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Shane chuckled a little before easily refocusing his attention at Ilya’s call—and wasn’t that a rush, getting to call Rozanov Ilya, having him here, at his cottage, where he thought he’d only be comfortable alone until the possibility of bringing Ilya bloomed into the most perfect—
“Shane.”
Shane blinked rapidly, flicking his eyes down to the sparkly rock between Ilya’s long, capable fingers.
“It’s nice.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“You didn’t hear a thing of what I said.”
Shane didn’t see any point in denying it.
“Sorry,” he offered instead.
Ilya smirked and cocked a hip to the side.
Shane, sitting on an outdoor chair he’d dragged as close as possible to the dock to better enjoy the view of Ilya cavorting in the water, was eye-level with said hip, and found his gaze inexorably drawn to the folds of Ilya’s tiny swimsuit and the way they adhered to every inch of his wet skin.
“You were staring,” Ilya crowed.
“I like you,” Shane admitted easily, still giddy over being allowed to say it, to feel it. “I like looking at you.”
The corners of Ilya’s lips curved up in a helplessly more genuine smile, although he tried to maintain some of his snark.
“Take a picture if you like it so much.”
Shane didn’t wait to be asked twice. He raised his phone and dragged his thumb across the screen blindly, eyes focused on the droplets of water shining all over Ilya’s face and shoulders and pecs.
There was something pathetic about being unable to look at Ilya’s arms without picturing being picked up and thrown on a mattress, Shane thought as the tiny vibration of his phone camera’s shutter travelled up his thumb. When he glanced at his screen to check the picture, he caught a message notification appearing and clicked on it unthinkingly.
Several new texts awaited him.
Shane chuckled at Rose’s messages before recoiling with a startled sound when Ilya butted in between his nose and his phone, shaking drops of cold water all over him.
“Who’s making you laugh?” Ilya asked, trying to read Shane’s text conversation upside down.
“It’s just Rose,” Shane said. He continued before Ilya's frown could fully form. “I told her about you. I mean, not you, of course. I wouldn’t do that to you. I told her about us. Or, the fact that you’re here. With me. Without telling her who you are.”
They looked each other in the eye—an activity it had been far too easy to get lost in since they got to the cottage.
“You can tell her,” Ilya said, breaking the soppy silence.
“What?”
“If you trust her with your secret, I can trust her with the same secret. You should send her the picture you just took.”
“Really?”
“No, I lie to you,” Ilya deadpanned. “Yes, of course really. Send her.”
Shane stared at him some more, looking for reassurance that it was something Ilya truly wanted and not him speaking rashly because the full scope of Shane’s attention had been less than entirely devoted to him for five seconds.
When Ilya didn’t budge, Shane bit back a smile and selected the picture to share with Rose.