Summary:

Their waitress is kind enough to let Shane practice his clumsy Spanish with her. He pointedly does not look at Ilya after ordering, but he's known him long enough to know when he's laughing at Shane's expense. “I hate you,” he says. “No,” Ilya says. He looks unfairly handsome in a linen beach shirt and his flamingo-patterned board shorts Shane bought him last summer. “You do not.” - (it's the honeymoon fic)