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Summary
“No? Мой любимый,” Ilya coos, and Shane flushes up to his ears, the nickname, coloured by the cadence of Ilya’s voice, how it sounds in Russian, hitting him so unexpectedly he gasps without meaning to. “You have always been a bad liar.”
Ilya keeps his hand on Shane’s waist, walking him into the restroom, close enough that Shane starts to feel the heat of his body through his clothes. He uses his other hand to carelessly pull the door closed behind them, locking it without even so much as a backward glance.
“Fooled you,” Shane shoots back and immediately clamps his mouth shut, biting at his tongue.
He feels a sick little thrill, a sort of vindication maybe, when Ilya’s breath catches.
Series
- Part 2 of with love like gallows strung