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Shane and Ilya stood side by side, wearing comfortable Centaurs branded clothes—a jersey for Shane, an oversized t-shirt for Ilya—and a little concealer to hide their matching eyebags after what was a pretty stressful opening weekend for the NHL. It was their first time playing together as teammates. Real teammates, not all-star teammates. It was glorious, but not without a few bumps in the road; even though the league and the world at large had already had a good three months to get used to the fact that they were married, the new season stirred the media pot all over again.
And the reason for the concealer: Shane and Ilya were standing in front of two cameras, a producer, and about three production assistants, preparing to read thirst tweets.
(That had been an interesting call from Farah. Ilya was immediately on board. Farah had to explain to Shane what a thirst tweet was.)
“You are ready?” Ilya asked, squeezing Shane’s ass for the last time before the cameras started rolling.
Shane bit back a grunt at the contact, still not quite used to physical intimacy outside of the bedroom (or kitchen, or home gym, or any other place with four walls and a door that had already seen him and Ilya naked).
“Sure, why not,” Shane said. He winced, realizing a second too late that his grin was a little too forced for Ilya not to notice.
“If you do not want to, we will cancel,” Ilya said.
“They’re going to start rolling any second, we literally cannot cancel.”
“You are sure?” The full force of Ilya’s concern almost knocked Shane flat on his back. “Because you say word, I tell them we stop.”
“No, no, I’m good. Camera shy, is all. I’m ready.”
The next smile Shane gave Ilya was definitely more genuine than the last. The reassurance that Ilya had his back was the push he needed to be ready for, realistically, probably the most insane interview he would ever do. Thank goodness they were scheduled to play with puppies after this.
“Okay, thank you guys so much for taking the time to come to the studio today!” An enthusiastic producer said. “Here are the phones you’ll be reading from, you’ll just tap the screen to reveal the next tweets. We’re going to keep the cameras rolling, but feel free to ask for a break for any reason. I know this can be a vulnerable experience, and we want you to feel as comfortable as possible! And of course let any of us know if you have any questions!”
“Thank you, mm-?” Ilya said, as he took the phones from her hands and passed one to Shane.
“Oh, right, I’m Monet, and over there are Jill, Logan, and Arya. Oh! And Arya speaks Russian, so if you need help understanding any of the tweets she can translate.”
“Thank you, Monet. We are ready when you are.”
Shane tried to aim a smile at Monet’s face, but it kind of got lost somewhere over her right shoulder. He was thankful Ilya was taking charge of the personal interaction part of the process. Truthfully, he would take all the time he could get to psych himself up for whatever horrors surely awaited him on the phone in his hand. Shane and Ilya took their seats, and Ilya’s warm hand squeezed Shane’s knee, reminding him to take a breath. They shared a soft smile, and the producer began counting down.
“Okay, rolling in three, two...” She pointed to the couple as the little red light began to blink, signaling the camera was on.
Okay. Shane could do this.
“Hello Buzzfeed! I’m Ilya Rozanov, captain of Ottawa Centaurs-”
“-and I’m Shane Hollander, number 24 for the Centaurs-”
“-and today we read thirst tweets.” Ilya said it so matter-of-factly, to hear it spelled out like that hit Shane with a fresh wave of nausea.
But they were committed. The cameras were literally rolling.
“Let’s see what the people have been saying about us,” Shane said, surely sounding terrified.
Shane took a deep breath, and Ilya blazed ahead.
“Mm. I go first. Ah, ‘Shane Hollander’s hair has been getting so long lately, I wonder how it feels to grab a handful and tug.’ Hm, yes, I wonder.”
Shane had heard Ilya say much, much more explicit things than that before. Realistically, they were starting them off pretty tame, which Shane was definitely grateful for. He just wasn’t expecting to be thrust so violently into a memory of Ilya doing exactly what the tweet said, and the embarrassing moan it had pulled from his throat while he had Ilya’s cock in his mouth. Great, now he was thinking about having Ilya’s cock in his mouth, and Ilya was not-so-subtly suggesting that he didn’t have to wonder what it felt like to take a handful of Shane Hollander’s long hair in his fist and tug, and now he’s winking at the camera-
Shane cleared his throat and tapped the screen of his phone.
“‘Ilya Rozanov could say any single word in my ear and I would cum. Man has the hottest voice hands down.’ Oh. That escalated quickly,” Shane chuckled.
He prayed no one behind the camera could tell how forced the chuckle was, but knew immediately that Ilya was not buying the ruse. If the smirk on Ilya’s face was any indication, Shane’s own face had immediately turned about six shades redder. There was mischief in Ilya’s eyes and Shane couldn’t hope to guess why until Ilya was leaning closer, the hand not holding a phone sliding into his hair as he positioned his lips right on the shell of Shane’s ear.
“Hollander,” Ilya whispered, quiet enough that their mics probably—hopefully—wouldn’t pick it up, but low enough that it was more like a growl.
A suspiciously similar tone to the one Ilya often used when he was himself very close to coming, let alone simply speaking one word in his sexy accent like the person in the tweet clearly fantasized about. Usually, Shane realized, a pang of jealousy would strike his chest when he thought of the way other people might think of Ilya, but here on this sound stage, when Ilya was giving him what others fantasized about... even on display as they were, recording content to be posted on the internet for thousands to see, it was only Shane’s name that Ilya would growl, only into his ear...
Shane cleared his throat again.
“Wow, uh, what’s next?”
Ilya hummed, clearly satisfied with the reaction he garnered from Shane. Could he tell how horny he was already, only two tweets in? How, in some convoluted way, Ilya’s antics were making him more comfortable in the situation that, alone, he could never have dreamed of handling?
“Ah, is good one. ‘Thinking about Shane Hollander’s boobs again.’ We are sure this is not from my account, yes? Because I have definitely been thinking about Shane Hollander’s chest. Quite often. Very sad, sweater is too big, poor audience cannot see his boobs today.”
Shane was surprised to feel a genuine laugh bubble up and escape his lips. He shoved Ilya playfully on the shoulder, and finally looked at Ilya for the first time since the cameras started rolling. The absolute joy on his face was blinding, undercut by something nearly sadistic lurking in the corners of his eyes. Ilya was very much enjoying making him squirm.
The obvious next step was to accept the challenge.
“‘I have a recurring dream where I get checked into the boards by Ilya Rozanov and he smirks and winks at me and I wake up so hard, it’s not even funny.’” Shane bit his lip. “You know what’s actually funny, I don’t have to dream about this. It just happens in real life.”
“Hard part, too?”
Yes.
“I’ll never tell.”
“Shane Hollander, you are blushing.”
“Ph-wha-no, I’m not blushing.”
Ilya pointed behind the camera toward Logan, who was watching a monitor displaying a feed of what the camera was seeing.
“You are getting on camera, yes? You see his blush?”
Logan, who was just trying to do his job, nodded and gave a thumbs-up.
“Don’t involve him in this. No one can prove I’m blushing.”
“Ah yes, I forget, you want me all to yourself. I will not include Logan next time.”
That earned a glare from Shane.
“Okay, moving on.” Shane didn’t want to read more than one tweet in a row, but he really didn’t want to talk about sharing Ilya any longer. “‘Rozanov, please win this game quickly and then come here. I’m saving you a spot deep inside me.’ And then there’s a heart emoji.”
“I think you have sent exact same thing to me, while you were on couch and I was busy winning Stanley Cup.”
Shane choked on his own spit, devolving into a coughing fit that had him folded in half and gasping for breath. Ilya gently patted his back while one of the assistants opened a bottle of water.
It was at that moment Shane realized how hard he was. The new friction from bending over and the way Ilya’s pats jostled him in his chair made a whimper escape his throat. At least he was already coughing up a lung, so the sound was easy enough to cover, and his face was certainly growing redder from lack of oxygen as opposed to earlier when it was pure embarrassment.
But Ilya’s steady rhythm of patting his pack stuttered for a fraction of a beat. He definitely heard it.
Soon enough, Shane composed himself long enough to take a couple sips of water and continue reading the tweets.
“My turn!” Ilya said excitedly. “‘Sometimes babygirl is a 30 year old man named Shane Hollander.’ Oh, this is sweet. Shane, you are babygirl?”
“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Shane said honestly.
“Mm, we get back to you then, Hollander fan. I think anyone can be babygirl. We test it out.”
Test it out? Fuck, yeah, Shane got a little harder wondering what Ilya meant by ‘test it out.’
“Okay, um, ‘Ilya Rozanov was literally just tying his skates and it turned me on. I could never date him because I would die of orgasm without him even touching me, just looking is enough to make me wet.’ Wow. That is very uh, specific.”
Very specific indeed; specific enough for Shane to recall in intimate detail the last time Ilya made him come just from watching Ilya get himself off. Ilya’d had one hand holding his cock, and the other holding the remote to the vibrating butt plug that he had spent what felt like hours nestling just right against Shane’s prostate. ‘Die of orgasm’ was right.
“Actually, kind fan could never date me because...” Ilya held up his hand to show his ring to the camera, “I am already spoken for.”
Ilya said the words so lightheartedly, but the concept of being married to Ilya still gave Shane butterflies, no matter the context that brought up the fact. If the mushy grin on his face when Shane turned to look at him was any indication, Ilya felt the same way. Shane’s hand acted on its own accord, then, as it reached out to squeeze Ilya’s thigh. Lightning fast, Ilya placed a kiss on Shane’s cheek, there and then gone before Shane could even register the movement. But he could feel the familiar tingle Ilya’s kisses left on his skin.
Shane couldn’t help the soft smile that took over his face as he reached up to rub the spot Ilya had kissed, but quickly pulled his hand away when he remembered the nice girl who helped him apply his concealer earlier.
“Okay, next tweet,” Shane said, tapping the screen. He read the tweet in his head, then re-read it a couple of times, unsure what it meant.
“You forget how to read? Is your language, you have no excuse,” Ilya teased, trying to fill the dead air while Shane stared at the phone screen, eyebrows pinched.
“No, yeah, I just... don’t really know what this one means. ‘Ilya Rozanov’—and then four commas—‘I’m just a hole.’ How is that...”
Shane was interrupted by a loud laugh, not only from Ilya, but also from one of the production assistants behind the camera.
“I’m serious!” Shane was getting flustered, unrelated to the hardness in his pants. “What context is there for a hole to be-”
“Where does dick go,” Ilya said through gasps of laughter.
“Well, plenty of places, but-”
“Yes, exactly: butt, mouth, pu-”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
“They are holes. This person says they only exist to be hole. For me.”
Oh. Oh, wow.
“Oh. Oh, wow,” Shane said.
Yeah, there was the hardness in his pants again. Shane tried to cross his legs as subtly as possible to avoid drawing too much attention to it. Good thing his jersey was long enough to drape somewhat over his lap.
Ilya took pity on Shane and changed the subject. Unfortunately, the new subject was also a thirst tweet about doing unspeakable things to Shane, read aloud by his stupid sexy husband with his stupid sexy accent.
“This is good one,” Ilya said.
“Just get on with it, how bad can it be? Certainly not worse than wanting to be your hole.”
“Is not what I said, is good one. They all are good ones. ‘Shane Hollander’s lips look so kissable, I want to kiss him and maybe touch his butthole a little.’”
Shane and Ilya both burst out laughing. Ignoring what the words were actually saying (Shane was very much interested in Ilya kissing him and touching his butthole), the phrasing hit them right in the giggles.
“Just a little?” Shane asked after he got himself under control.
“Kind fan speaks for themselves.” Ilya snickered. “I touch more than just a little.”
“You cannot say that. Monet, you can’t include that,” Shane said, but the lingering laughter cut through the fear in his gut. “Okay, maybe you can include that.”
“We want viewers to know the truth,” Ilya agreed. “And truth is, Sh-”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Shane said, shooting Ilya the most menacing glare he could muster, which wasn’t very menacing at all.
In fact, the split second of eye contact was enough to start the giggle fit all over again. Shane finally was able to take another drink of water, calming down enough to ask the producers if they were almost done. Not that he didn’t love reading horny tweets with his husband in front of cameras as foreplay, but Shane was starting to get desperate to do something about the way his erection was rubbing against the zipper of his jeans.
“Yeah!” Monet said, “There are a couple left, but if you want to stop now what you’ve already done is perfect, no worries!”
“Actually I’m a little curious what the other kind people have to say,” Shane said, as he tapped his screen. “‘Do Shane and Ilya need another dog, because I can bark. Woof woof, bitch.’ Well, um, that sure is...”
“Intriguing,” Ilya supplied.
“Not quite the word I was looking for, but sure.”
“Anya does get lonely when we have long road trip.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “What happened to not involving other people in our relationship?”
“Yes, sorry. We are not looking for human dog. Maybe real puppy, though?”
“It’s hard enough to find quiet time with one dog in the house, we don’t need another.”
“Quiet time?” Ilya moved his eyebrows suggestively.
Shane elected to ignore what Ilya was insinuating. He tried to subtly move his hips in the chair to relieve some of the pressure on his cock, but—nope, that just made it worse.
“Just read the next one already.” If his voice came out breathier than it had so far during filming, Shane chose to blame it on the sound engineer.
“Oh, lovely, this one is written like letter. ‘Dear Shane Hollander,’” Ilya paused for dramatic effect. “‘I want to eat your thicc-’ two c’s ‘-ass. Sincerely, me.’”
“Wow, sincerely.”
“Yes, I am also sincere about eating Shane Hollander’s ass. Kind fan knows what they are talking about.”
“Okay, you have to cut that one out,” Shane said, looking out to Monet. She gave a thumbs up.
“Can you do another reaction?” Monet asked. “Or we can just do the outro, that was the last tweet.”
“Ah, we can do outro,” Ilya said. “Shane is too red for new reaction. Would ruin- how say-”
“Continuity?” Shane supplied.
“Yes, continuity.”
“Fuck you.”
“Is plan,” Ilya whispered and winked before turning back to the camera. “Well, thank you Buzzfeed! And thank you kind fans for tweets for us.”
“Something tells me we weren’t supposed to see some of these,” Shane said with a laugh as he scrolled back through the tweets. “But yeah, it means a lot that you are thinking of us.”
“No press is bad press.”
“Well, no, I don’t want them to be mean to us.”
“Ah, is right, you prefer praise.”
“Damn it, okay- uh, thanks, Buzzfeed, and don’t forget to tune in to the NHL network to see us play for the Ottawa Centaurs!”
“Bye!”
They both smiled and waved at the camera until Monet called cut, then promptly slumped back in their chairs.
“Thank you guys so much, seriously, this was exactly the content we were hoping for from you. We’re very excited to feature you both on the channel and, genuinely, you made our jobs very easy.”
“No problem, thank you for having us,” Shane said, still in a bit of a daze after the mental exertion he’d just been through. It felt like he’d just played game five of the playoffs at home.
“As for the puppy interview,” Monet continued. Shane perked up. “The set is ready but we’re just waiting for the puppies to arrive. Maybe, another thirty minutes? Feel free to go back to your dressing room, have a snack, whatever.”
“Thank you very much, Monet,” Ilya said. “Will be in dressing room, I think.”
“Wonderful, I’ll have someone grab you when we’re ready.”
Ilya smiled and stood up from his chair, reminding Shane to do the same. Shane winced as he extended his legs, and carefully arranged the hem of his jersey to block the tent in his jeans from view as he stood up. Through a feat of pure Canadian determination, he somehow managed a polite nod to the production staff on his way out.
Shane let Ilya steer them both through the backstage hallways, grateful again for his husband taking the lead. His head was full of fog from the mental exertion of performing for the camera, certainly not helped at all by the acute lack of blood in his brain thanks to the erection that was somehow growing harder with each step. Ilya’s hand in the back pocket of Shane’s jeans also wasn’t helping to clear the fog, but he was grateful for the reassuring presence of his warm palm against his ass in this trying time.
Finally, they made it to their dressing room. Ilya practically shoved Shane over the threshold, a testament to how worked up he’d gotten on the relatively short walk through the backstage area. Ilya wasted no time in shutting and locking the door, somehow managing enough self control not to let the door slam in his haste. He made up for it by practically ripping his t-shirt over his head and throwing it into the corner of the room.
“Hey, it’ll be all wrinkled for the next shoot,” Shane protested, gingerly picking up the shirt and laying it across the back of a chair.
“You cannot be serious,” Ilya said fondly, pressing his crotch against Shane’s ass and reaching around to palm his cock through his jeans.
“I seriously want us to be presentable for the next interview,” he gasped.
Ilya grunted a few syllables that sounded suspiciously like “whatever,” or maybe “I love you,” as he began kissing down the side of Shane’s neck. Shane sighed in relief and tipped his head back to rest on Ilya’s shoulder as he let his husband get to work.
“Which tweet we try first?” Ilya mumbled against his skin.
“Huh?”
“Should I pull your hair?” Kisses. “Call you babygirl?” Kisses, and a moan from Shane. “Touch your butthole?” Kisses, and a laugh from both of them.
“Anything, please, need you,” Shane gasped as Ilya licked down the length of Shane’s neck.
“You have me, babygirl.”
Shane turned to face Ilya, suddenly struck by the need to have his hands on his husband. Their lips met, completely foregoing the chaste-closed-mouth stage, skipping instead to tongues and teeth and breathing into each others’ mouths.
They only had thirty minutes, after all.
Shane ran his hands over Ilya’s chest, swiping at his nipples on the way to his neck and up into his hair. Ilya’s knee found its way between Shane’s legs. Shane moaned into his mouth at the contact that was somehow everything he needed but nowhere near enough.
“Take this off.” Ilya said, curling his fingers into the hem of Shane’s jersey. “Much as I love seeing you in my colors.”
Shane lifted his arms to let Ilya take it off for him, but snatched it from his grasp before Ilya could ball it up and throw it in the corner. He draped the jersey over Ilya’s shirt on the back of the chair.
“My husband is neurotic,” Ilya said, eyes crinkling at the corners with his soft smile.
“Where’d you learn that word?”
Ilya shrugged before resuming their kisses, gripping Shane’s now bare waist and pushing him up and onto the vanity counter that lined the dressing room wall. Shane whimpered. He made a very valiant effort but quickly failed to undo the closure on Ilya’s pants. Thankfully, Ilya took over, expertly freeing both of their cocks and taking them both into one hand. Shane’s precome was enough to ease the slide, and they both moaned together as Ilya began jerking them in tandem.
“Wait, no,” Shane gasped, and Ilya immediately let go of both of them.
“What is wrong,” Ilya said, instantly checking Shane’s face for discomfort, looking for what he could fix.
“Nothing. Didn’t wanna come like that. Surprise for you,” Shane gasped, dizzy with whiplash from the sudden lack of contact paired with Ilya’s unabashed love and concern in the moment.
“...A surprise.”
Shane grunted as he hopped down from the countertop and pulled down his jeans and underwear in one motion, letting them pool at his ankles. He turned around and leaned over the counter, supporting his upper body with his elbows. Shane bit his lip and looked at Ilya through the mirror over the vanity.
Ilya’s eyes widened, and Shane knew he saw the surprise: the jeweled end of a plug nestled between Shane’s asscheeks.
“The whole time?”
Shane made a pathetic sound in reply.
“Y’member when I went to, uh, the bathroom before the shoot?” Shane asked, barely holding himself together.
Ilya’s eyes turned hungry as he held Shane’s gaze through the mirror. He stepped forward to grip Shane’s hip with one hand, and circled the plug with his opposite thumb. Ilya draped his chest over Shane’s back, placing his head right next to Shane’s. Their ragged breaths started to fog the mirror.
“Ya lyublyu tebya,” Ilya breathed at the exact moment he pressed on the plug with all of the strength in his wrist and thumb.
Shane cried out as he saw white with the shock of pressure against his prostate.
“Shh, you want everyone to know what we are doing in here?” Ilya teased.
Shane shook his head and clamped his mouth shut. His eyes began to water as Ilya continued to poke at the toy, each tiny movement sending thigh-shaking waves of pleasure through Shane’s body. Ilya’s unoccupied hand appeared to wipe the tears before they could fall and ruin Shane’s makeup, which only made them well up faster as Shane was stricken by how considerate his husband was.
“Can you come from this?” Ilya asked, knowing full well the answer was a resounding yes.
Shane nodded and babbled his answer anyway, knowing Ilya wanted the confirmation if only to feed his bravado.
“We don’t want to make mess of lovely dressing room, though, yes?”
Shane’s eyes widened at the thought of poor Logan having to walk in and see... that. He shook his head as a new blush rose to his cheeks.
Ilya hummed, and pulled back to stand behind Shane. He gently guided Shane’s hips backwards, encouraging him to take a couple of shuffling steps away from the edge of the counter, but leaving his hands planted on the surface. Ilya dropped to his knees, somehow folding his long legs and broad shoulders so he could fit under Shane as he bent over the vanity. Ilya reached a hand up to grab Shane’s ass, making sure the tips of his long fingers brushed the base of the plug.
“You will watch yourself.” Ilya said.
Shane whimpered and nodded, forcing himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror.
“Words, Shane.”
“O-okay, yes, okay,” Shane replied.
“Good,” Ilya said, squeezing his ass before taking Shane’s cock into his mouth.
The wet heat of Ilya’s mouth was ecstasy. Shane caught a moan with the back of his teeth, remembering at the last second that Ilya had said to be quiet. He grunted through the sensations instead, watching his eyes go glassy as Ilya slowly took Shane’s cock into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks to suck, running his tongue along the underside and using his teeth to gently tease around the sensitive head. Ilya used the hand on Shane’s ass to press his hips forward until his nose rested in the dark hair at the base of Shane’s cock. He held him there for a few seconds while Ilya’s throat worked and Shane warbled out nonsense, careful not to close his eyes for too long lest Ilya somehow figure out he wasn’t following directions properly.
Ilya pulled back and started bobbing his head, guiding Shane’s hips to meet his thrusts halfway. Ilya’s hand kneaded into the muscle of Shane’s ass, jostling the plug in his hole and sending extra shocks of pleasure all the way down into Shane’s toes. It was a wonder his knees hadn’t given out under him yet, especially with the soft sounds Ilya had begun making around his cock. He hummed, and Shane swore he could feel the vibration throughout his whole body.
“‘m close,” he mumbled, eyes transfixed by the way his lips trembled around the phrase.
Ilya lightly pinched his thigh in confirmation, redoubling his efforts to make Shane come undone as quickly as possible. He opened his throat and took Shane to the hilt, forcing himself to gag lightly around the head. At the same time, he pressed on the plug, shoving it into Shane’s prostate.
Shane’s vision blurred and he moaned as he came down Ilya’s throat. Ilya swallowed, gently working Shane through his orgasm, and gave his ass a final squeeze before easing his spent cock out of his mouth. Shane hunched over the counter, a satisfied smile on his face as Ilya stood and draped himself over Shane’s back once again.
“Were you as beautiful as I imagine when you came?” Ilya asked, making eye contact through the mirror.
“Mm, maybe,” Shane sighed.
Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane’s cheek and smiled fondly.
“Get on your knees,” Ilya whispered, and Shane immediately moved to obey.
Ilya turned so he could sit gingerly on the edge of the countertop and watched as Shane gracefully settled on his knees in front of him. Shane looked up at him through his eyelashes, and licked his lips before pressing a delicate kiss to the head of Ilya’s cock, where it sat neglected and hanging heavy over the waistband of his underwear.
“My babygirl, so good,” Ilya groaned, already moving to tangle his hands in Shane’s hair.
Shane opened his mouth and let his tongue fall forward, presenting his mouth for Ilya to use as he saw fit. He tapped the head against Shane’s tongue before slowly feeding it into his waiting mouth. Shane’s eyes slipped shut and he groaned around the welcome intrusion-
There was a knock at the door.
Shane’s eyes flew open, but Ilya’s grip on his hair held him in place.
“Shane? Ilya? You in there?” Monet’s voice was muffled as she called their names.
“Yes,” Ilya said, his voice tight but retaining an impressive amount of control.
“The puppies arrived early! We’re all set to start filming, we’re hoping to start in the next couple minutes. Are you two ready?”
The husbands shared a look.
“Yes, will be right out,” Ilya called, easing his grip on Shane’s hair so he could pull off and stand up.
Shane shot him a look, trying to ask are you sure? telepathically. Ilya nodded in recognition, and passed Shane his jersey. He threw his t-shirt over his head, and tucked his hard cock back into his pants.
“Wonderful! We’re on the same stage as the last shoot, see you soon!”
Ilya made a noise of assent, and Shane held his tongue until he felt like Monet was far enough away from the door.
“I’m sure I could make you come in less than two minutes,” Shane protested as he leaned down to pull up his pants and underwear.
“Okay, Mr. Blowjob professional,” Ilya said, rolling his eyes. “But you would not be able to speak after I was done with that throat of yours.”
Shane didn’t have to look in the mirror to guess how dark his blush was.
“How considerate.”
“You will not be saying same when we are back here after puppy interview.”
“Oh, Ilya Rozanov,” Shane said, with a dramatic lilt to his voice.
“Hollander-Rozanov,” Ilya corrected.
“Oh, Ilya Hollander-Rozanov,” Shane confirmed, still as dramatic. “I’m just a hole.”
Ilya laughed and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the I’m-not-done-with-you-yet glint in his expression.
“You know puppy interview is where people sit on the ground, yes?”
“Yeah, and play with puppies,” Shane said, leaning down to fix his hair in the mirror. “What’s your point?”
“Is more physical than sitting and reading tweets.”
“Okay, and? I’m not following.”
“Try not to let it show on your face what is hiding in your ass,” Ilya said, patting Shane’s chest as he opened the dressing room door.
“Oh, Jesus,” Shane cursed under his breath.
This was going to be a long interview.