Summary:

Ilya got up then, walking over to Shane's side of the lounge so he could nestle his hand into the boy's dark hair, for the sake of eye-contact. "Ah, I hear you are great at giving interviews but I don't believe it. No, cannot be true. Sweet Canadian boy only has a tongue for his boyfriend, hm. Is that what it is?" Shane flushed at the condescending choice of words, eyes watering as he looked directly into Ilya's wolfish expression. "I don't, didn't mean it," he tried, head slumping forward to land on Ilya's shoulder as he grew steadily hard under his sweatpants. "Oh, so you ar e too fucking stupid to say what you mean, I get it," Ilya plastered a grin as he added, "Is my baby too slow to use his words? Or is the great Shane Hollander just dumb hockey player?" Ilya cooed, tightening his grip as he stuck his thumb into Shane's pliant mouth. "I think I will have to do the talking for both of us, tell the press you can only take my dick now. Is all you're good for." Or, the dumbification of Shane Hollander.