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“I’m going to shower.”
Shane turned his attention from the book in his lap to the sound of Ilya’s voice. His husband was standing in the doorway of their bedroom in just his long basketball shorts. God, he was so hot. Chiseled like a marble sculpture. Body of a Greek god. Hair curling in all the right directions. He was just a stunning specimen of a man. Practically perfect in every way.
“Ok,” Shane said, trying not to look too hard or else he’d never let him get in the shower and he’d never finish this chapter. He looked back down to the book opened in his lap. Out of his peripheral vision, he watched Ilya push his shorts down to his ankles. Then, his husband’s shorts sailed through the air and landed just short of the hamper on the other side of their bed. He bit the insides of his cheeks. How hard was it to walk to the hamper and just put your shorts in it?
He won’t leave them there, he thought to himself. He knows that’s going to irritate me to my soul.
Out of the top of his vision, over his book, he watched as Ilya’s underwear sailed in a similar arc trajectory off the end of his foot and landed just to the other side of the hamper. He looked up from his book again. All he saw was his husband’s giant beautiful ass cheeks sashaying off to the shower.
He’ll get them when he comes back in to get new clothes, he thought to himself.
20 minutes later, Ilya walked back into their bedroom. Towel slung low across his hips. Water dripped off the curls that kissed the back of his neck. Droplets of water splattered across his neck and shoulders. He dropped his towel directly in front of Shane’s line of vision. He looked over his shoulder to see if Shane was noticing. Seeing if he was picking up what he was putting down.
Shane was looking alright. Looking annoyed. He still had his glasses on and was sitting straight up in bed, propped against the pillows on the headboard. Book in lap, closed, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Ilya was confused. Usually all he’d have to do was just walk back in their shared room in a towel after a shower and Shane was all over him. He didn’t even have to do anything.
“What’s wrong? You look pissed,” he said, frowning slightly, trying to figure out why Shane wasn’t out of that bed and trying to crawl into his skin.
“Are you going to pick up the clothes you flung across the room or just let them sit there until I eventually get tired of looking at them and I pick them up myself?”
Woah.
Ilya was genuinely taken aback. Shane had never snapped at him like that. Especially over something like his clothes on the floor. He knows that Shane has certain cleanliness quirks, and likes tidiness but he’s never gotten upset like that before.
Shane continued on, “Since we’ve gotten married, you’ve gotten really bad about leaving your clothes all over. Socks at the end of the couch, wet towels on the floor. Now you’re flinging your underwear off the end of your toes toward the hamper. I’ve tried to just ignore it and let it go but I just can’t anymore. It’s seriously giving me an ick.”
Ilya frowned. “An ick? What is an ick?
“Something you do that immediately pisses me off and makes me like, cringe for you because it’s annoying and disgusting,” Shane explained, with just a hint of bitchiness in his tone.
Ilya considered this for a moment. He walked to the pile of clothes by the hamper, picked them up and threw them in.
“Happy?” he asked
“I shouldn’t have to ask you. That’s the part that makes me get the ick.”
Ilya nodded and walked back to his dresser. He could feel Shane watching at his back. He pulled out a pair of black boxer briefs out of his top drawer and pulled them on. He closed the drawer, turned around to face Shane and leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed.
Shane was still looking at him. Did he push that too far? Is it that big of a deal? He waited, nervously. Ilya finally spoke.
“You have icks too.”
Shane huffed, “Like WHAT?” There was no way he had any icks.
Ilya uncrossed his arms and sucked in a deep breath. He braced his arms against the dresser he was leaning against. He didn’t want to do this. The only thing this was going to lead to is a stupid argument between the two of them and for what? Just to get a few petty, stupid things off their chests? Nope. Shane started it, Ilya was going to finish it. If Shane was going to air his grievances, so was he.
“At your big age of 30 years old, you still doggy paddle in the lake at the cottage.”
Shane’s jaw dropped. “I do NOT,” he said, his voice an octave higher than normal.
Ilya nodded, “You do. It used to be cute but now it just makes me a little bit embarrassed for you. You grew up on the same lake, right down the street. How did you never learn to swim?!”
“Because I was always at fucking HOCKEY or some hockey camp!” Shane shouted, a little louder than necessary. He ripped his glasses off and dropped them on the bed next to him.
“Put those back on,” Ilya said, pointing to his glasses and then to his face. “If we’re going to have this stupid argument, you’re at least going to let me enjoy looking at you while we do it,”
Shane ignored his request, scowling. “Should we just lay everything out that’s been icking us?” he asked.
“You really want to do that?”
Shane shrugged and crossed his arms across his chest, “Might as well.”
He was officially actually mad now. He brought up Ilya flinging his clothes across the room and leaving them everywhere because he’d had it and couldn’t stand seeing them laying around anymore. There was no reason for it other than he was being lazy and counting on Shane’s cleanliness to pick up after him. He didn’t deserve to have Ilya bring up his never learning to swim as an ick.
Ilya sucked his teeth and cracked his neck, “Okay. There is no reason to be at airport 4 hours early.”
“The fact that we don’t have to stress out about getting through security because we have plenty of time is an ick for you?” Shane asked him, incredulously.
“No, sitting around for three hours after we get through security. That is the ick. It is boring and annoying and not needed. When I go places without you, I get there one hour early and it’s fine.”
Shane shook his head, “Well, never happening with me. I can’t live like that.”
Ilya gestured to him, “Anything else about me that’s been secretly pissing you off?”
“It’s not like that,” Shane said, shaking his head a little, “I’m not sitting here being secretly mad at you all the time. It’s just little tiny things that I don’t feel like are important enough to bring up.”
“Unless it is about my clothes on the floor.”
“Well, because it keeps happening!” Shane countered. “But since we’re doing this now, I also need you to stop leaving half-drunk water bottles in the car.”
“So, are all my icks that I leave my stuff around and you feel like you need to pick it up for me, like you’re my mother or something?”
“I don’t understand why you can't just put your clothes in the hamper,” Shane said, raising his voice and gesturing to the hamper. “Bring the water bottle inside or throw it in the recycling bin when you get out of the car. It's right there when you get out of the car!” He hadn’t meant for this to turn into an argument, but he has a tendency to hold onto the little things that bother him and not say what’s bothering him while he’s in the moment. He bottles them up and swallows them down until they bubble over and become something bigger than they should.
Ilya nodded slowly. He knew he could be a little bit lazy at times. He eventually got around to picking his stuff up, apparently just not fast enough for Shane, though.
“Okay, I will try to be better about picking my stuff up. It bothers you, I know that now,” he said, crossing the room toward their bed. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Shane. He picked up his glasses from their resting spot next to Shane’s leg, and gently placed them back in their rightful spot on his face. He studied his face, a small smile creeping across his face. This view of his husband would never be an ick for him. Shane rolled his eyes. Even after all these years, the stupid glasses still did it for him.
“Will you please tell me next time something I do is giving you the ew?”
“The ick,” Shane corrected, “and yes, I will try to be better about that. I just don’t want you to feel like I’m nagging you.”
“Yes, because that has never happened before,” Ilya said, playfully. He swung his leg across Shane’s lap and sat straddling his waist. He leaned into Shane’s ear and Shane tilted his neck forward, thinking he was coming in for a kiss. Instead, Ilya whispered:
“But we are getting you swimming lessons though.”