Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Wow. This is downright ridiculous.”

The outside world is coated in a thick blanket of snow. Tree branches bend under the weight of the cold mass, sagging towards the ground until it looks like they should break. Your front porch is gone, consumed by the rapidly encroaching freezing mass.

Even your husband, a purebred Russian farm boy, doesn’t want to go out in this weather –and that’s saying something.

Piotr finishes building a fire in your home’s fireplace, keeping the doors open just a hair so that enough oxygen can get in to keep the flames blazing. “Forecast predicts another ten inches before end of day.”

“Jeepers fucking creepers. Goes to show that climate change’s a double-edged sword, huh?” You take a sip of your hot chocolate, then smile over at your husband. “Well, at least we can have a fun snow day with each other. Drink hot chocolate, make cookies, have sex by the fire—”

Your husband chuckles, but shakes his head. “It will have to wait, myshka.”

“What? Why?”

“Remote schooling today. I must present lectures, be available to help for assignments, grade papers. Usual fare.”

“How the hell is this not ‘snow day’ conditions?” you ask, gesturing wildly at the layer of white fluff covering the outside world.

“After pandemic, we decided to fortify remote education options. Now, we can school in all situations –and students do not have to worry about delays eating into summer.”

You roll your eyes, let out a disgusted huff, then glare out at the drifts of snow. “Fucking Coronavirus. I should’ve known.”

The two of you go about life as normal –well, as close to “normal” as it gets when a polar vortex is blasting your home in the face. Piotr gives his lectures to his students, answers questions via online chats and emails, and the two of you grade assignments together on the couch.

It’s nice. You can cozy up to your husband in front of the fire, warm your feet against his thigh, and get all the hugs and kisses and hand squeezes a gal could want.

This isn’t so bad, you reflect, smiling softly as Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders.

By one in the afternoon, you’re losing your mind.

You’ve already reviewed all the assignments on your case load for grading. And double-checked them. And triple-checked them.

You’ve also helped field questions for Piotr, done two loads of dishes, made lunch for both of you (with real vegetables, thank you very much), done all the ironing you’d been putting off, and cleaned your bedroom’s bathroom.

You sigh, drumming your fingers against the kitchen counter as you watch Piotr give his third lecture for the day. Come on, hurry up! How much longer can this take?

(Suddenly, you understand why the students at Xavier’s complain about your husband being ‘long-winded.’)

You drop your head against the counter top –then lift it back up when an idea strikes you. Oh, fuck yeah.

You do your best to walk upstairs as calmly as you possibly can. The last thing you want to do is tip Piotr off to your mischievous misdoings. Once out of sight, you scamper into the master bedroom and make a beeline for yours and Piotr’s shared closet.

Namely, for your dresser in said closet. The bottom-most drawer, to be precise.

You keep a stash of random items in your bottom dresser drawer –a couple bags of candy that you’d told Piotr you were buying for trick or treaters but were really for you, a package of glow sticks leftover from Wade’s most recent birthday party, some fun bathbombs and scented lotions for when you feel like pampering yourself, a few fancy notebooks…

You grin when you find the objects of your desires –a few multi-shot Nerf guns and a stash of foam darts. Bingo.

They’d been a wedding gift from Wade; he’d figured that the two of you would enjoy pranking and play-fighting with each other –or, at least, that it’d be a good way to keep your aim sharp.

You load up both guns, stash the rest of the darts in your pockets –then frown when you realize that you don’t have a good way to sneak the guns past your husband. Distracted though he may be, at the moment, he’s not entirely unobservant.

And then you spy the full dirty laundry hamper, and things start coming together.

It takes practically nothing to get past Piotr. With the guns tucked under a couple shirts, he doesn’t even have a reason to suspect you.

And he doesn’t. He gives you a friendly smile and blows you a kiss when you walk down with the laundry basket, then goes back to giving his lecture on the various art movements in the twentieth century.

You pretend to go down to the basement, but stop in the hallway that leads you to the basement door and Piotr’s office. You pull out the guns, then creep back towards the stairs –where you set one of the guns for Piotr to find—then crouch and wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

And wait even longer.

Good grief, honey. Wrap it up! You shift, wincing uncomfortably as you try to keep your right foot from falling asleep—

“That covers today’s instruction. Be sure to read pages fifteen through forty five…”

Finally. You wait for Piotr to finish talking, then wait a couple beats longer to make sure he’s got his camera and microphone off –and then you jump him. “Boo! Hands in the air!”

Piotr jumps, then holds his hands up to shield himself from the darts. He laughs as he tries to disentangle himself from his laptop and charger cord. “Hey! Hey!”

“Ultimate death match!” you crow, dashing around the couch before he can lunge for you. “Every person for themselves!”

He guffaws, trying –and failing—to avoid your shots. He notices the gun on the staircase and makes a grab for it –then stops when he sees you reloading your gun. “Where are my darts?”

“In your gun.”

Piotr gapes at you. “This only carries six!”

“That’s kind of the point.” You grin, then start firing at him again. “Lock and load, honey!”

He makes a valiant effort, but considering you have all the darts –and don’t let up on him long enough to collect extras—he’s doomed from the start. That, combined with being such a big target to begin with, makes it all too easy for you to trounce him.

Eventually, you corner him against the kitchen island. “Surrender! Or face the consequences!”

Piotr grins at you, then cocks his chin up defiantly. “Never.”

“Have it your way.” You unload your gun, shooting him square in the chest, then burst into giggles when Piotr collapses to the ground and lets out groans of “pain.”

“Wounded… betrayed… by woman I love most…” he says, placing the back of his hand against his forehead like a true damsel. “There is nothing to console me… in death…”

You giggle again, then drop down so you’re straddling him. “Gotcha.” You kiss his nose, then sit back on his hips, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “Weren’t expecting that, were ya?”

“Definitely not,” Piotr says, grinning wryly. “Very nicely done, myshka.”

You mock-bow, then laugh when he applauds for you. “Well, now that I’ve gotten you away from your laptop, how does sex in front of the fireplace sound?”

He scoops you into his arms, then carries you around the couch before laying you out on the rug in front of the fireplace. “With you? Delightful.”