollander,” Rozanov says from above him. He’d been waiting for Shane’s tantrum to end, and no doubt thought he was a hysterical piece of work. Who got worked up over their fuckbuddy coming on the ass that they had just plowed? No one but Shane Hollander, it seemed. “Is so flaky and easy to mess up. They love it here. Very American, da?”
“Da,” Shane repeats automatically, caught in the middle of wanting to peel his skin off or drowning in the ocean eyes currently watching him.
“But you’re so sweet and soft,” Rozanov leans over and kisses him, “and sexy for me. So I made us pie we will both enjoy. Even for ridiculous diet you keep.”
OR
C is for creampie.