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“Come on, Shane, you’re supposed to be dancing with me!” Rose exclaimed, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt as she attempted to twist him to her will.
Shane, distracted, barely twisted his shoulders in time to the beat. “He should’ve been back by now.”
“What?”
“Ilya! He should’ve been back by now!”
Rose rolled her eyes at him, halting her attempts at dancing. “Shane, he went to get drinks, he didn’t up and abandon you.”
“No, I know that,” Shane said defensively, letting his eyes fall down to catch her annoyed expression.
Rose had come to visit them for the weekend, not having seen Shane since their wedding, and between her enthusiasm and Ilya’s, he’d somehow managed to get talked into going out with them to a club. From the moment they’d arrived, two things had happened: Rose immediately roped one or both of them into dancing, and every time Shane turned around he found someone with eyes on Ilya.
He knew that Ilya didn’t want anyone but him, and yet every time he caught someone staring he couldn’t help the hot, twisted reaction that swirled in his stomach and made him want to drag Ilya home where he could lock him up forever.
For the last hour, he’d intercepted looks without Ilya noticing.
Dragging his own hands over Ilya’s body pointedly, situating himself to entice Ilya into kissing him on his neck, his jaw, his lips. Encouraging Ilya to squeeze his ass simply by cupping his hands over the denim sheathing it. It was absolutely ridiculous and still Shane went out his way to make it obvious that Ilya was his. Each triumph fuelled that feeling inside him like gasoline on fire.
He’d been so lost in the feeling that he couldn’t help the glare he shot Rose’s way when she asked Ilya to get them drinks.
“Then why are you so concerned where he is right now?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s been gone, like, five minutes.”
“It has to be closer to ten,” he replied without thinking and then winced guiltily. She was his best friend, who he only got to see a handful of times a year, and he was ruining her visit acting like a child.
But, Shane was finding it hard not to be paranoid about the absence of his husband.
The last time the three of them were in a club, Ilya separated, Shane and Ilya weren’t even talking. It’d been his own fault and even though he was trying to pretend like he didn’t need Ilya at the time, the sight of him with someone else–despite the fact that Shane had been there with Rose–felt like someone was trying to kill Shane. Like they were tearing his heart out, piece by piece, making him suffer through the sight of the man he loved with someone else.
They may be married now, but that memory still haunted Shane.
Somehow, it was worse now.
“God, you’re pathetic,” Rose said back, but with no real malice in her tone. She even smiled a little as she shook her head and hit him lightly. “Go find your husband, I need to use the bathroom anyway. Meet you guys back at our table.”
Shane gave her an apologetic smile but rushed off towards the bar, weaving through dancers until he spotted familiar golden curls tainted by club lighting by the bar, broad shoulders hunched forward as Ilya leaned over the counter. Catching sight of Ilya made the soft panic in the back of his head go silent for a moment as he let out a breath of relief.
Then that hot, twisted feeling started up again in his gut as Shane watched the female bartender flirt shamelessly with him.
Her smile curved seductively, her head tilted to show off the slope of her neck, her hand reached out to caress Ilya’s arm where it rested on the counter. She shifted where she stood and Shane caught sight of her low cut top just before she leaned over in front of Ilya, pretty much disappearing behind his large frame.
Heat flooded Shane as his jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides with the need to do something.
The woman was blatantly hitting on Ilya, and he was doing nothing to stop her.
Between what felt like one blink and the next, Shane found himself suddenly behind Ilya and grabbed his shoulder hard, spinning him to face him. Ilya stumbled back a step in surprise before his stupid crooked smile crossed his lips as he took Shane in and prepared to speak.
Shane, running on pure adrenaline, didn’t allow him the chance.
Looking directly at the bartender, who was watching their exchange a little warily, Shane grabbed Ilya’s face with both hands and pulled him in for a hard kiss.
Ilya’s body was only rigid with shock for a few seconds before his own hands came to circle around Shane’s back, gliding his fingers up his spine to rest and dig into his shoulders sharply.
Shane, refusing to let Ilya take control of the moment, slid one of his own hands into the curls at the base of Ilya’s neck, entangling with them and pulling hard. Ilya gasped into his mouth, his knees buckling slightly as the thumb of Shane’s other hand pressed into the hook of his jaw, sending a pulse of need down his entire body. Shane pressed himself in even closer, slotting one of his knees between Ilya’s and hooking upward to tap against the bulge he could feel forming through Ilya’s jeans and Ilya groaned roughly, dropping to half sit on the stool behind him.
Suddenly Ilya’s hands were dropping to Shane’s waist, pulling him flush against his body, half leaning him into his lap. Shane swore into his mouth, finally dragging his glare from the awed bartender to focus on his husband.
His husband, who had the blissed out, love drunk look he always did when he was entirely lost in Shane. The look he got when he was just minutes–sometimes even seconds–away from tearing Shane’s clothes off of him.
Just because he could, Shane sucked at Ilya’s tongue long enough to feel a groan pulled from Ilya’s chest and then he nipped at his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth until it popped free.
“Fuck,” Ilya breathed against him, lust glazed hazel eyes finding Shane’s dark brown. “Does this mean we are leaving?”
Shane laughed, running a thumb along Ilya’s bottom lip to clean some of the saliva he’d left behind. “No,” he answered breathily. “Just missed you.”
Ilya pouted, hands squeezing Shane’s waist. “You are a tease.”
Shane grinned widely, reinvigorated by the rush of publicly claiming Ilya. “And you are taking too long with our drinks.”
*****
Twenty minutes later, when Rose was begging yet again to head to the dance floor, it was just Ilya she’d managed to rope into doing it. He pretended like it was a big hardship on his part, but he loved the freedom the movement brought him and he’d long ago stopped hating Rose Landry for her short lived relationship with Shane.
The latter, of course, was made so much easier now that he and Shane were married.
Letting Ilya go off on the dance floor with Rose was easier for Shane than letting him go off alone. It didn’t bring back that painful night and he knew that he could trust her with him. So much so, that when they left him to have their fun, he’d decided to sit at the booth with his drink and spend some time on his phone, checking emails and answering texts.
He’d been so entirely sure that there was nothing to worry about, that when he received a link from Hayden a few minutes later, he was confused by what he was looking at.
Hayden: Okay so I can’t hang out with Rose because I’ll embarrass you but HE’S NOT?!
Shane clicked on the link which led to a twitter video from someone in the club who’d caught Rose and Ilya on video dancing.
Only, they weren’t just dancing–they were practically grinding.
It could’ve been the angle of the video, the bad lighting and surprisingly grainy quality or Shane’s own paranoid delusions taking over, but as he tapped to rewatch the video he was more than positive Rose’s ass was grinding on his husband.
His husband, who was very much looking down at it, hands on her hips and moving in sync with her.
That twisting in Shane’s stomach came back with a fierceness as he pocketed his phone, downed the remainder of both his and Ilya’s drinks and made his way towards the dance floor to see the scene for himself.
Half pushing his way through the crowd, Shane spotted Ilya first, head turned down just the way it had been in the video. But as he approached, the scene became clearer and the knot of betrayal that had started forming in his chest loosened.
Because the woman Ilya was dancing with wasn’t Rose. Sure, they looked alike with slightly similar looking dresses, the same hair color, the same slight form. But the woman dancing on Ilya was not Rose–and Ilya was not allowing any grinding of any kind.
Shane practically choked on the gasp of relief coming from his chest as he watched Ilya attempt to keep the woman safely at bay with his hands on her waist; his eyes not on her ass but on the space he was trying to maintain between them. As he looked closer at the woman, Shane realized she was drunk–though, not too drunk–and while Ilya could’ve easily separated them by strength, he was trying to do so without hurting her or causing a scene.
Unfortunately for the adrenaline still coursing through him, Shane did not care about making a scene.
He came forward and stopped in front of them, just catching the slightly panicked look on Ilya’s face before he focused all of his attention on the woman. “Excuse me, it’s my turn here,” he said loudly.
“No thanks,” the girl smirked over her shoulder at Ilya. “I have my dance partner.”
“No,” Shane insisted. “You have my dance partner. And I want him back.”
The woman stopped moving, finally allowing Ilya to drop his hold on her and take an extra step away as she looked at Shane, confused. “What?”
Rolling his eyes, Shane stepped around her and grabbed Ilya by the back of his neck, once again pulling him down to kiss him hungrily while eyes everywhere were on them.
This time, Ilya wasted no time in wrapping himself around Shane, one hand holding his face close to his, the other sliding down his side to rest at the small of his back. Shane, wanting his point to be clear, moved one of his own hands down the length of Ilya to grab at his ass, pulling a sound somewhere between a surprised and desperate whimper and a lusty groan from the large Russian.
Ilya’s tongue fought with Shane’s for dominance as they got lost deeper and deeper in their kiss, Shane only noting the girl had disappeared when Ilya finally released his mouth just to attack his neck, teeth nipping and mouth sucking roughly with the intent to mark.
The voice in the back of Shane’s head that was still worried about them being out in public was starting to scream against the walls of his skull, but rather than listen to it, he ignored it.
He pressed himself further into Ilya, kissed him harder, buried his hand into his curls rougher. He let the taste and feel of his husband reach every corner of his mind because he could–they could–and he didn’t stop no matter how much the voice begged him to. He pushed on and on, letting himself get intoxicated by the experience of being with Ilya until finally it was Ilya who, reluctantly, broke them apart.
“Now we are leaving?” Ilya asked against the shell of his ear, his accent thick with desire and breathiness.
Shane wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell Ilya to pick him up and carry him back to the car right now, but he couldn’t. Because they were there to spend time with Rose and he needed to find her and–
As if he could read the thoughts from his mind, Ilya groaned in annoyance and rolled his eyes, sliding his hand into Shane’s and holding it tightly. “We find Rose, take her back to hotel. Then home.”
“Then bed,” Shane tried to tease, only to be one-upped by a suddenly smirking Ilya.
“Is funny. You think you will make it that far.”
*****
Shane, in fact, did not make it that far.
He didn’t even make it far enough to find Rose.
They crossed the floor in the direction Ilya had last seen her go, with another friend she’d apparently run into, and Shane spotted a sign for the restrooms down a hall.
An unexpected thought took over him.
He grabbed Ilya by the wrist and hauled him down it, passing the women’s room line to turn the corner to the men’s. Just as he reached to push the door, it opened from the inside, a short parade of three men exiting. Catching the door, he did a quick sweep of the empty urinals and bottom of the stalls before pulling Ilya in after him and slamming his back against the door.
He’d been hoping there was a lock for the door, but the fact that there wasn’t only seemed to fuel his need to do this even more.
“Shane?” Ilya asked curiously, jaw dropping in surprise when Shane all but fell to his knees and started undoing Ilya’s jeans with one hand while keeping his hip pinned to the door with the other.
“I need this now,” Shane declared, the sound of the zipper lowering practically causing him to salivate. The music of the club was faded through the door, just loud enough for Shane to know that it wasn’t soundproof. His cock throbbed at the fact. “I need you and I need you to not be quiet.”
Ilya’s brows drew down in confusion. “Not quiet?”
“Not quiet,” Shane repeated as he pulled his jeans and briefs down over the swell of Ilya’s tight ass. He licked his lips at the sight of the already hardening length before him, the twitch of Ilya’s thighs as Shane dragged a hand teasingly down his side. “I want them to hear you. To know who you belong to.”
“Fuck…”
“Can you do that for me, Rozanov? Can you be my slut for once?”
Ilya brought a hand down to cup Shane’s chin, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he answered, a teasing smile on his lips. “How can you still not know, Hollander? I have been your slut since that first shower.”
Shane’s eyes fluttered shut at the memory, a shudder of desire wracking through his body and causing him to groan as he licked his lips. Just the thought of teenage Ilya already belonging to him while he was on his knees for him now—his husband—was driving Shane’s need even higher.
He couldn’t wait anymore, didn’t want to talk anymore. All he wanted was Ilya; in his mouth and letting anyone who could hear know it.
Opening his eyes, Shane looked up at Ilya beneath thick dark lashes, one hand moving to curl around his length and bringing the tip just a few inches from his mouth. He pressed a light kiss to it that made Ilya’s fingers flex where they were still on his face, and then Shane’s tongue came out to press against his slit, the end curling along the underside of Ilya’s cock playfully.
“Fuck, Shane, you look so…” Ilya trailed off, unable to think of the right words. Sexy. Slutty. Beautiful. Fuckable. Heaven sent. Devious.
“Perfect,” he finally finished as Shane wrapped his lips around him, too eager to take his time and instead taking nearly half of him at once. “Fuck.”
Shane watched Ilya’s shoulders try to relax against the door as his hips fought to angle forward, grunting when Shane forced it back against the door and moved his head closer to take more of him. He felt Ilya’s hand fall away from his chin only to caress its way through his hair while the other gripped the door handle tightly for stability. He felt the vein along Ilya’s cock throb the deeper he took him, tasted the saltiness of him leaking from his tip in almost steady bursts now as he curled his tongue along his underside and just teased him with the light drag of his teeth.
“Da, like that,” Ilya half whispered before remembering Shane’s only request for him. He pitched his voice louder, just above his normal volume. “You’re doing so good.”
Shane pulled off of him, stroking him while he spoke, painting what he could of Ilya’s cock with what precum he could drag from its tip with his thumb. “I’m pretty sure no one can hear you through that door.”
Ilya chuckled. “Sweetheart, there was no one there before—“
His words cut off sharply as there was a sudden push and thud on the door at his back, Ilya planting his feet firmly against the tiled floor and releasing Shane’s hair to slap a hand against the wall for extra leverage. They both heard someone question something from the other side and then Ilya saw Shane smirk up at him with a wink before sucking him back into his mouth.
Ilya swore loudly in Russian as the door vibrated with knocking from the other side, adding a surprise layer of arousal to Shane’s ministrations.
“Is someone in there?” a voice yelled through the door. “Is everything okay?”
“Fucking…perfect!” Ilya called back with a groan, fingers scrabbling on the wall and desperate to be back in his husband’s hair but needing to keep the door closed.
Shane was watching him again from under his lashes, expression borderline diabolical as he relaxed his throat enough to take down more of him. He hollowed his cheeks around Ilya’s cock, massaging the underside of it with calculated rolls of his tongue, and before Ilya could expect it he brought his other hand up to cup his balls, rolling them at the same rhythm.
It finally got the response Shane had been craving.
“Fucking fuck, Hollander!”
Shane moaned around him and Ilya bucked into his mouth, slamming his head back against the door as he swore even louder in Russian.
“The fuck?” Ilya just heard from outside. “Dude, I think somebody is hooking up in there.” There was a pause where all he heard was his own panting and the occasional wet sounds of Shane’s mouth around him and then there was more incessant knocking. “Hey, other people need the fucking bathroom man!”
“Fuck off!” Ilya growled back, earning a disapproving hum from Shane.
The banging on the door continued, the vibrations working their way along Ilya’s body in tandem with Shane’s mouth and Ilya couldn’t control the long groan they dragged from his chest.
It reminded him of the vibrator he liked to tease Shane with at home, only stronger. The movement against his already taut body as he tried to bar them from entry had his muscles and nerves buzzing, his neck arching as his hips kept bucking into Shane who welcomed it all too gladly. He suddenly understood what it was like for Shane in those moments, the pleasure that threatened to burn him alive on the spot.
He felt almost ready to burst, but he didn’t want it to end yet.
Ilya looked away from Shane for a moment, in search of enough peace to make it last, but instead he found his reflection in the mirror across the room. From this angle he could just make out the way he was splayed across the door, his shoulders tensed against it, his chest heaving with every breath. But it was his face that nearly undid him.
He looked undeniably fucking wrecked.
“Oooh sh…” he breathed out, not entirely sure whether he’d been about to call Shane’s name again or curse.
Ilya had fucked Shane in front of plenty of mirrors before, but something about now felt different.
He supposed it was that he wasn’t actually focused on Shane the way he normally was; this view was entirely of himself. His eyes that looked glassy and could barely remain open, his lips parted on breaths and words that he couldn’t quite string together coherently, his face flushed with color. He could see the reflection of the back of Shane’s head as he sucked him off, sure, but without his face in view it left Ilya a chance to see how he looked when Shane worked to take him apart.
“So good,” Ilya said, his voice shaking with the effort of holding back his orgasm. “You’re taking me so—good. And I am good, yes? I am good boy for you? Your—your perfect little slut?” His voice was growing louder with each sentence, but it wasn’t intentional anymore. He wasn’t thinking about being loud because Shane wanted him to be, or whether he could be heard through the door, or even if he could hear them anymore. His only concern was the pleasure his husband was wringing from his body and how desperately Shane was working for it.
At his question, Shane hummed around him again, nodding slightly in a way that allowed Ilya’s cock to slide deeper into his throat and made tears prick at the back of his eyes. But he didn’t let up. He could feel Ilya twitching more consistently now, could see the heat in his face as he gazed off to the side almost dreamily—Ilya was close.
Shane held his balls a little tighter, pulling them up and back—making Ilya gasp and push up on his toes before dropping back flat on his feet—and moved his middle finger to tease along the crease of his ass.
Ilya’s hazel, pupil blown eyes dropped back down to Shane as he nodded eagerly. “Please, fuck please.”
Shane’s own cock thumped painfully between his legs as he just teased the tip of his finger between Ilya’s cheeks, ghosting around where he wanted him.
“Do it,” Ilya pleaded. “Do it. Your slut wants you to. Please sweetheart—“ His words choked off as Shane finally gave in to what he wanted, pushing the finger against his entrance and sending a light, pleasurable burn through him. “Oh fuck, that’s it. Da…”
Shane’s hand loosened the hold on Ilya’s balls to let them rest against the heel of his hand as he worked his finger in and out of him slowly, alternating the movements from what he was doing with his mouth.
“Fuck, I want to touch you, Hollander,” Ilya declared, thumping his head against the door again. “I want to touch your hair, fucking hold you down—“
Shane pulled off of him with a string of saliva keeping them connected. His head dipped back in to allow his tongue to clean it off before he spoke. “Later, promise. Right now, this…it’s all for you Ilya. All for my perfect.” He paused to press a kiss to one side of the V cut into Ilya’s perfect torso. “Little.” A kiss to the other side, and then his lips barely touching the slit of Ilya’s cock except for when he enunciated the word “Slut.”
Ilya’s fingers scratched at the tiled wall wildly.
“Now, is my slut going to come for me?” Shane asked Ilya who swallowed roughly.
“Very soon.”
“Now,” Shane corrected, the command nearly making Ilya burst. “You’re going to come for me now, and you’re going to let everyone outside know who made you, aren’t you?”
“Da, da, I will.”
“Good boy,” Shane replied in russian with a wink. “Get ready.”
Without another word, Shane took Ilya back into his mouth, shuffling forward on his knees to bring himself closer and give his own cock a little much needed friction within his briefs. He could feel the wetness pooling on the fabric and, distantly, he knew he would be disgusted with the clean up later.
But right now, all he wanted was to finish tearing Ilya Rozanov apart for anyone close enough to hear.
His mouth worked faster to take more of Ilya than before, one hand working in tandem to twist what he couldn’t fit while the other squeezed into his ass cheeks while thrusting a finger in and out. Ilya shifted above him, desperate to go boneless but determined not to let the audience on the other side in as he kept the door pressed shut. His groans getting louder, his mouth spilling Russian babble signaling he was closer than before, his hips trying to chase the feeling Shane offered him on either side of his body.
“Oh. Oooooh…sweetheart, fuck. Your mouth, oh fuck. I love it, I love it—I love you. You treat me so fucking…suck me so good. And I am such a good slut for you. Always, always a perfect slut for you. Even when you are being my slut, yes?” Ilya tried to smile cheekily at his addition to his cries, but the lust enveloping his every reaction made it impossible.
Then Shane’s finger hit a little deeper and Ilya gasped, whole body twitching roughly, and he knew it was only a matter of time. He’d finally found Ilya’s prostate, and it never took long for him to come after.
The thought had a steady stream of wetness release from Shane’s cock and he groaned around Ilya, eyes fluttering, legs shifting again to give himself attention without the use of his hands. Ilya was close, so close…
“Da, da, da—Hollander, I’m—fuck yo—your slut is going to—“ He looked at his husband pointedly, giving fair warning for whatever decision Shane chose to make in that moment and nearly felt tears spring to his eyes as Shane only used his hand to pull Ilya in closer, determined to take in every drop. “Fuck, Shane, I’m going to come so hard—so hard for my husband. My husband. My fucking husband…Oh shit, Shane—“
Where the rest of his sentence failed him, Ilya's cock finished down Shane’s throat.
Eyes clamped tightly shut, body tensing against the door, hand finally falling away from the wall to bury in Shane’s hair and tighten against the roots as he held him down on his length, Ilya came with an almost blinding light across the inside of his eyelids.
Shane relaxed his jaw and throat as much as possible, taking what his husband gave him as he continued to lazily pump his finger inside of him, heat flooding his own body.
I did it. I made Ilya scream for me in a public restroom…
Ilya had barely spurt the final ropes of cum in Shane’s mouth when Shane pulled off of him and let out a familiar gasping moan, his forehead collapsing against Ilya’s twitching thigh as his own hips spasmed tellingly beneath him.
They both watched, slack jawed and utterly blissed out as their bodies took a minute to slowly come down from their highs, reality settling back in.
Oh fuck, Shane thought to himself, panic striking him for the first time since everything started. Oh fuck, I just blew Ilya with people listening outside! His body tensed again for an entirely different reason and Ilya immediately picked up on it, reaching for Shane’s arms and pulling him up to rest against his chest.
“No, no, moya lyubov,” he said softly, stroking his face with one hand. “Not now, not here. Enjoy this, okay? You did so good—perfect. This was perfect.” Ilya kissed Shane passionately, not stopping until he felt Shane give in entirely, his hand tangling and tugging at Ilya’s curls. When he pulled back, he spoke so his lips brushed Shane’s with every word. “I loved this very much. And you did too, yes? You made yourself come blowing me, no hands.”
Shane laughed without meaning to, nodding as his cheeks burned.
“Very good trick,” Ilya teased with a wink and Shane bumped their noses together. “Now we clean up, and you walk out of here happy, yes? I am yours. You made them know this.”
Despite his better judgment, the words stoked pride in Shane’s chest because they were true. He’d had that insane need to prove that Ilya was his and he did just that. No matter the consequences, no one could take that from him.
He nodded at Ilya with a smile, both of them relaxing again into post-orgasmic bliss as they shifted to get themselves together.
It wasn’t until Shane stepped back to give Ilya space to step away from the door that either of them realized the knocking and voices from the other side had ceased.
“Do you think they left?” Shane whispered, half hoping it were true so he wouldn’t have to face anyone. He was proud, sure, but that would still be awkward.
“I think we will find out soon,” Ilya answered with a shrug as he made his way towards the sinks.
They each cleaned themselves up—Shane as much as he could manage with the damage already done and lining his underwear—before Ilya took Shane’s hand in his, entwining their fingers and stepped in front of him before opening the door.
Any hope Shane had that their audience left was erased when he followed Ilya out the door and found a forming line of five men on the opposite wall.
The men stared at them in varying degrees of recognition and disbelief, and Shane caught one elbowing another before saying “Dude, I fucking told you I heard him say Hollander.”
Shane’s hand flexed around Ilya’s unintentionally and it spurred his husband to speak up. “Enjoy the show, gentlemen?” Shane could hear the smirk in Ilya’s voice even without being able to see it from behind him. “Was good, yes? Hearing maybe better than seeing? Or did you want that too?”
“Uh, no, we didn’t—“
“We—“
Ilya didn’t really care for their answers and pulled Shane along with him long before they could finish sputtering them out.
Once they were back on the dance floor, Ilya turned to Shane and brought their joined hands up to his lips for a kiss before leaning in to press another on his mouth. “Still perfect?” he asked and Shane looked back at him with his lip caught between his teeth for a few seconds.
He let everything sink into his mind again; the realization of what he’d done and where he’d done it burrowing into his brain, sending little shocks through his body. He waited for the embarrassment to strike again, the panic to solidify—because now they knew their audience knew who they were and they were bound to tell someone—but it never came.
He looked back at Ilya, staring at his still lightly flushed face and his hazel eyes so full of love and worry. Not the worry that someone would tell on them, no, but the worry that this moment Shane had been so adamant to have—a moment that Ilya kept calling perfect—would be ruined for Shane by his own paranoid mind.
His heart ached for his husband as he reached up to pull his mouth back down to his and kiss him deeply all over again.
Just like he had when they were on the dance floor before, or when they were by the bar.
The way he loved to kiss him in private—for years—and now for all the world to see.
And when he finally broke off for air, keeping his hands tangled in Ilya’s hair, Shane answered, “Still perfect.”
Ilya grinned at him brightly, kissing him again and pulling him as close against his body as he could manage, Shane melting into it without a care in the world.
*****
Ten minutes and three texts later, they found Rose over at the bar getting more drinks with her friend. She did quick, polite introductions before Ilya announced they would be leaving and asked if she still needed a ride back to her hotel. She declined, telling Shane to let her know when they got home and hugging them both goodnight.
“You too,” Shane said as she pulled away from Ilya and moved to hug him. “Text me when you catch your ride and once you’re in your room.”
“I will,” Rose smiled, hugging him tight before adding into his ear, “Though I think you might be a bit too busy to notice. You know, between the laundry and the fucking you’re going to be doing.”
Shane choked as he pulled back, a look of shock on his face. “What?”
Rose pointedly looked down at his jeans and Shane followed her gaze to the scuffed and dirty part of his knees he hadn’t been entirely able to clean in the bathroom. Again, his cheeks burned red as she laughed.
But when Ilya took his hand and they made their way back to their car to go home, he still couldn’t bring himself to regret a thing.