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    Summary

    Shane’s fingers tightened in his lovely curls and then Ilya bobbed his head, his tongue swirling around the head of Shane’s cock before he went down and he felt himself hitting the back of Ilya’s throat, and it was as if he was shocked, the pleasure coursing through him.
    “Oh fuck, oh Roz–,” he said, before another moan cut him off, as he threw his head back.
    It happened so quickly that Shane found himself lost. First, he was enveloped in the warmth of Ilya’s mouth, and then everything seemed to go cold as Ilya moved away, putting so much distance between them he might as well had been in a different room altogether.
    Ilya’s lips were wet and pink and his eyebrows were pinched, something like hurt flashing in his eyes. “What the hell did you just call me?”
    Shane, who a second ago had been drowning in the pleasure of Ilya’s mouth, had no idea what the hell was going on. He sat up, frowning. “What?”
    “Did you just call me Rose?” Ilya asked, and it was impossible to miss, the pain in his voice and his face as he said this. “Were you thinking about her?”

    *

    A moment of vulnerability in room 1217 leads to Shane showing Ilya exactly how much he truly wants him. Or: how the bed gets wrecked.

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