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The keys to Ilya and Shane’s apartment rattled as they twisted in the door’s keyhole. Ilya dragged his feet as he made his way inside, huffing and whining as he yanked his bag behind him.
“Ilya?” Shane called out. Ilya was so happy to hear his voice, and so ready to collapse into his arms and be held.
“Yes, my love.” Ilya called back, relief and exhaustion in his voice.
“You are unbelievable!” Shane yelled out.
Oh fuck. What now? Ilya thought.
Ilya whined, “Baby, I am just home, please. What did I do?”
Shane came storming through from the laundry room, the sound of his bare feet padding along echoing through the spacious living room. Ilya braced himself.
“You left our clothes in the washer. They stink of damp now!” Shane snapped, throwing a slightly wet button up shirt down onto the sofa. “And not only that, but you left your clothes just laying on our bed, unfolded.”
Ilya stared ahead at Shane, slightly perplexed, slightly annoyed, “Okay. Sorry! It’s not a big deal, I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Shane scoffed.
“Yes, baby. I always fold them, I know you hate it otherwise. I was running late. Slept in.” Ilya took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Ilya was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was lay down and cuddle his boyfriend. Not argue with him.
“So set an earlier alarm, Ilya.”
“Is not my fault! I was tired!” Ilya whined.
Shane shot him a glare, “Oh right, then whose fault is it if not yours?”
Ilya shrugged, then smirked slightly, trying to lighten the mood “Probably both of ours.”
Shane ignored his playful innuendo. “You know what, whilst we’re at it, stop drinking from mugs and then just leaving them for me to wash! I am not your housewife, Ilya.”
“Oh my god, Hollander, who gives a fuck!?” Ilya cracked, groaning and running a hand through his hair.
Shane’s gaze hardens more than before, “I do! I give a fuck!”
“Это чертовски глупо! Fuck!” Ilya snaps.
Shane laughed, humourlessly, before throwing his hands in the air.
“Okay, Si tu veux m'insulter en Russe? Je peux t'insulter en Français, connard!” Shane spat.
Ilya was taken aback, and maybe slightly turned on at Shane speaking French, but mostly just pissed off.
“Seriously?” Ilya laughed, “Ты такой мелочный.”
“De la merde! j'en ai assez, pourquoi on se chicane autant ces temps-ci?! Ah oui, je sais, parce que tu te crois si malin et que tu as toujours besoin d'avoir le dernier mot!”
Shane was pacing, arms throwing around, shouting in French, whilst Ilya just stood still, or rather, stood in awe. Shane was too in the zone and too hot headed to notice that Ilya wasn’t fighting back.
“C'est énervant, Ilya! On se chicane comme un vieux couple marié pis j'ai même pas d'alliance au doigt!” Shane was still going. Ilya knew he was definitely cussing him out right now, but that only turned him on more.
Shane halted, noticing the silence. He turned to face Ilya, whose mouth was slightly agape, eyes glazed over with pure lust.
“What?” Shane snapped, scowling over to Ilya.
Ilya walked over to Shane, reaching out a hand to his face, but Shane angrily swatted it away.
“Fuck off. What?”
“ты чертовски сексуальна.” Ilya grabbed onto Shane’s hips.
Shane, once again, swatted him off, “Calling me sexy isn’t going to get me back on your side! Stop trying to solve every argument with sex.” Shane groaned.
“How do you know what I said?” Ilya was about to melt.
“I practice. You know this.”
“Oh, my baby.” Ilya cooed, pulling Shane in close, Shane didn’t try as hard to push him away this time, but he didn’t encourage it, “Okay, I am sorry, we are both sorry. Argument fixed. Now I need to fuck you and hear you speak French whilst you take it.”
“Ilya.” Shane said, sternly, “I’m serious.”
“Solnyshka, it is really not that serious of an argument, please! We keep arguing over nothing! I’m really tired of it.” Ilya pleaded, unsure how much longer he could last without Shane touching him.
“Yeah, well, it’s not nothing. It’s you being a slob.” Shane groaned.
Ilya raised an eyebrow, cupping Shane’s chin and lifting it so their eyes met, waiting for him to realise how stupid this was. And he did, his cheeks turning red.
“You’re still an asshole.”
Ilya hummed, “Say it in French.”
“Connard.” Ilya finally broke Shane, a smile creeping onto his lips.
”What about Russian?” Ilya asked.
Shane paused, looking up as if he was searching for the answer, “Um…”
”So you’ve been practicing how to call me an asshole in my language!?” Ilya gasped.
Shane grinned, “Ty Tupoy.”
Ilya pressed his lips down onto Shane’s, giggles escaping his lips as he did so.
They fought like an old married couple and they weren’t even married yet. They both wondered if it would always be like this. If they would always be at each others throats over dumb little things that wouldn’t matter ten minutes later. They wondered if they would still be the same when they were married.
Whatever the case, neither one cared. A life of nagging, a life of makeup sex, a life of pushing each others buttons. It was all they wanted, all they had spent years waiting for. Neither would change it for the world.