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    Summary

    He looks up at Rozanov, whose brows have since migrated up over his forehead, almost tangling in his mess of curls as he eagerly awaits either a response or a reaction.

    Shane gives both at once.

    “We can’t fuck in there.”

    Ilya’s smile doesn’t falter. Shane really wishes he was kissing him instead of standing here, shrinking into his jacket, shivering under the cool nighttime air, the hot tub water glimmering under a heavy moonlight.

    “Why not?” Rozanov challenges. “Is fine, no? I can make you break a sweat, Hollander. Even without the bubbles.”

    Shane deadpans him and that just makes Rozanov laugh airily, clearly bemused by his response to all this.

    or: ilya’s house has a hot tub and a mirror in the yard, so he and shane make very good use of it

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