Summary:

"I want to eat you out." Shane's gaze narrows in confusion. "But … I don't have…" Ilya's thumb brushes over his hole. Once. Twice. When it clicks, Shane groans. "Ilya, that's gross," he says, hand coming up to cover his blush. Ilya grabs his arm, wrenches it away from his face. "No, you just showered. You are telling me you don't wash your ass? Shane Hollander doesn't wash his ass?"