Archive of Our Own ^beta

милый ❤️

baby
Hey, you know there is still time for me to come get you?
Your flight made good time, I don't mind the driving to the airport.
you know that i miss you i wanna get with you
You'll see me in 2 hours.
I missed you too
tonight but I cannot baby girl and that's the issue
Tonight? I'm literally seeing you in a few.
Still not a baby girl.
boy you know i miss you i just wanna kiss you
You can kiss me when you get home.
but i can't right now so baby kiss me thru the phone
How would I even do that?
kiss me thru the phone 😽
Seriously?
i'll see you later on
You cannot be serious.
kiss me thru the phone
kiss me thru the phone
see you when I get home 🏠
...
Okay I did it.
did what
Sent a kiss through the phone?
I don't know, your instructions were not clear.

Shane turns from where he’s standing in the living room, phone balanced in his hand, when he hears the frantic sound of someone opening the front gate. A moment later, his husband, Ilya, stumbles through—backpack hanging off one shoulder and a carry-on clutched in the other hand.

Ilya had gone quiet over text after Shane’s last message, so he had figured he’d gotten lost in the whirlwind of airport chaos.

It never stops feeling like this, the burst of warmth that blooms through him whenever he sees Ilya, made even more intense after they’ve been apart, even if only for a couple of days.

You’d think they would have gotten used to it by now—the distance, missed calls, the nights spent alone in a cold, empty bed. Sometimes Shane thinks he’ll never be able to make up for the years when they weren’t allowed to call each other theirs. The scale has always been tipped in the other direction: more time spent apart than together. It’s a slight both of them still feel, even now.

“Hey, you got here early—” Shane begins, a helpless smile blooming across his face.

But Ilya is already crossing the room, shoes and jacket kicked off haphazardly, bags dropping to the floor with a loud, uncaring thump. His hands grab at Shane’s face—still cold from the winter wind outside—and he barely has time to react before he’s being pulled into a bruising kiss.

Shane only manages a startled gasp before his hands find their familiar route to the back of Ilya’s neck and anchor at his shoulder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Ilya tastes like that extreme mint gum he’s always chewing, and Shane licks it into his mouth like he’s trying to steal the flavour all for himself.

They finally pull away, foreheads thunking together as they breathe heavily, Shane blinking away the fog in his eyes.

“Did you really do it?” Ilya asks, voice a little strained.

Shane blinks at him, a little confused, before replying, “Do what?”

Ilya tips his head back and closes his eyes, as if in prayer. “You kissed your phone when I asked?”

Shane’s face flushes, heat travelling all the way down his neck. “...Yes, I did. I don’t—what exactly did you want me to do?”

Ilya’s eyes are back on him now, a little wilder than before. He squeezes Shane’s face gently, fingers cradling his jaw. “How exactly? Did you blow a kiss at your phone, Hollander?”

Shane huffs out an embarrassed laugh and tries to look away, doing his best to look annoyed, but Ilya’s steady hands keep him in place. “I just—” Shane lets out a heavy sigh before his gaze returns to Ilya’s, “I turned off my phone and then... just kissed the bottom part of the screen—I don’t know! Your instructions weren’t clear,” he grumbles.

Ilya doesn’t tease him. In fact, he looks like someone just slapped him. With a very nice pillow. Made from the finest goose feathers and a very high thread count.  The next thing Shane knows, Ilya is sinking his entire weight onto him, arms wrapping around him, and head dropping to rest on Shane’s shoulder. He lets out a full-body groan—or maybe a whine, Shane can’t tell.

“Hollander,” Ilya mumbles, words muffled by fabric, “You will murder me. On Valentine’s Day, not a very nice thing to do on such a special holiday—”

“What did I do—”

“What did I do!” Ilya exclaims, his hands leaving Shane for a second as he gestures dramatically, like he’s talking to an audience. “He is asking what he did, right after he kills me—”

“Shut up,” Shane manages to say, in between his own chuckling at his husband's antics, arms resting comfortably around him to support his weight. 

But then Ilya’s hands are back on him, first all over his face as Ilya drops feather light kisses all over it; the center of his temple, at the corner of his eyes till Shane is squinting at the feeling, then on the high points of his cheeks, over and over like Ilya's trying to dedicate a kiss to each and every one of his freckles. His nose is attacked next, and Shane is definitely squirming now at how ticklish it all feels, until finally, it ends with a press against the corners of his mouth. He doesn't even have time to bask in how his entire soul feels it's been ambushed by love when he is pulled into another bone-crushing hug that knocks the wind out of him. A soft oof escapes him as he’s rocked back and forth.

“Hollander, I do not know what to do with you. I do not think I can survive this much cuteness from my husband. I ask you to send me a kiss, and you actually kiss your phone. I am dead, Hollander, you have killed me.” Ilya says, sounding very much like he has been defeated by the worst (or best) of his enemies.

“Oh my god,” Shane chokes out as realization sets in. “Those were song lyrics, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Ilya confirms, staring down at him with adoration in his eyes. Shane has the wild urge to ask him to stop looking at him like that, before he starts feeling cocky about how much Ilya manages to feel for him. He alone, selfishly, no one else.

“And you responded in the best way. Best Valentine’s Day gift ever,” Ilya adds, leaning down to press another soft kiss to his lips. 

Shane melts into the touch, his mortification slowly bleeding away under the tender affection of Ilya’s teasing. “That hardly counts as a gift, Ilya. Tonight, though,” Shane says, a little breathless, equal parts excited. “Tonight will be our first Valentine’s Day out together. As husbands.”

“Hm, husbands,” Ilya repeats, almost in awe, like he still can’t believe they get to call each other that, get to be in each other’s lives like this. “But that is for tonight. What are your plans for the rest of the day, Mr. Shane Hollander?” he asks, voice dropping low and eyes taking on a mischievous glint.

And there goes that warmth, turning into fire inside him, Shane thinks dazedly as he stares back at his husband. He gathers his bearings just long enough to slip out of Ilya’s orbit, backing up before he calls out, “I have a few things in mind for you, sir. Might have to catch me first.”

Shane doesn’t wait for the words to land—he knows exactly what calling Ilya ‘sir’ will do to him. He takes a quick turn and runs for the stairs, cackling as he dashes up, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He hears Ilya’s shouts and laughter behind him as he chases after him.

First Valentine’s Day as husbands, and many more to come.