Summary:

“You owe me a shirt,” Shane greeted him. Ilya let out a gruff, short, laugh, remembering the shirt of Shane’s that he'd soaked, right by this pool hours ago. Shane’s abs had clung against the wet fabric. Ilya had wanted to bite them. “Did you forget how to clean clothes?” Ilya smirked. The water slid along his calves as he knocked their shoulders together; Ilya grinned and continued, “If so, I did you a favor. Was an ugly shirt.”