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Shane had written everything down.
Two pages, front and back, in the handwriting Ilya called "robot writing." There was the feeding schedule, nap windows, how many ounces per feed and when to stop if one of them was fussing. Max's preference for being held upright after eating with his chin on your shoulder, which worked better than the burp cloth method even though every parenting book said otherwise. The pediatrician's after-hours number, which Yuna already had, which Shane had already texted her, which was also on the fridge. He'd written it anyway.
"Shane." Ilya was standing in the doorway of the nursery with his travel bag over one shoulder, his voice low because both boys were right across the room. "Your mother raised a child. She knows how babies work."
Shane didn't look up. He was checking the Diaper Genie, which didn't need checking because he'd refilled it last night. The house was too quiet for five in the morning. Both boys were asleep in their cribs, which almost never happened at the same time, and Shane resented it. If even one of them had been awake he could have held them and had one more minute. Instead they were both down and he'd be the asshole who woke a sleeping baby to make himself feel better about leaving.
"We should go," Ilya said, gently enough that Shane wanted to throw something at him.
Downstairs, Yuna was already in the kitchen making tea. She looked like it was any other Tuesday and she'd come over early. Except on every other Tuesday she went home at the end of the day when they got home from practice. Shane set the pages on the counter beside her and started talking before she could ask.
"They're both still asleep. They went down around four. Max will probably be up by six, six-fifteen. Nik's been going a little longer between feeds but sometimes he wakes up if Max cries first, so if you can get to Max fast it helps."
"Shane."
"The formula's premeasured in the containers on the counter, you just add water, but the water has to cool for—"
"Shane." Yuna took her glasses off and set them on the counter. She put her hand on his cheek, just for a moment, the way she'd been doing his entire life every time he was like this. "I have it. We know how to take care of the boys. We love you. You’ve got to go or you’ll be late."
David came in through the side door stamping his feet, October cold still on his jacket, a travel mug in one hand and his newspaper in the other. He set it on the table and picked up the two pages of notes from the counter, read for a moment, then looked at Shane over the top of the pages with an expression that was either fond or amused and was probably both.
"There's a whole section on burping," David commented with a nod.
"Different babies have different preferences."
"You've labeled the preferences."
"Max likes—"
"We know what Max likes," Yuna said. She was pouring two thermoses of coffee, even now, with two infants about to wake up in her care. She was pouring her boys coffee for the road. "He likes to be upright with his chin on your shoulder. Nik is fine any way you do it. We've been here, Shane."
They had been there since the beginning. Three days after the boys came home from the hospital, when Shane hadn't slept in forty-eight hours, Ilya had answered the door and looked at Yuna and said, "Please come in. I think he is broken."
Yuna had taken one baby and David had taken the other and they'd both just known what to do. Ilya and Shane had finally been able to sleep. They'd been here every growth spurt and answered the phone at two in the morning whenever Shane called because one of boys wouldn't stop crying.
"You're doing fine," Yuna would say, in a voice that made him believe it even when he was standing in the nursery at three in the morning with spit-up on both shoulders and no memory of which baby he'd already fed.
Ilya put his hand on the back of Shane's neck, warm palm and firm grip, and Shane felt his shoulders relax slightly.
"Time to go," Ilya said. "They will be perfect."
Shane took a thermos from his mother and kissed her cheek. "If anything happens—"
"We will call."
"Even if it seems small—"
"Shane Hollander." Yuna put both hands on his arms and turned him toward the door. "Your babies will be here when you get back. They will not remember this. You will, but they won't." She squeezed once. "Go play hockey."
David hugged Ilya. Both arms, his hand flat on the back of Ilya's head for a moment. Ilya leaned into it a fraction longer than he would with anyone else and David let him.
"Beat Montreal," David said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Have a good trip."
"Thank you." Ilya's voice was quieter than usual. "For staying."
"Where else would I be?"
Shane picked up his bag and looked at the stairs. Both boys were up there, asleep, warm, and fine. His mom was right. At three months old, they wouldn't remember any of it. Shane would miss everything. Three days of everything. They'd be different when he got back because babies were always different. Three days was enough for something new, and he would have been in Montreal pretending his whole life wasn't in two cribs on the second floor of this house.
"Okay," he said, to no one in particular, and followed Ilya to the door.
Ilya was holding it open. The October air came in, cold and sharp, smelling like wet leaves. Anya trotted over from her bed by the couch to investigate and Ilya crouched down, scratching behind her ears.
"Guard the house," he told her in Russian. She wagged her tail. She had no idea what he was saying and didn't care.
Shane walked out without looking back. If he looked back he would go back inside. And if he did that he would pick someone up and never leave the house. The door closed behind him. Ilya put his arm around him and they walked to the car in the dark.
✦
The train was quiet and Shane couldn't sit still.
Ilya was in the seat beside him with his headphones in, scrolling through his phone like they were on any other road trip. Shane checked his own phone for the third time in ten minutes. No missed calls. No texts. Ottawa was less than two hours behind them and getting further away every minute.
Ilya reached over without looking and put his hand on Shane's knee. Shane's leg was bouncing. He hadn't noticed until Ilya stopped it.
"Stop," Ilya said, without looking up from his phone.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You are vibrating." Ilya pulled one earbud out. "I can feel it through the armrest."
"I'm fine."
"You are doing the thing where you are fine in a voice that means you are not fine." Ilya locked his phone and looked at him. "They are with your parents. They are good parents. They are good grandparents. The dog is there. And if they forget they have notes."
"I know."
"You wrote two pages of notes."
"I know I wrote the notes, Ilya."
"Front and back."
"Are you going to keep—"
"There was a section on burping, organized by each boy and time of day." Ilya's mouth twitched, fighting a smile, because he knew smiling would make it worse. "They have the notes. The babies have grandparents. We will be home in three days. You can FaceTime when we get to the hotel."
Shane leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Three days was nothing. He'd gone on longer road trips than this a hundred times. He'd been doing this his entire career, getting on trains and planes, leaving home, playing the game and coming back. But there had never been anyone in the cribs before. He had wanted this so badly he'd rebuilt his entire life to make it happen, and now he was on a train to Montreal and his arms felt wrong because they were empty.
Ilya's hand slid up from his knee to his thigh, warm and heavy, and stayed there.
Shane FaceTimed Yuna the moment they got to the hotel.
"Hi, sweetheart," Yuna answered with a smile.
"How are they?"
"They're babies, Shane. They ate, they slept, and they're about to eat again." She flipped the camera. David was in the recliner with Nik on his chest, one big hand on the baby's back, watching the news. Nik was asleep. Shane's grip on the phone eased, because there was his son, warm and breathing and held by a man who would never let anything happen to him.
Ilya leaned in to look, resting his chin on Shane's shoulder.
"And Max?" Shane asked.
Yuna flipped the camera back to herself and crossed to the couch. She turned the phone again and there was Max in the bouncer, wide awake, staring at the ceiling fan with his mouth open.
"He's been doing that for twenty minutes," Yuna said and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I think he's in love."
"Can you— can you just leave it on them for a minute?"
Yuna paused. Then she propped the phone on the coffee table, angled so Shane could see both the bouncer and the edge of the recliner where David sat with Nik. Shane watched. Max waved a fist at the fan. David's thumb moved in slow circles on Nik's back. The living room looked exactly the way it always looked, warm and ordinary, and Shane's children were in it and he wasn't.
"Shane." Yuna picked the phone back up, her face filling the screen. "Sweetheart. They're fine."
She'd called him sweetheart. She only did that when she was worried about him. He was being obvious. He needed to stop.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. FaceTime me after the game. I'll be up."
He FaceTimed her after the game. They won, 4-2. Shane had two assists and Ilya had scored. The Bell Centre was strange from the other bench with the crowd noise pointed at him instead of behind him. It was always weird with his old teammates on the other side of the ice in the jerseys he'd worn for over a decade. But none of that was the thing he was thinking about when he got back to the hotel room.
"How are they?"
"Asleep," Yuna said. She turned the phone and carried it quietly into the nursery. The night light was on, the one with the stars that Shane had spent forty-five minutes selecting online. She held the phone over Max's crib first. He was on his back, arms flung out, free of his swaddle because Max had never stayed in a swaddle for longer than ten minutes. Then she moved to Nik's crib. Nik was swaddled tight, perfectly still.
Shane pressed his thumb against the screen. Ilya leaned over his shoulder to look, and pressed a kiss to the side of Shane's neck without taking his eyes off the screen.
"Beautiful boys," Ilya said quietly.
Yuna carried the phone back out and pulled the nursery door mostly closed. "They ate well. Nik was a little fussy around seven but he settled."
"Fussy how?"
"Shane."
"Was he crying or just—"
"He was fussy. Babies are fussy sometimes, you know that. I held him and he calmed down. Then he ate and went to sleep." Yuna's voice was patient and warm but completely immovable. "I know what fussy looks like. I raised you."
Ilya chuckled from the end of the bed, where he was unlacing his shoes, still in his suit. He held his hand out for the phone. Shane gave it to him.
"Yuna. Thank you. They are perfect." Ilya's face changed when he talked to Yuna. "And David? He is okay? And Anya, she is being good?"
"David is asleep in the chair. Anya is asleep in the nursery," Yuna said. Shane could hear her clearly. "She checked on both of them after I put them down and then she lay down next to Nik's crib."
"Good girl," Ilya said quietly.
"Good goal tonight," Yuna said. "And two assists from your husband."
"I know. He was incredible." He raised his voice slightly. "Very beautiful assists. He is pretending he cannot hear me say this."
"I can hear you," Shane said from the head of the bed.
"Good. You were beautiful." Ilya grinned at the phone. "Yuna, your son was very beautiful tonight and he will not accept the compliment so I am telling you instead."
"He never does," Yuna chuckled softly. "He gets that from David."
"Okay," Ilya said, still smiling. "We will call tomorrow. Thank you, Yuna. For everything."
"You don't have to thank me every time, Ilya."
"Yes I do."
He hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed between them.
"Babies are fine," Ilya said. "You are not fine. But babies are fine."
Shane sat up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed with Ilya, putting his face in his hands. He wasn't going to cry. He was thirty-one years old and he'd just won a hockey game in the building where he'd played for twelve years. It was one of his favorite places to win in. His children were asleep in their cribs being held and fed and loved by the two best people he knew. There was nothing to cry about.
"Come here," Ilya said.
"I'm right here."
"Come here." Ilya pulled Shane against his chest, one arm around his shoulders, Shane's face pressed into his neck. Shane let himself be held. Ilya kissed the top of his head.
"Good game tonight,” Ilya talked into his hair.
"Yeah."
"The second assist was very sexy. I almost forgot to skate."
Shane huffed out something that was almost a laugh. "You scored."
"I did. You're welcome." Ilya kissed him, brief and warm, and then pulled back. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow we have day off."
"Travel day."
"Yes. And then a night with no game and no babies and no schedule." Ilya ran his thumb along Shane's jaw. "Just us."
Shane closed his eyes. Just us. He couldn't remember the last time it had been just them. Before the boys were born, obviously, but even the last few weeks before that had been consumed by preparation, by the nursery, by the lists. It had been months since he'd been in a room with Ilya and had nothing to do except be in a room with Ilya.
"Okay," Shane said.
Ilya stood up and pulled Shane to his feet. He took Shane's suit jacket off his shoulders and tossed it on the chair. He loosened his tie, unbuckled his belt, tugged his pants down while Shane stood there and let him, the way he always let Ilya take over when he'd run out of whatever kept him moving. When he was down to his undershirt and boxers, Ilya kissed his forehead.
"Sleep."
✦
They flew to Toronto the next morning. They had practice, dinner with the team, and another FaceTime with Yuna where Shane only asked three questions instead of ten, which Ilya considered progress even if Shane didn't.
That night, Ilya came out of the bathroom and found Shane sitting on the bed in his boxers and a t-shirt, scrolling through his phone. Probably looking at the photos Yuna had sent. He'd been looking at them all day.
The room was quiet in a way their house never was anymore. No monitor crackling, no Anya shifting in her bed, no possibility of a cry from down the hall. Just the air conditioner and the city seventeen floors below.
They'd had sex maybe four times since the boys were born, all of it quick and careful and interrupted or nearly interrupted. It had been in their bed at home with the monitor screen glowing on the nightstand and one ear always listening. It was good, because it was always good with Shane, but rushed. Never the kind where you could actually pay attention to the other person instead of racing the next feeding.
Ilya stood in the bathroom doorway and looked at his husband. Shane’s hair was still damp from the shower and his face soft the way it only got when he didn't know anyone was watching. He'd looked like this the first time, in that hotel room after the commercial shoot. Ilya had never gotten over it.
"You're staring," Shane said, without looking up from his phone.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Ilya crossed the room and took the phone out of Shane's hand and put it face down on the nightstand. Shane looked up at him.
"They are fine," Ilya said. "You have seen the photos. You have talked to your mother. The babies are asleep."
"I know."
"And we are in a hotel room with no baby monitor and no one needs us until morning." Ilya sat on the bed beside him. "When is the last time that happened?"
Shane was quiet for a moment, and Ilya could almost hear it happening, his brain scanning for the next thing on the list and coming up empty.
"We should call Mom," Shane said.
"We already called. Two hours ago."
"Just to check—"
Ilya put his hand on the back of Shane's neck. "Shane."
Shane closed his eyes.
"Come here," Ilya said, and pulled Shane toward him by the back of his neck. Shane went, the way he always went when Ilya used that voice, and Ilya kissed him like they had all night because they did. One hand threaded through Shane's still-damp hair, the other sliding under the hem of his t-shirt and settling warm on his lower back. Shane's hands came up to Ilya's chest, fingers curling into the fabric, bracing and holding on at the same time. Ilya kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then just below his ear where Shane was sensitive and trying to pretend he wasn't.
"I missed you," Ilya said against his mouth. "Very hot daddy. Cannot believe you are mine."
"Don't call me that." Shane's nose scrunched, the face he made when he was offended but not enough to actually stop kissing someone.
"What? Daddy? You are a daddy. Is a fact. A very hot fact."
"I will get off this bed."
"You will not." He kissed Shane's jaw, the spot below his ear. "I missed this."
"We've had sex since—"
"Not like this." Ilya pulled back enough to look at him. "Not with time. Not with quiet. Not where I can—" He stopped. His English was failing him, which happened when the feeling was bigger than the vocabulary. He tried again. "I want to take my time with you. I have not had time in months."
Shane's throat moved. His fingers curled into the front of Ilya's t-shirt, which was his body saying what his mouth wouldn't.
"Okay," Shane said quietly, like he was giving himself permission.
"Okay," Ilya said, and kissed him.
Shane was already down to his boxer briefs and t-shirt, but Ilya pulled the shirt over his head slowly, watching Shane's stomach tighten when his fingers brushed skin. Shane let him. That was the thing about going slow with Shane. if you were patient enough, he stopped trying to manage it. His hands unclenched. His breathing changed. Ilya had figured this out years ago and he had never once rushed it.
Three months of not having time to look at Shane properly, and now Ilya had all the time he wanted. He kissed his way down Shane's chest, taking his time over his ribs, the flat plane of his stomach, and when he reached the cut of Shane's hip Shane's hand came into his hair and his breathing went uneven the way Ilya knew it would.
"You are thinking about the phone call," Ilya said against Shane's skin.
"I'm not."
"You are. You are thinking about whether you should FaceTime now, whether Nik ate, whether Max—"
"Shut up."
"—is staring at ceiling fan again." Ilya bit Shane's hip, lightly, and Shane's back arched. "Stop thinking. I am busy."
"You're the one talking."
"I am multitasking."
Shane laughed, and the laugh broke apart when Ilya pulled his boxers down and mouthed along the crease of his thigh. Shane's hand tightened in his hair. Ilya kissed the inside of his thigh, the soft skin there, and Shane's legs fell open for him. Ilya settled between them and took his time.
He licked a slow stripe up Shane's cock and Shane's hips jerked. Ilya pressed them back down with one hand, firm, keeping him there.
"Ilya—"
"Stay still." He did it again, slower, tongue flat, and then wrapped his lips around the head and sucked. Shane made a sound that was almost a sob. Ilya took him deeper, hand still pinning Shane's hip, the other running up the inside of his thigh. Shane's fingers twisted in his hair and his legs were shaking. Ilya could feel every breath he took, fast and shallow.
He pulled off just enough to talk. "You are so loud when there is no monitor."
"Shut up and don't stop."
Ilya laughed against his cock, which made Shane swear, and then took him all the way down again. He found the rhythm that undid Shane, slow and deep, and Shane's hips bucked against the hand holding them down. His thigh was trembling under Ilya's palm. His breath was coming out in broken, desperate sounds and his hand was fisted in the sheets. Ilya wanted to stay there forever.
"Fuck— Ilya, I'm going to—"
Ilya pulled off.
“Nope,” he answered, popping his lips.
Ilya pulled off. Shane made a noise that was half groan, half protest, and his hips chased Ilya's mouth for a second before he caught himself. Ilya kissed his way back up Shane's body, his chest, his throat, his jaw. Shane grabbed his face and kissed him hard, licking into Ilya's mouth like he couldn't get enough.
"I want—"
"I know what you want." Ilya pulled his boxers off and moved up Shane's body, settling over his chest, knees on either side, his weight pressing Shane into the mattress. Shane looked up at him, flushed and swollen-mouthed, and opened his mouth.
Ilya fed his cock past Shane's lips and Shane took him in, one hand wrapped around the base, the other gripping Ilya's thigh. Ilya's hand went to the headboard because he needed it. Shane hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper, and Ilya said something in Russian that he didn't plan.
Shane hummed around him and Ilya's hips jerked. Shane's hand came up to his hip, pulling him closer.
"Bozhe moy," Ilya said. His hand found Shane's hair. "Shane. Your mouth."
Shane pulled off just long enough to look up at him, mouth red, eyes wet at the edges already. "Fuck my mouth."
Ilya's grip tightened in his hair. "You sure?"
Shane opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, looking up at Ilya, waiting.
Ilya rolled his hips forward, slow, and testing. Shane took it, jaw loose, eyes half-closed, his throat working around the head when Ilya pushed deeper. Ilya pulled back and Shane chased him, sucking hard on the outstroke. Ilya swore and gripped the headboard with one hand, Shane's hair with the other and started to fuck his mouth.
It was slow at first. Then not. Shane's fingers dug into Ilya's thigh and his eyes were streaming, tears running from the corners into his hairline, but he wasn't pulling away. He was pulling Ilya closer. Every thrust Shane took and held and wanted more of, gagging once and breathing through it and opening wider. Shane's free hand was flat on Ilya's stomach, his thumb stroking back and forth, gentle, even now, and that was the thing that almost broke Ilya.
He pulled back before he got too close. Shane let him go, gasping, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. His mouth was swollen and his face was wet. He was smiling.
Ilya cupped his face and kissed him.
"Please fuck me," Shane said against his mouth. Quiet and steady and absolutely sure.
"Yes," Ilya said. "Obviously yes."
He reached for his bag on the nightstand. Lube in the side pocket, same place it had lived for years of road trips. He fumbled with the cap because Shane was watching him, flushed and wrecked and half-smiling, and Ilya's hands were not cooperating.
"You okay?" Shane asked, almost smiling.
"You are too beautiful. Is a problem. My hands do not work when you look like this."
"That's your worst line."
"Is not a line. Is medical condition." He slicked his fingers and Shane spread his legs wider and Ilya had to close his eyes for a second. Twelve years and this still hit him.
He worked one finger inside and Shane's breath hitched. Shane's eyes were closed, lips parted, hands fisted in the sheets.
"More," Shane said.
"I decide when." Ilya kissed the inside of his knee and kept going with one finger, slow, deliberate, until Shane was squirming under him. "Tell me what you want."
"You know what I want."
"I want to hear you say it."
Shane's jaw tightened. He hated this. He loved this. Ilya could see both things on his face and he waited, because waiting was the whole game with Shane.
"More," Shane said again, quieter. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Fuck me with your fingers. More. Ilya, please."
Ilya gave him two. Shane exhaled slow through his nose, his body adjusting, and Ilya curled his fingers.
"Fuck," Shane said.
He took his time, working Shane open slowly, thoroughly, the way he hadn't been able to in months with babies who might wake up at any second. No monitor tonight. No feeding schedule. Just Shane's body and the sounds he was making and the city light through the curtains.
"Ilya. Come on." Shane's head fell back against the pillow, his hips trying to push down onto Ilya's hand.
"No." Ilya added a third finger and Shane's back arched off the bed. "I told you. I am taking my time."
"I've been patient for three months." He sounded wrecked. Desperate and annoyed at the same time, which was Ilya's favorite version of Shane.
"Then a few more minutes will not kill you."
Ilya laughed. He pulled his fingers out and slicked his cock, and Shane watched him do it, eyes dark, breathing hard. Ilya hooked Shane's legs over his shoulders and Shane let out a shaky breath. Ilya lined up and pushed in slow. Shane's head tipped back, his hands fisting in the sheets, a sound coming out of him that was barely a word.
He bottomed out and held still. Shane's thighs were pressed against his chest, both of them breathing hard. Shane tried to rock his hips but Ilya pressed him into the mattress and held him there.
"Wait," Ilya said. He turned his head and kissed the inside of Shane's calf. "Let me."
Shane made a frustrated sound. His hands came up to Ilya's shoulders and Ilya caught them, lacing their fingers together. He pinned Shane's hands against the pillow on either side of his head. Shane's breath caught. His whole body went still.
Ilya looked down at him. Shane's eyes were open, dark and focused entirely on Ilya.
"I missed this."
"You said that."
"I will keep saying it." He pulled back and pushed in again, slow and deep. Shane's attempt at a laugh turned into a groan. Ilya set a pace that was deliberate and completely unsustainable. He knew himself. He knew what Shane felt like. He was not going to last as long as he wanted to, but Shane was under him and around him and making the sounds he only made when he wasn't worried about being heard. Ilya wanted to live in this for as long as his body would let him.
"God, you feel good," Ilya said against Shane's neck. "Always. Every time."
Shane groaned something that might have been Ilya's name.
"Louder," Ilya said. "No babies. Be as loud as you want."
"Harder," Shane said, and his voice cracked on it.
"Ask me nicely."
"Ilya, I swear to god—"
"Ask me."
"Harder. Please. Fuck me harder."
Ilya let go of his hands. Shane's nails were on his back instantly, dragging down his spine, and Ilya gave him what he asked for. Shane arched up into it and Ilya dropped his head to Shane's neck and breathed him in.
"You have no idea," Ilya said, rolling his hips slow and then snapping them forward making Shane cry out. "What you look like right now. What you do to me."
"Ilya—"
"So beautiful. Always so beautiful." He shifted the angle and Shane swore, loud, grabbing the headboard. Shane Hollander with a plan, a schedule, and pages of tight writing. Shane Hollander with his head thrown back and his mouth open, nothing in his head except his husband.
"Touch yourself," Ilya said. "Want to see you."
Shane wrapped his hand around his cock. Ilya kept his eyes on him, on Shane's hand moving in time with his thrusts, the flush spreading down his chest. He saw the moment when Shane's eyes went unfocused and his breathing turned ragged. Ilya knew he was close.
"That's it," Ilya said, low, in his ear. "That's it, Shenya. Come for me."
Shane came hard, Ilya's name loud in the room, louder than he'd been in months as his whole body tightened around Ilya. Ilya fucked him through it, watching Shane's mouth fall open, his back lift off the bed. Then he buried himself deep and came with his face pressed into Shane's neck, mumbling something in Russian that he couldn't have repeated if he'd tried.
They lay there breathing. Ilya's full weight on Shane. Shane slipped his arms around him.
After a while Ilya rolled off and pulled Shane against him. Shane fit himself against Ilya's side, head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. They were both sweating. Neither of them moved to clean up. The room was dark except for the city light coming through the curtains.
"We should call Mom and check on the boys," Shane said, into Ilya's collarbone. His fingers were tracing lazy circles on Ilya's chest. The planning brain rebooting.
"Shane. It is eleven o'clock at night."
"She said to call anytime."
"She did not mean during sex."
"We're not having sex anymore."
"We might be again soon." Ilya caught Shane's hand and kissed his knuckles. "Don't call your mother."
Shane laughed against his chest. A real laugh, loose and easy, the kind Ilya hadn't heard in days. Shane's leg tightened over Ilya's, his face pressing deeper into Ilya's chest. The room was quiet. Shane's breathing slowed against his ribs.
Ilya shifted under him. "We should clean up."
"Five more minutes," Shane said.
"Five more minutes," Ilya agreed. He pressed his mouth to Shane's hair and closed his eyes and held on.
✦
They pulled into the driveway at four in the afternoon on Friday, and Shane was out of the car before Ilya had turned off the engine.
The front door was unlocked. Shane pushed it open and the house hit him. The familiar smell of it, the warm air, the sound of something playing softly from the living room speaker, and Anya's nails clicking on the hardwood as she came to meet them. He was home. Anya was wagging her whole body, not just her tail, and Shane crouched down and let her lick his face.
"Where are they?" Shane asked. He was already moving.
Yuna came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. "Everyone is in the living room. They just ate."
The living room was warm and bright. David was sitting on the couch with both boys. Max was propped up against David's thigh, awake, looking around the room with the restless energy of a baby who was done being held but couldn't do anything about it. Nik was in the crook of David's other arm, drowsy, blinking slowly.
Shane picked up Max first because Max was closest. The weight of his son in his arms hit him so hard he had to stand still for a second. It had been three days and Max felt heavier, or maybe Shane's arms had just forgotten the exact weight of him, which shouldn't have been possible in three days but was.
Max looked at him. His eyes were wide and dark and then his face broke into that gummy, open-mouthed smile that destroyed Shane every single time. Shane's throat closed.
"Hi," Shane said. His voice came out wrong. "Hi, buddy. I'm back."
David was already shifting Nik into position so Shane could take him too, but Ilya was there first. Ilya had come in behind Shane, quieter, letting Shane do the thing they'd both been waiting to do. He lifted Nik out of David's arms and Nik blinked up at him. Ilya said something in Russian, soft, just sounds, and pressed his mouth to Nik's forehead.
Shane sat down on the couch with Max against his chest. Max grabbed a fistful of his shirt and held on. Shane put his hand on Max's back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and watched Ilya hold Nik across the room.
Ilya was standing by the window with Nik cradled in one arm, his other hand cupped around the back of Nik's head. He was rocking without seeming to realize he was rocking. The October light came in through the window and caught them both. Shane sat there with his son on his chest and looked at his husband holding their other son, and felt the last three days leave his body.
"How were they?" Shane asked. He was looking at Ilya but the question was for his parents.
"Good," Yuna said, from the kitchen doorway. She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching all of them with a smile. "They were good."
"She's leaving out the best part," David said. He stood up from the couch and stretched his back, the stretch of a man in his sixties who'd been picking up babies for three days. "Max had a meltdown at two in the morning on Wednesday. Full volume. I thought the neighbors were going to call someone."
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened. He was a baby. He was mad about something only he understood. Your mother held him for forty minutes and he went back to sleep." David looked at Yuna, fondness in his eyes. "She sang to him."
"I did not sing," Yuna said.
"She sang."
"It was humming. It's different."
"She hummed," David said, with the expression of a man who had been married for over thirty-five years and knew exactly when to stop pushing. He clapped Ilya on the shoulder as he passed. "Good to have you back."
"Good to be back," Ilya said. He was still looking at Nik. Nik had fallen asleep against his chest, his fist curled near his mouth. "I think he grew."
"He did not grow, Ilya."
"Look at him. He is bigger. His face is different."
"His face is not different."
"Is a little different. More handsome. Like me."
"He's three months old."
"And already very handsome." Ilya kissed Nik's head again. "Takes after his father."
Shane watched Ilya sway with their son and felt his throat tighten again. He'd been right. They'd missed things. They would always miss things. This was the job and this was the life. He would get on another train or another plane next week and do it again. But right now both boys were here and Ilya was here and the house smelled like whatever Yuna had been cooking. That was enough. That was everything.
Yuna put her coat on. David gathered a pile of books and his reading glasses.
"We're going home," Yuna said. She kissed Shane's cheek, then bent and kissed Max's head. She crossed the room and kissed Nik's head where he slept on Ilya's chest. Then she put her hand on Ilya's face. "You did good. Both of you."
David hugged Ilya again. The same hug. The same hand on the back of his head. Ilya leaned into it with a baby on his chest and closed his eyes.
"Same thing next time?" David said.
"If you don't mind," Shane said.
David looked at him. "Shane. We're their grandparents. This is what we're for."
They left. The door closed. The house was quiet. Max was awake on Shane's chest, making small sounds at nothing. Nik was asleep on Ilya's. Anya was on her bed. The house was theirs again.
"We did it," Shane said.
"We did it." Ilya smiled. "First road trip."
"First of many."
"First of many," Ilya agreed.
Shane leaned back on the couch with Max on his chest. The weight of his son. The warmth of the house. Ilya standing in the last of the afternoon light with their son. This was the life he'd planned. Every list, every schedule, every sleepless night. For this. A Friday afternoon in October with both of them home.
Max grabbed his finger and Shane let him hold on.