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Summary
“Come on, baby, once in a while does not hurt. Rookies say that drunk cigarettes don’t count, have you ever heard that? I think is funny,” Ilya tries, his kisses softer now, trying to work Shane into the soft, pliant mess he loves.
It doesn’t work. In fact – “What’s that, Ilya?”
Ilya is biting anywhere he can find, “I don’t have gun license, so I must be happy to see you.”
But that doesn’t work either. Shane finally moves – only to grab at Ilya’s collar, pulling it so that it digs into the back of his neck, which has Ilya pausing as Shane inspects. “That, Ilya. What’s that.”
or, Shane finds some (perfectly explainable) lipstick on Ilya's collar, and they both go through emotional saw traps
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