"We could do pizza,"

"You always want pizza,"

"That's 'cause it's pizza, cowboy,"

The hint of a smile tugged at Illinois' lips at the nickname. It was something Markus only used when he was mildly irritated; a reminder of their first few feud-filled meetings.

His husband lay sprawl out on the sofa like a cat - all limbs as the evening sun cast light on his black outfit. His sweatshirt was pulled upwards a little in this position, leaving a glorious slither of exposed skin.

"...but the Thai place is closed on Thursdays so...are you even listening to me?"

The older man begrudgingly tore himself away from the delightful imaginings his husband's abdomen inspired.

"Yeah, 'course darlin',"

He let his accent grow heavy, his voice deepening like honey to try and inspire a similar mindset.

Markus held his gaze for a second.

"You ain't having me for dinner, so you better focus on making a decision if you want desert,"