H.

Shane muffles a yawn into his elbow, rolls his shoulders and eyes the now empty coffee table, hears the soft thud of dishes in the sink and takes himself to the kitchen.

Ilya has his back to him, curls flat and loose and fizzy on the back of his head where he’d been laying on the couch. The shirt he was in was threadbare, white soft cotton worn in over many years, stretched across the bulk of his shoulders in a way that made Shane’s stomach tighten in appreciation. Shane presses his lips together, presses his socked toes down against the floor and swallows as he watches his husband do the dishes. Watches the bubbles of the soap slip off the side of the sink because Ilya always used far too much dishwashing liquid.

Watches him sway just so, side to side to the new song that had just started with a slow pull of full strings, a humming melody.

A warm female voice crooned, and Shane felt goose bumps prickle at the back of his neck.

At last my love has come along

His tongue goes heavy in his mouth, next swallow around a pebble in his throat as he started at the way Ilya’s back shifted with each deep breath, eyes the curve of his neck, the moles hiding at his hairline.

My lonely days are over

Shane blinks hard, picked up a hand and presses his palm to the centre of his chest for two small rubs. He feels like he’d had a bottle of wine, like he was heavy with water, dripping from a clothes line. Like he was half awake. Something he didn’t have words for lives behind his eyelids.

And life is like a song

Ilya’s swaying grew with the song, limbs relaxed, loose as he moved in the way Shane always envied, with such ease, fluid like gold ink from a pen, dragging out as stars were drawn. He was so relaxed here, so beautiful, in this kitchen in this home in this street, just a random warm light in a window to anyone walking past. From outside no one would have any idea the love that lived inside here, the supernova that drifted to music doing dishes. Ilya belonged here, radiant in their kitchen in their home in their street.

Shane hardly understood how sometimes.

Shane was moving without realising, his arms sliding around Ilya’s waist, who didn’t startle at the touch, he just hummed and leant back into Shane. His shadow, the other part of him.

“Your eyes don’t deceive you, your sexy husband is doing the dishes” Ilya mutters, still swaying with the music, with Shane now that he was wrapped around him.

“Just incase you wanted to kiss me about it” Ilya adds like he didn’t do the washing up most nights.

Shane smiles, but the ache living in the back of his throat stops his reply, he tucks his face into the curve of Ilya’s neck and draws his nose against the warm skin. Ilya smells like their sheets, like his shampoo, like sweat, like home. Shane’s home.

I found a dream that I could speak to, a dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

Shane rubs his nose in harder, slides his hands to Ilya’s hips, feels the movement of them. Shane had never cared much for music, had some songs he enjoyed but most of the time was content letting others pick songs, just let them wash over him.

He’s not sure he’d have thought much of this song if it had not been swelling through his home on a quiet night like they were his brain slow enough tonight to listen to the crooned lyrics.

Surely, a song had never made him feel like his heart was pushing up out through his ribs, wetting his eyes.

His instinct was to be embarrassed, but the safety of Ilya won over, whatever he held in his hands fit the shape of Ilya’s too, even when it was ugly or strange or confusing. Shane never held anything alone, not anymore. Shane watched over Ilya’s shoulders as he dried his hands, as Ilya reached up to place a hand on Shane’s head, rubbing at his scalp.

He didn’t question Shane’s lack of response and Shane’s love for him pulses in his knees and his wrist. He just pet at Shane gently, hand on the back of his head, humming one low noise. A silent I’m here. A silent I’ll wait. One that Shane knew he didn’t have to answer.

Shane tugs at Ilya’s hips, turning him towards him and Ilya moves easily, turns and wraps his arms around Shane’s waist as Shane’s hands slid up Ilya’s chest, one over his heart as the other wrapped around his neck. Shane’s face safely pressing somewhere between Ilya’s pulse point as his shoulder.

You smiled, you smiled the spell was cast and here we are in heaven

The lyrics float around the door frames and windows and Shane exhales against Ilya’s neck, thinks about the first time Ilya ever looked at him. He remembers it, even now. The first time. He wishes he remembered every single time, he loves how Ilya looks at him, how Ilya sees him, sees him.

Ilya sighs into Shane’s hair, rubs his cheek against the top of his head “O, moya dorogaya” he whispers barely there and Shane pushes his face further into his neck, closes his eyes to hold in the tears shimmering his lashline.

Ilya’s hand slides to his lower back and he pulls Shane in, hips together and they are swaying together now, Ilya has leant Shane the easy movement of his body to rock them together, slow small steps that shuffle them on the kitchen floor.

They dance together, hazy and half formed shapes, a shifting embrace by the sink. The solo movement of the room.

Shane flushes, he’d thinks of the grainy footage of his parents wedding, big white dress and pressed maroon suit. The crinkle of film and the way they’d shone, a heart shape of pressed heads as they swirled at the centre of a ballroom. Shane thinks this must look as beautiful as that, hopes it does. Hope the loves pushes the window glass right out and spills on the lawn. Hope it sends the whole street the message. Something so sweet lives here and it’s Shane’s.

The tap drips and the strings swell and shine around them, Shane takes the weight of Ilya closer, rubs his thumb where it bumps the gold glint of his cross.

Ilya’s hands are warm from the hot water in the kitchen sink as they push up under Shane’s jumper, hold him bare palms against the smooth of his back. Closer. closer still.

For you are mine at last

Shane presses a small soft open mouthed kiss to Ilya’s neck, the taste of his bare skin, takes a deep breath that presses their belly’s together and Ilya’s bare foot half steps on his socked one.

Shane feels drunk. Red wine on an empty stomach, this night is going well what if we got the whole bottle and have your eyes always looked that lovely at me drunk.

Dizzy with it.

All the love.

All the time it took them to get home. At last.