Shane rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder, breathing him in and trying not to wonder how things would be different if Shane hadn’t been unable to control his dick that day in the showers. Would Ilya be holding him now, more than a decade later, with a tattoo of a loon on his arm? “I’m glad you’re such a show-off,” Shane said. Ilya patted his back. “I am glad you get hard so easily.” “Shut up,” Shane said, but smiled into Ilya’s neck, relieved that they were both thinking the same thing.
