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Summary
“I want a turn,” he says, handing Ilya his drink as he steps over the rubber lip of the small arena. “Someone time me.”
Ilya holds his mostly finished beverage as he watches his husband eye up the bull much like Ilya had done, and effortlessly hauls himself upwards to seat himself in the saddle with a swift kick of his leg.
He gets himself situated, a little wobbly at first from the alcohol that has Ilya believeing that he might not last even as long as he did, when Shane then glances at Luca, grin, fucking winks and then says in an octave lower than his usual register of speaking:
“This is how they do it in Canada.”
Poor Haas is just as confused as before, if not a little intimidated, his brow furrowing tightly. “But there’s no bulls there either?”
Shane hits the start button and immediately relaxes his hips to roll with the first wave.
“I wasn’t talking about bulls, kid.”
or: shane proves to his team how good of a rider he really is with a mechanical bull in a bar