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It's one in the morning when Ilya wakes. He hears a bird chirping. At one in the morning. When it is dark and birds should sleep and not be chirping at him.
Also, he is laying on his stomach, which is absurd, because if he is laying on his belly, there should be a Shane beneath him to curl himself around, to hear grumble at his every tiny movement, to periodically shove at him and complain that he is too hot, too sweaty, he smells, his curls tickle him, move you idiot.
To quiet with a kiss.
But there is no Shane to pillow him, so Ilya blindly thrusts a hand out to see if Shane has, as he occasionally will, succeeded in pushing him off to sleep starfish-limbed. No Shane starfish. The bed is cool where Shane should rest, and the bird is still chirping at one in the morning, the clock on Shane's bedside table pronouncing the tired numerals in low muted red.
Ilya rolls over and sits up. "Shane?" he calls. He hears a soft thud somewhere in response, so sighs as he rises to find the source.
As soon as he opens the bedroom door, he realizes there is not a bird chirping after all. The birds do, it turns out, have respect for the sanctity of one o'darkness. Rather, the chirper is a far less welcome interloper: the dread smoke alarm sounding its battery death call. It shrieks from somewhere downstairs.
Ilya hates it. He knows Anya hates it too, more and loudly, and is surprised she has not been barking in complaint all this time.
"Shane?" he calls again, and again he hears a thud.
"Shit!" he hears as well, near the kitchen, giving him a direction to go at last. "Sorry! I was hoping to stop it before you woke up."
He enters the kitchen to find Shane standing on the island. Or rather, standing on a dining chair atop the island, because the ceilings are vaulted and his ridiculous husband, in the dead of night, has decided to tempt fate and God with a barefoot pajama-clad circus act in pursuit of the damned smoke alarm.
Ilya frowns at him. "This is the stupidest thing you have done," he declares. "Get down."
"No, hold on, I just got up here." Shane turns his attention back to the smoke alarm, which is, yes, just barely in reach. But only when he goes to tiptoe.
Ilya squawks and rushes forward to, one handed, brace the chair as one leg of it lifts infinitesimally off the marble of the island. His other hand palms Shane's calf to brace him as well. "Shane!" he complains. "We have a ladder!"
"This was faster."
Shane is working quickly to dismantle the smoke alarm that Ilya now wishes a thousand fiery deaths upon for its siren call lure of his husband. At one in the f*cking morning! Ilya groans and rests his head on his own arm, keeping his hands in place on chair and man alike.
"Where is Anya?" he huffs, because at least he deserves that answer to the mysteries of this irritating night.
"Outside with treats."
Ilya looks past Shane's legs to the patio door and sees, yes, Anya is there. She is staring at them with the target fixation of a missile through the glass. The treats were no doubt devoured two seconds after Shane put her out there. She looks as judgmental as if she's been exiled for a thousand years.
Shane's hand comes into his view, smoke alarm presented open. "Here. Put the battery in so I don't have to get down. I didn't think to grab it."
Ilya grumbles over letting go of him, but does as he's bid, removing the offending drained battery to replace with the new one that Shane had left on the island near the chair's feet. "Why do these always scream at dead of night?" he growls as he hands it back up to Shane.
"They really fucking do, don't they?" Shane sighs in equal irritation. Soon, the smoke alarm is back in its ceiling mount. He turns to put his hand on the back of the chair, about to hop down onto the island top.
Ilya grins.
As Shane's bare feet land on the island marble, Ilya swoops arms in around his legs and lifts. In moments, Shane yelping in alarm once, he has him over his shoulder. He gives his rear a quick, sound smack.
"Ilya! What the fuck!" Shane shouts indignantly. "Leggo!"
He does, letting him stand on his own two feet on the floor, but puts his hands on his shoulders to stay him from moving away. "Listen," he says firmly, seriously, staring Shane's glower down. "Do not do this again."
Shane scowls back. "What?"
"Be circus gymnast at one in morning, break your neck, die in the kitchen for me to find at breakfast, while our precious baby freezes outside."
Shane stares at him a moment, then rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, you're so dramatic. I was fine. I have great balance, asshole."
Ilya nods. "Yes, you do. But accidents are accidents, and now I will have nightmares about falling chairs every time I hear that stupid chirp, instead of fleeing any fire."
Shane searches his eyes, because the seriousness of them and his tone is enough to say more than the words. He sighs after a moment, nods, pats Ilya's ribs in reassurance. "Okay. Next time I'll wake you up. And get the ladder. Let Anya in so we can go back to bed?"
Ilya smiles in thanks, giving him a quick peck of a kiss.
As they plod back up the stairs, Shane mutters, "I'm a little concerned how you slept through it, now that I think about it. It's supposed to wake people up. For fire."
"Mm."
"I should get them all tested. Maybe we need different models. We can get those ones that are connected, so if one starts to chirp they all do."
Ilya scrunches his nose. "This would be horrible at one in morning, Shane."
"Yeah, but better horrible than dead."
"You are very morbid sometimes, Hollander."
"I like my husband hot, not deep fried."
Ilya laughs all the way back to bed.
He crawls over Shane once he's assumed his place, belly cradled in his hips and head under his chin, and curls limbs around him snugly. Shane grumbles as Ilya shifts tiny bits to get more comfortable. He gives him a small shove that does not dislodge Ilya in the least and mumbles, "You're too hot, Ilya, we're gonna get all sweaty and stink." He puffs a harmless breath at Ilya's curls around his jaw and lips. "Move, idiot," he whispers, no real demand in the words.
Ilya kisses him quiet. Shane settles, arms wrapping around him lightly. They sleep til the birds begin to sing.