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Summary
“You are like a puppy,” he said, taking Shane’s face in both hands. “Shchenok. Even sounds like your name, a little.”
“Uh-uh.” He turned his head, nuzzling Ilya’s palm and then sucking his pinky finger into his mouth, eyes falling shut in contentment.
“You know what happens to mouthy puppies?” he asked, soft and dark, watching as one of Shane’s eyes slid open and refocused on him. “They get muzzled. Cannot get anything in their mouths. Then they learn.”
Or: Shane likes to bite. Ilya decides to muzzle him about it.
