“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Koschei where he’s seated at his workbench and starting to massage his shoulders and neck. “Come to bed. You’re working too hard.”

Koschei draws his hands up over his face, and drags them down his cheeks, all the way past his stubbled jaw, and down his long slender neck. 

       “I hate. Leaving something unfinished,” he retorts crossly: crossly mostly because he knows his husband is right. 

He drags himself to his feet and shoves his face into Jack’s chest.

      “ … fine.”