#hellinois thursday

"What about Thai food?"

This is the fourth suggestion Illinois has made in the last 10 minutes, and he might just break something if his husband doesn't choose it.

Markus sighs, looking up at the ceiling as if pondering a deep philosophical question - leg swinging lazily from where it's dangling off the edge of the sofa. He doesn't even look up from his phone, instead continuing to lay nonchalantly whilst Illy's grasp on his armchair gets uncomfortably firm.

"Um...you know, I don't think I'm in the mood for-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake Markus!"

Finally, his husband looks up, startled. The expression on his face almost makes Illinois feel guilty; he looks like a dog that's just being kicked. But he's got the anger in him now.

"Seriously? You've been lyin' there like a moody teenager distracted by that fuckin' phone all evenin'! They better've solved the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle because if you're textin' some other guy I swear to god-"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!' Markus sits up for the first time, his look of shock morphing into something decidedly more insulted. "Just because I'm taking my time to answer your stupid questions, doesn't mean I'm suddenly Bill Clinton!"

Illy's rage is quieting now, the sudden outburst allowing the pot to go back to a gentle simmer. It's one of the traits Illinois likes most about himself; the fact that anger is never a long-term guest in his body.

"Okay...okay," He breathes out sure and steady, and when he speaks again, the southern drawl is slightly less harsh. "It's just I'm findin' your attitude a little bit irritating at the moment, baby."

Markus seems to consider this, the hackles on his back metaphorically lowering as he leans back against the arm of the sofa.

" Yeah, well..." Marcus begins to fiddle with something at the hem of his t-shirt looking down. "Maybe I just want-"

He mumbles something that Illinois can't quite hear.

"What, honey?"

Marcus sighs, looking at the wall as he speaks a fraction louder this time.

'I said maybe I just want your cooking"

Illinois is stunned for a moment before a grin creeps up his face, and a deep laugh climbs up from his chest.

"You want my cookin'"?

Markus, again, grumbling, let's out a nearly inaudible Yeah.

Illinois leans his head on one hand, the smirk growing wider by the second.

"You mean you like my cookin' so much that you tried to get me so frustrated that I'd give up on the idea of takeout?"

Markus finally raises gaze. He looks annoyed and yet there's a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his husband.

"Love you, darlin'"

Markus' arch nemesis is the stain on the kitchen floor.

He's pretty sure his hands are sore and maybe even starting to blister, but honestly, the ex-thief can't really feel anything. Not with the way thoughts are fogging up his brain.

When will the social worker get here? What if they find mould? What if they don't think we're right for her? What if they're homophobic?

The feeling of a hand on his shoulder makes Markus jump, managing to shock both himself and his husband in the process.

"Hey, now! It's alright, you're alright, darlin'" Illinois soothes him like a spooked horse. Somehow it sparks a painful fire in Markus, irritation burning his skin.

"Yeah, well don't sneak up on me maybe?" He snaps back sarcastically.

Illinois could easily take the bait. He could easily get angry. God, Markus wants him to get angry. He needs to put his energy into something, he needs-

"Do you want to dance?"

It's such a random and unexpected response that Markus shocks himself with a sudden, loud bark of laughter.

"W-what?" He questions, looking up to see Illy with a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Come on, darlin'. Don't leave a man hanging,"

And then he's offering his hand and Markus is smiling, oxygen finally filling his lungs as it should, heart settling into the familiar rhythm it's had since he met his husband.

"I'm really being ridiculous, huh?" He says, quietly enough that it could be to himself.

He looks back down to the stain that he's not quite certain isn't part of the pattern of the floor. He feels Illy's warm, strong hand rub his back, making him close his eyes.

"Yeah...but it's only because you care. We both do," Illinois says, and the timbre of his voice washes over Markus like a wave of calm.

They do care, so much. About each other. About the life they could have. About Rosa.

Illinois is seething.

He honestly can't remember ever being this enraged and possibly, possibly it's because he can't remember, think, see or hear anything past the fog that's descended around him. Of course, that's apart from the motherfucker that's currently flirting with his husband.

"No, come on! You can't have just started coming here, look at you!"

The sound of his laughter makes his teeth hurt - but that might just be the way he's clenching them.

The guy's hand only has to move an inch towards Markus' shoulder before Illinois snaps like a garage door spring.

"Right, that is enough," He states, stepping forwards to physically put himself between the two men.

The gym rat looks affronted, as if he wasn't even aware that Illy was here. It's the kind of look you give someone for cutting you off in traffic. The archaeologist might just run him over.

"Sorry, dude. Can we help you?"

Oh, this guy is gonna need a nose job.

"Yeah, Illy. What's the deal?" His husband chimes in, and he might just be bursting a vein trying to stop himself from shoving Markus out the door right now.

"No, you can't help us. Me or my husband. In fact, maybe you might want to go to hell and back the fuck off,"

He didn't plan such obvious aggression, but then again, he's never been one for being subtle.

"Wow, Mark. This guy is your husband?" The rat continues, looking past him to find Markus' gaze with an air of pity. Mostly to avoid having to look up to Illinois - he thinks with satisfaction - who has a good 3 inches on him.

"No wonder you were enjoying my attention so much,"

There's a moment where Illy literally sees himself punching the guy - sees him holding his nose, eyes wet with tears. It's so real he thinks he might actually be doing it but then Markus grabs his bicep, and pushes past him.

"Hey! You think you're fucking smart, huh? So smart your flirting didn't even fucking register on my radar? Yeah, you can fuck right off. 'Cause if my husband doesn't deck you I sure as hell will,"

The guy looks between them, clearly sizing them up. But two strong men over 6 foot and willing to bleed for the other's dignity seems enough to put him off.

"Whatever, man. You're not even that hot anyway,"

He walks away, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder like that means he's won the fight.

"Fuck. What an ass. I'm sorry, love. I really didn't think he was-

Markus doesn't get to finish his sentence. Instead, he's suddenly crowded against the treadmill near to them, Illinois pinning him in with his arms and hips as he clashes their lips together in a possessive, desperate kiss.

A minute without breathing, and then they're both panting with mere inches between each other. Markus' hands have someone ended up in his husband's hair, making it dishevelled and only adding to the pure, dark lust in those eyes.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you can't walk straight, Indigo,"

It doesn't affect him any less this time around.

The air conditioning unit broke half an hour ago on this sweltering summer's day. Oddly enough, it's not this inconvenience - or the fact that the temperature is slowly rising towards 82.4 degrees inside -that's causing him the most discomfort. He's not the one fixing the appliance.

Markus is currently half-bent over the kitchen table, a screwdriver in hand, silently focusing on his work. Shirtless. Illinois can't take his eyes off him.

The sweat gleams off back muscles that reflect the years of parkour, abseiling and other activities necessary for a thief. His husband is a full two inches taller than him, which has been the subject of many jokes and much teasing. Sometimes though, Illinois feels and appreciates the difference. Right now is one of those times.

"Just gotta…tighten the bolt," Markus says aloud, apparently thinking his husband is paying attention to the method with which he's fixing the air conditioner.

"Mmhmm," He replies, eyes not straying from the way Markus' muscles tighten and move as he continues his work.

"Just a bit more…got it!" He exclaims in triumph, rising up with a screwdriver in hand, stretching out his neck as he looks proudly down at his work.

Once he turns, the goofy smile morphs into something altogether more hungry as soon as he sees the state of his husband. That is when his gaze leaves his face to focus on something further down.

"Oh," 

When Markus' gaze flicks up again, there's a smirk to match the smugness in his eyes.

Illinois' arms fold tighter over his chest as Markus slowly approaches; almost as if he's irritated at how easily his husband has affected him. His heartbeat still hammers in his chest, however, as the thief gets close enough to where he's leaning against the doorframe. The adventurer is shocked at his own intake of breath as Markus lifts one arm to place it above his head on the doorframe. Crowding into his space, leaning down with nothing but pure, intentful arousal in his eyes.

If you're squinting you forgot your glasses dumbass.

Illinois grumbles as his vision relaxes after trying to read his husband's message on the post-it note. Muttering something under his breath, he walks back towards their room, looking for the reading glasses he now realises he's left on the bedside table.

When he gets there, he finds a similar note stuck on the brown leather case.

Upon closer inspection, it reads:

Also you look sexy.

Illy smirks despite himself, picking up the case and folding the post-it before placing it in his pocket.

"Ridiculous thief," He shakes his head, with no one else around in to hear to affection in his voice. Markus will be back by the time he gets home from lecturing, no doubt snoring on the sofa after a night's work.