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Summary
Ilya had thought it was dumb, when Galina suggested it. A code word for when his mental health was bad—he and Shane didn’t even have a code word for sex, and Ilya was regularly tying Shane to the bed and slapping his ass until it was as red as a tomato.
“Is there a reason you’re calling me?” Shane asks now, voice echoey over the phone. “Or is this part of your strategy to win our argument?”
Ilya swallows hard. “Constantinople,” he says.
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Or: Ilya goes through a rough patch.
Series
- Part 27 of my anonymous heated rivalry fic
