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Summary
Ilya could feel Shane’s heartbeat. Cradled there on Ilya’s lap, in his arms, offering Ilya all the peace and steadiness he’d almost felt slip through his fingers, his pulse was a grounding rhythm. Proof of life, of reality.
Shane was there, with him, still. He hadn’t left when Ilya told him about his family and about Russia. About his father. He’d climbed into his lap and held him, like it was easy.
So there it was: Shane wasn’t just anyone’s, anymore. No longer belonged to a world and a woman that Ilya couldn’t be.
Ilya kissed him and kissed him; how could he not? The taste of him was home.
Or: what happened between Shane sitting in Ilya’s lap and the ‘goodnight Shane/goodnight Ilya’ moment.