“You know,” Shane says, sidling up to Ilya in the kitchen. “Fifth anniversary gift is traditionally wood.”
“What does this mean?” Ilya asks, taking a swig of orange juice from the carton.
“Can you not?” Shane asks, stepping away to look indignantly at Ilya.
“Who cares if I drink from carton?” Ilya reasons. “You and I are only ones who drink it.”
“It’s not hygienic,” Shane protests. “Do you know how much bacteria lives in the human mouth?”
“Do you know how much my spit is in your mouth? We share same microbiome,” Ilya is gesticulating dramatically.
“Ok,” Shane says, wiping his hand across the air. “Can we just try this again?”
“Try what?” Ilya asks, wiping his mouth and letting out a little belch.
Shane glares at him. “I was saying our fifth anniversary is today. And the traditional gift is wood.”
Ilya blinks at him. “What does this mean? Traditional gift?”
“I don’t know, it’s like a thing. Every anniversary has a traditional gift. First year is paper, second year is leather maybe, third year is- I don’t remember. But I looked it up and fifth year is wood.” He looks at Ilya meaningfully.
“Ok,” Ilya says, eyebrows raised.
“Wood,” Shane repeats, gesturing between them.
“I did not get you gift made of wood,” Ilya says. “I did not know about weird Canadian traditions.”
“No,” Shane says with a sigh. And he steps in close to Ilya, cupping his crotch. “Wood.”
“Oh,” Ilya says with a little hitch in his voice. “You want that kind of wood.”
“Yes,” Shane sighs, rubbing at his crotch now. “I want you to fuck me.” And he kisses Ilya slow and smutty.
Ilya smiles when they break apart. “We need to work on your flirting, Shane Hollander,” he says.
“And you need to,” Shane starts but it gets swallowed when Ilya pulls him back into the kiss.
