gay abandon

“I don’t feel like running today so I’m going to take a shower.” 

“I made coffee, I’m going to bring you some.” 

“Mom texted and wanted me to tell you that they’re making pasta tonight. Meatballs are a must.” 

“I’ve been practicing my Russian and you know what I realized—there are a handful of words that seem like they’re other things. Like kabinet—you’d think it’s cabinet but it’s not. It’s office.” 

“I think a frog family moved into the pots on the patio. They’re suspiciously multiplying.” 

“I’m going to sit here and read for a while.” 

Ilya can smell the coffee on the nightstand. He can feel the warm weight of Anya on his legs. He can hear Shane humming to himself every so often as he sits in bed next to him, flipping pages in whatever book he’s reading. At one point Ilya falls back asleep and when he wakes up, his chest fully expands when he breathes in. He’s not sure what time it is but when he turns, Shane is still there, reading his book. 

As Shane notices the movement, he places the book on the nightstand along with his glasses, a small, warm smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He turns his body to face Ilya, inching down in bed a little as he reaches to thread his fingers through his curls, 

“Hi baby.” 

Ilya isn’t sure if it’s the way Shane says it or how the words feel in the quiet of the room where the cottage has settled and it’s just them and the walls are turning golden from the sun spilling in through the windows. But it’d felt so gray before, so dark. And the fact that it’s not really like that, that it was all something in his head—emotion clutches the back of Ilya’s throat so quickly that he has to cover the lower half of his face. 

“Izvini,” He chokes out, unsure what else to say, the apology in Russian because that somehow feels safer. 

Shane’s eyes soften and he’s quickly shaking his head, “No,” He whispers, sinking lower into the sheets, his arm coming around Ilya’s shoulders, “Hey, no.” He presses a kiss to his cheekbone. 

His husband holds him close without complaint. His leg slips in-between Ilya’s, his one hand soothing over his chest and trying to tug his own away from his face while the other scrubs through his curls. There are kisses placed everywhere, anywhere Shane can reach, holding him tightly as his emotions knock into Ilya like waves. 

Shane tips his chin up, brushing his lips along his, not caring if he manages to catch the wetness from his tears that way, “Look at me,” He waits until blue meets brown, “I’ll take any morning with you, every single one. Okay?”