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    Summary

    “Sveta thought you might like seeing me look pretty,” Ilya said, deliberately batting his eyelashes at Shane. He tilted his head as Shane approached, jutting out his bottom lip ever so slightly, the gloss catching the light and giving it a plumper appearance. He watched, feeling victorious, as Shane’s gaze flickered down to follow the motion. “She dressed me up for you. What do you think?”

    Shane leaned down over Ilya, standing between where his legs spread as he sat on the edge of the bed. His hand rose, gently cupping his jaw—his touch was hesitant in a reverent way, like if his fingertips brushed too hard, he might ruin the beautifully painted canvas that was Ilya’s face. 

    “I didn’t know you could look so pretty,” Shane whispered, thumb lightly stroking over his cheek. 

    Svetlana does Ilya's makeup, and Shane likes it a lot.

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