Summary:

“I think, at this point, we are friends, no?” Ilya asks, his back still to Shane. “Are we?” Shane asks, and Ilya’s lip quirks at the way he can hear the curiosity bleed through Shane’s tone, despite the way he’s clearly trying so hard to sound indifferent. “I consider you a friend, yes. We had food together. Hung out,” he explains. “Okay. Sure, yeah,” Shane agrees, meeting Ilya’s eyes as he turns around to face him. “Friends.” “Good. It is important you know this,” Ilya asks, stepping across the slightly echoey room, his hand going to tilt Shane’s jaw up. “It’s important for you to know I like you,” he says, watching with amusement as more confusion spreads across Shane’s pretty face. “Why?” “Because,” Ilya says softly, condescendingly as he leans down, his mouth close to Shane’s. Shane is so receptive to him, his lips already parting, expecting a kiss. “I am going to fuck you like I hate you,” he finishes, watching as Shane’s jaw drops a little, his breath hitching.