"Bad show, eh?" Volgin let that lock of hair slide away as Raikov turned to make direct eye contact. He leaned in. Raikov could feel his breath on his forehead. It was warm, moist, with some metallic odor lining on the heavy punch of old alcohol. "Maybe you should start by taking care of your laundry more so than worrying about your little... interesting collection right there."

The distance of his mouth closed briefly, in a quick brush of a kiss.

Then, he pulled away and sat down on Raikov's bed, perhaps patting his lap for the dog's attention should she have still been there.

"Is that offer for seconds in the dark still standing?"