Summary:

“You have pretty eyes,” Shane says, staring directly into his. “My eyes are not pretty. I am not the pretty one,” Ilya teases, his own hand coming to hold the one Shane still presses against his cheek. “You have a pretty dick,” Shane retorts and Ilya snorts. “Well, I cannot argue that.” -- Shane is once again, hospital-bound and high as a kite. This time, Ilya can enjoy it a bit more.