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Shane’s eyes stay closed despite the fact that he’s slowly waking up to a deeply discouraging sound just a foot away from his head. He fights through the urge to fall back asleep, cursing inside his mind when the fucking snoring doesn’t stop.
Snore.
Snore.
Another snore. Louder this time than before.
His eyes fly open.
The room is barely illuminated, but his vision adjusts quickly enough. Right in front of him is Ilya, his dear, precious husband who won’t stop fucking snoring like an eighty-year-old grandpa.
Ilya looks like his brain is flying him through the fifth sweetest dream, all while Shane is being forced to suffer through the noise that Ilya’s mouth and nose won’t stop creating.
He calculates his next move. He’s already tried waking Ilya up, already pushed him in the chest hard enough to make Ilya stir and sigh. But that was it. No further complaints, no words said, nothing. Even worse, the only thing he did was throw a heavy arm around Shane’s torso, making it even harder for him to get out of Ilya’s death grip.
Exhaling the building rage, Shane inhales sharply again, realizing just how hopeless his attempt at making Ilya shut up is.
There’s no other choice but to get up and out of the room. So, that’s what he does.
He throws the warm duvet off himself and tiptoes toward the door. Giving Ilya an angry but still sorrowful glare, he slips outside the room and shuts the door to their sacred bedroom with a click.
The echo of torturous snoring slowly dissipates as he walks to the kitchen, the wooden floor cool against his feet. Relief loosens something in his chest, enough for a lazy smile to appear. Trying to be as quiet as possible—even though he knows Ilya can’t hear him—he sits down on the cream-colored couch next to the little glass table that still has Ilya’s leftover mug on it.
He reaches over for the checkered brown blanket that lies carefully folded on the cushion and pulls it over himself, relaxing into the small pillow beneath his head and the lack of disturbing noise.
He really tried to talk to Ilya about it, complaining about how loudly he snores right in his ear. He’d told Ilya to fix it, get a quick check-up to get to the root of the problem, but all he got in return was a shrug and a, “Is a Russian thing, means I am strong as a bear.”
Whatever that means.
With no sounds around him and no more thoughts about previous discussions, Shane closes his eyes and successfully gives in to the peace sleep brings him. He melts into it, forgets about everything, sees a dream about him and Ilya on the beach, throwing a tennis ball for Anya to catch, running after—
There’s something heavy lying on top of him. It feels like a weight pressing down onto him. It’s familiar. Shane has definitely experienced it before.
His brain is trying to catch up, figure out how there’s anything lying on top of him. When he got on the couch, he was alone, blanket over him and nothing—
Right.
There’s an already expected noise filling his ears, banging loudly against his brain that only demands more sleep, more rest. It can only be identified as snoring.
Deep, profound snoring. From Ilya.
Shane groans as his mind catches up, placing the bricks of events in the right order. He left the room to avoid the snoring, snuggled peacefully into the softness of the blanket and the couch beneath him, left Ilya to sleep in their bedroom. All just to be reunited again. Somehow.
He doesn’t even need to question it. As much as he’s surprised Ilya found him in a supposedly very deep sleep, he’s also, for some reason, not surprised at all.
Ilya is known for being clingy. All of the Centaurs tease him for it, Shane does it, and even his parents don’t miss a chance to politely joke about the fact that Ilya needs to be as physically close to Shane as the other one allows.
Despite all the whiny denial that leaves Ilya’s protesting mouth, he probably understands it too. Because how the hell else is Shane finding himself covered by Ilya’s huge frame at four sixteen in the morning (as the clock on the counter shows)?
“Ilya!” he yells in a whisper, attempting to push him off his chest and failing. Ilya smacks his lips in satisfaction and only hugs Shane tighter, his soft curls brushing Shane’s chin.
He lets out a groan, Ilya’s deadweight pinning him down. “Wake up!” he grits through his teeth, though he makes no effort to actually remove Ilya from him.
“Shanya…” Ilya murmurs absently in his sleep. His mouth is slightly open as he uses it to breathe and let out outrageous snores that don’t seem to be coming to a stop. “Mhm…”
Shane feels a laugh come up his throat at Ilya’s innocent, unresistant voice. He really wants to just let him have his peace and all the happy dreams, but the sounds coming out of Ilya’s nose are not helping.
“Ilya, wake up!” He tries to push at him again, shaking him by the shoulder. “For the love of God, stop snoring!”
One of Ilya’s eyelids half-opens. He looks at Shane, and his mouth instantly curls into a puddle of a smile. He rubs his nose against Shane’s shirt and curls his fists tighter around the fabric.
“What are you complaining so loudly about, Hollander?” he asks, his hot breath tickling Shane’s neck.
The tiredness is basically already out of the window, but if he wants to wake up feeling rested—although that doesn’t seem like a realistic possibility—he needs to fall back asleep as soon as he can.
“Ilya,” Shane warns, voice strict. “You need to stop snoring. How am I supposed to sleep?!”
Ilya actually dares to chuckle. Fucking chuckle. Basically laughing while Shane suffers.
He can’t say this is actual torture, of course not. His husband is close, sharing his warmth with him. Ilya’s arms are loose and protective around him at the same time. He gets to wake up Ilya in the middle of the night and not get even one mean look thrown toward him.
It’s almost a miracle he gets to experience all that. Even if it has Ilya’s annoyingly loud snoring in the background.
“I think you like it,” Ilya whispers and immediately buries his head in the crook of Shane’s neck right after.
“Tell your mouth to stop snoring,” Shane begs him, gentler this time. He brushes a curl from Ilya’s forehead back to his ear.
Ilya briefly kisses his jaw, and it makes Shane squirm.
“How did you even come up here?” Shane asks suddenly. “I thought you were sleeping like a newborn.”
“I was,” Ilya reassures. “But then I missed you. Cannot snore when you are not near.”
“Wow, so you came here to replace my blanket and continue your snoring?” Shane says with amusement, breaking into a giggle himself. “Where are your manners?”
“Shut up,” Ilya whispers. “Okay, let’s make a deal.” He stops for a second to think it over. “If you hug me tighter right now, and promise me you won’t leave me for another lonely couch, I will not snore.”
“Mister Loud Snoring here wants to have a whole debate at four in the morning,” Shane announces, mimicking his voice with his finger in the air. “All right, fine. As long as you stop your charade.”
He pulls Ilya tighter against his chest, adjusting his legs so they fit on the cushions more easily. He starts rubbing Ilya’s back, and Ilya sighs happily against him and closes his mouth, finally.
“Sleep, my baby,” Shane tells him before kissing Ilya’s forehead. “And please never snore like this again.”
Ilya nods along. “If you ever go away like that in the middle of the night, I will snore every day for the rest of your life.”
“All right, deal.”