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Ilya mumbled a short string of Russian words in annoyance as a spoon slipped out his grasp and clattered on the kitchen tiles.
“There you go again,” Shane commented as he walked into the kitchen.
“What?” Ilya picked up the spoon, blew on it and used it to stir his coffee. “5 second rule,” he added.
“Not that,” Shane smiled. “You say little things in Russian.”
“I know.”
“Those phrases,” Shane clarified, prying without being obvious, but when Ilya didn't answer, he had to fill the silence. “Can you teach me?”
“Two languages are not enough for you?” Ilya asked, blunt and only with the hint of amusement reserved for Shane.
“I’d like to learn.”
“Russian is hard.”
“Пожалуйста,” Shane urged gently, the foreign word formed carefully but with a practiced ease.
Ilya folded immediately, an expression Shane had never seen before, vulnerable and appreciative. “Ok.”
Ilya had never taught anyone before. And Russian was suddenly overwhelming for him to know where to start. With basic phrases or the exact phrases he would say? Or no words at all and focus on the alphabet with sounds that could be challenging to English speakers.
“Can you make this sound?” Ilya asked before rolling a prolonged R sound.
Shane perfectly replicated it and Ilya’s smirk dropped. He wanted a laugh over Shane’s attempts, but he was even more impressed now. No. He knew Shane. He probably practiced for weeks. “Ok. Good. Хорошо. That means good.”
They did end up going through a few basic phrases; greetings, introductions and agreed that Ilya would say the name of items around the apartment in Russian so Shane would better retain the new information.
But Shane wasn't satisfied with basics.
“This is great,” he smiled as he leaned forwards. “But I wanna know what you say during sex.”
“Maybe it's pet names, золотце,” he murmured as his finger traced his boyfriend’s jaw. He knew he’d recognise that one. “Или больше.” Shane’s eyes widened a fraction as he recognised the second word. More.
“Are you too embarrassed to call me pet names I’d understand?” Shane teased gently, smirking, but he subconsciously leaned into his touch as Ilya pecked his lips.
“Дорогой,” he started, “люблю тебя,” he kissed him again. “Ты это знаешь?”
“Fuck.” Shane was weak as Ilya spoke careful, simple Russian. Phrases he recognised and could attempt to place. “You're doing this on purpose, Ilya,” he sounded breathless.
“Because I know you like it,” he smirked. “And I love you,” he repeated. “But you already knew that.”
“That you love me or how to say it in Russian?”
“Both,” Ilya confirmed as he tucked his arms around Shane. “You want me to show you?”
“What, more phrases or how much you love me?”
“Both,” he repeated before hoisting Shane up onto the kitchen island.
“Here?” Shane questioned with light panic.
“You never change, Hollander,” Ilya said, before his hands tugged on his sweatpants.