Archive of Our Own ^beta

They finally agree on a cat.

Shane had been wanting one for a while now. He would beg Ilya endlessly until he had to hint about some ‘soon’ or ‘maybe someday’. Shane wanted his own furry friend as much as Ilya had his own.

It’s not that Anya isn’t Shane’s dog as much as she is to Ilya. However, Shane has always been a cat person more than a dog person, and Ilya knows this.

It’s evident in his personality anyways.

Anya demands activity, boisterous behavior, and unpredictability that only Ilya can give her. Ilya can play with Anya for almost the entire day whilst also giving his time to Shane, all while never spreading himself thin. He can bounce back all with the same consistency, rarely needing time to recoup before storming out to the front lines and sharing himself.

When Shane tries, he eventually grows tired and worn because that isn’t him. He collects his energy over time, preferably through quiet time and isolation that sometimes Ilya can’t even penetrate. Once he’s perfected his energy, he releases it to the world in a flawless fashion. One that could mistake him for a person who can give it all the time.

Ilya and Shane may be of the same cloth, but they are not of the same pattern.

So just like how Ilya needs a furry friend to match his personality, Shane needs one too.

There had been worries that the cat wouldn’t tolerate Anya, or the other way around. They wanted peace in their household, not a violent fire between their two pets. The couple had both related that they wouldn’t know what to do if they walked in one day and one of the animals was scratched up, or worse; dead. All because the other couldn’t keep their claws or teeth straight.

Ilya ended up leaving the decision to Shane. He was good at picturing things in his mind and thinking about all the possible scenarios, even if it trickled down into overthinking at times.

However, Shane never let him know when he was going to get the cat. He only shared his plans briefly. He was going to visit animal shelters and see what kitties they had up for adoption, and if he came home with one, that was that. Ilya knew nothing else. He didn’t know what Shane was looking for in a cat, or any sort of specific breed.

He just knew Shane really wanted a cat, and this was the perfect time to let him make that decision.

Now, Ilya pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the gravel as he slows the car and settles it into park. Shane’s car is here, he must be home. He’s home earlier than he said, letting Ilya know that he would come back from his “errands” at around three. It’s only two fifteen. Did he complete whatever he needed to attend to?

Ilya kills the engine and stuffs the key fob into his pocket, snatching his wallet from the cubicle of the car and unbuckling himself. He exits the vehicle and makes his way up.

Instead of letting himself in, he knocks and waits for Shane. He has his own key, but he does this deliberately just to be greeted with Shane’s face.

When Shane doesn’t open the door as quickly as he usually does, Ilya knocks again, his soft grin beginning to fall from his face. Is Shane busy with something? Usually he never leaves the person behind the front door hanging, it doesn't matter if it’s Ilya. Could he be showering? Cleaning? In the gym?

Ilya fumbles with his keys, preparing the stick the house key into the doorknob when finally it twists and the door creaks open to reveal Shane, and—

And what in the hell does he have in his arms?

“Ilya! You’re home early! Doctor’s go okay?” His husband chirps, a tender flush high on his cheeks as he opens the door wide. He’s cradling something to his chest, and Ilya can’t quite make out what it is. What on Earth is that?

Ilya peers at him and then flits down to the oddly peachy colored thing in Shane’s arm. It looks like a lump of skin, like a sack of bones with nothing else to make up for it. As Ilya scrutinizes the unidentified object, He leans in to give Shane a peck on his cheek whilst crossing the threshold of their home.

Shane shuts the door behind him, a wary click against the doorframe that Ilya can only read as “Shane has something to share with him.” So he chucks his shoes off, letting them thud against the wall much to Shane’s despise. Shane doesn’t reprimand him as he does so, and he doesn’t say a word as Ilya lets the shoes stay unorganized on the floor.

He drops his keys into the bowl on top of the small table, shrugging off his coat to hook it onto the coat hanger. Behind him, Shane lags around him, wavering as he does with a soft sway.

So Ilya turns, facing Shane who’s cooing into the fleshy lump in his arms.

“What is that?” Ilya croaks. He’s met with Shane who flicks his head up, a soft smirk on his lips.

“A cat,” Shane replies, smirk stretching into a toothy grin as he lifts the supposed cat to reveal it to Ilya.

Well, it is indeed a cat.

A morbidly fleshy, sack of skin, bones, and fat sort of cat. Ilya’s never seen anything like it. He’s seen cats that were overtly fluffy, some who were much too fat for what their bones could handle. He’s seen cats who had pearls for eyes and coat patterns that never seemed possible.

But never in his life has he seen a cat who has nothing at all. No fur, nothing that makes the cat a furry feline friend. This cat is simply skin and wrinkles, like someone had decided they wanted to try and make a human baby cat hybrid. Its fat is all in the wrong places, pudgy at its stomach yet lean around its limbs. Its neck is just wrinkles, there is no smoothness to it.

“Shane— malysh, that is not a cat.”

Shane gasps, his face squeezing into a frown, and Ilya mentally curses himself because now he’s going to cop it from his husband.

“Yes he is! His name is Pork!” He exclaims, cradling the cat’s head and kissing the top of it sweetly. Ilya melts at the picture, yet he can’t shake the discernment of such an alienish cat.

Ilya cackles in disbelief, “Pork? Seriously Shane?”

“Yes!” Shane pets Pork, his hand running across the wrinkles and skin of the cat. They smooth freakishly beneath his hand, and Ilya is so damn confused. He’s never seen anything like it.

“His full name is Pork Hollander-Rozanov,” Shane then says, “I got him from the animal shelter fifteen minutes away.”

Of course Shane would get his well-deserved cat from an animal shelter. Ilya crumbles at the act, the testament of Shane’s pure heart showing through.

He swallows, and inches closer towards Shane and Pork— God, he’s going to have to get used to that name. When he’s close enough to the two, his heart stutters when the cat twists in his husband’s arms to face Ilya dead on. Pork stares at him, eyes unwavering.

Gingerly, he glances up at Shane who nudges the cat closer to Ilya, “He likes when you pet his head,” he shares, a soft glimmer sparkling in his eyes as he looks at Ilya.

“Okay,” Ilya hushes, and brings his hand up hesitantly. He’s never been scared of a cat, or animal for that matter. He wrestled bears in Russia during his reckless youth and pushed through the many playful yet harsh bites of Anya. He can pet the human-like cat.

Yet Pork seems to be glaring at him. His eyes, an endless stretch of greens, yellows, and browns burn deep into Ilya. It’s as if he is daring Ilya to test him, to see where that gets him.

Ilya gulps down the pebble rising in his throat and pets Pork. His head is oddly warm and fuzzy like a peach.

But then all in a swift moment, he squirms in Shane’s arms. Pulling out his closest paw, he latches onto Ilya’s hand and digs into him, pulling the hand closer to bite at it almost immediately.

“Pork, no!” Shane gasps and pulls the cat away, who in turn hisses at Ilya.

Ilya’s hand burns with Pork’s scratch and bite. It’s nothing like what Anya can do, but it still hurts either way. He frowns as he looks at the rising scratches and bite marks on his hands before pouting at Pork who peers at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Lyubov, I don’t think he likes me,” Ilya gripes, his statement then justified by the hiss Pork sends his way from Shane’s embrace.

Shane bends down to the floor and lets Pork down. His paws slap onto the wooden floorboards just how feet would. From this angle, Pork appears much more freakish.

His tail is similar to that of a rat’s, and his spine hints beneath the thick layer of skin of his back. His elbows dig into the thinning areas of his flesh and his ears glow red from the light passing through them. Ilya can’t get used to the sight, he doesn't know how.

“He’s just skittish. I just came home like thirty minutes ago,” Shane sighs, wandering further into Ilya’s space.

Pork doesn’t seem to be skittish at all. He strolls off like he knows the home already, in the direction of what happens to be the kitchen. Shane must’ve set up his bowls near Anya’s.

Ilya lets Shane invade his space, bracing his hands on the slight divots of Shane’s waist, “What made you decide to name him Pork?” Ilya chides, leaning in to place a lengthy kiss to Shane’s lips.

“He reminds me of a little piglet,” Shane snickers, hands running across Ilya’s back to rise and scour through the curls resting at his nape.

Ilya hums, “That is right?”

Shane pulls away from where he’d had Ilya in an embrace, his head nestled in the angle of his neck and shoulder, “Well what do you think?”

“He looks like— like alien.”

“Ilya!”

❧

If Pork Hollander were truly an alien, he would be the kind that invades Earth and uses his evil behavior to destroy humanity.

Or he would leave everyone out of it. Except Ilya.

Ilya learns that Pork Hollander-Rozanov is an especially clingy cat. To Shane only, of course. Ever since his much unexpected arrival, Pork has found Shane’s lap to be his designated place of rest, ultimately kicking Ilya off to the side.

And Shane revels in it. He finds no problem with letting the cat straight up sit on his chest as he lays down, often rather occupied by petting the cat over and over again. Ilya knows the act soothes Shane just as much as it does Pork, so he can’t really find an issue there.

When Pork isn’t impeding Shane’s space (rarely), he’s entertaining himself by terrorizing Anya.

Ilya isn’t sure how their dynamic works. When Pork goes to swipe at her, she’ll skid across the floors trying to flee from the cat, yet come back moments later to torment the cat back. They’re like your classic dog and cat cartoons, where they run each other ragged around the house, pissing the other off as a form of entertainment.

However, Anya doesn’t seem to be afraid of Pork, and neither does he, so there doesn’t seem to be a problem there.

If Pork has grown bored of Anya that day, he’s set his sights on Ilya, though not in the way you’d expect.

Ilya is— regrettably— afraid of this cat.

He doesn't understand him. How one moment he can go from being cuddly with Shane on the couch or bed, then rear his ugly head and borderline growl at Ilya before launching himself at him. He’s never seen a cat with such polarity. Usually, if a cat is just mean, then they’re just mean. Yet sometimes Ilya thinks Pork reserves that personality for him only, allowing the other members of the household his sweet disposition.

Not to mention, Pork is an… Unconventional sight. Not often do you see a furless cat with a very pudgy primordial pouch. At least in real life you don’t. Ilya has never seen them in person, so the idea of getting used to the sight of one is throttling. How can he possibly get accustomed to the picture of a cat who looks like a gremlin?

And it’s as if Pork knows Ilya can’t figure him out. He bathes in that confusion and embraces it with an intimidating energy. He’ll glare at Ilya with such beady eyes, as if testing his limits of what the human can handle in terms of such a daring feline.

Because of this, Ilya is unsure if he’ll ever get along with this cat.

❧

It’s late when Ilya rouses from bed— sort of.

He and Shane had stayed up the night before, occupied with certain activities that could not involve their furry/fuzzy friends in the room. Because of their decisions, it was now well into the afternoon and a tinge began to bloom at the base of Ilya’s spine, an indicator of a night well concluded.

So now they both lay there in bed, thrown over each other aimlessly and settled in each other’s warmth.

Ilya’s eyes are shut as he begins to gain consciousness. He’s warm from the heat wafting off of Shane, who always burns hot in his sleep. Shifting, he kicks a leg out and huffs through his nose at the breach of cold air. His other leg, covered by the comforter, has Shane’s own thrown over it carelessly.

He listens to the air conditioning kick on, a worn fatigue running through his bones as he keeps his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to open them yet, because honestly he could fall asleep again. Off to the side, Shane mumbles in his sleep, evoking a lurch in his heart that has his lips stretching into a soft smile.

These are the mornings he enjoys most. The ones where they lay beside each other, basking in their combined heat and sleep.

Ilya pats a hand over, searching for Shane. When he does find it, he’s met with what seems to be his stomach?

Somewhere in the house, he can hear Anya drinking water. He needs to get up and let her outside soon, or else she’ll have an accident and Shane will get on Ilya’s ass about it. He sighs, rolling Shane’s skin between his fingers. Did he use a new body wash? Why is he so soft? Did he notice this last night?

Whatever Shane did, Ilya liked it. His stomach is soft and warm. He’s surprised Shane hasn’t woken already, asking Ilya what he’s doing. As much as Shane sleeps, he’s always been a light sleeper, often reprimanding Ilya for moving too much or snoring in his sleep.

So as Ilya lets his hand roam higher to what must be Shane’s ribs, he awaits for Shane to wake and stir closer to Ilya, dragging him down into sleep.

Except none of that. When Ilya searches higher, he’s met with… Wrinkles?

Wrinkles… Why would Shane have—

Ilya’s eyes snap open and he lurches up to face Pork, who’s loafing beside Shane.

Fuck, he was petting the damn cat.

“Go back t’sleep,” Shane mumbles from his pillow. He’s on his stomach, his face squashed into the pillow, baring his back to Ilya.

Pork glares at Ilya from where he stays tucked into Shane’s side. His ears are flat beside his head, and he keeps his rat-like tail close to his body while sneering at Ilya.

The room is dim, black-out curtains shut to leave out much of the afternoon sun. Through the soft lighting Ilya sees the evil glimmer coming from the cat’s hazel eyes. He appears as if he could launch from where he’s cradled beside Shane to claw and bite at Ilya.

“I uh,” Ilya coughs the sleep out of his throat, “I will go take Anya out…”

Shane hums, smacking his lips and throwing the leg he had over Ilya’s away, settling deeper into the comfort of the bed. Pork jostles beside him as he does so, all while never taking an eye off of Ilya.

Ilya rises from the bed gingerly, all whilst watching the cat. Fear roils deep in his stomach as Pork holds eye contact, as if daring him to make the wrong move, which would be to come closer to Shane. Of course it would be that, because the cat has basically stolen Ilya’s spot in the metaphorical hierarchy of who’s around Shane most.

So he sighs and makes his way to the bathroom to freshen himself up. Might as well wake up now.

❧

That following night, Ilya wakes again early into the morning.

When he wakes, the digital clock on his bedside table blares three fifty six, and he glances over to find Shane who is well asleep, mouth gaped and panting against the pillow. Good for him, because it seems like Ilya can’t get his sleep in anymore.

He doesn’t know why he woke up. One minute he’d been dreaming about a particularly infuriating game he had a few years back, and the next he woke up cold because to the looks of it, Shane had decided he wanted all of the blanket this time.

So Ilya huffs and rolls onto his side to face Shane, latching onto what’s left of the comforter and tugging it. He watches as Shane’s face screws into a soft frustration, and his hold grows lax, stirring to allow Ilya some of the blanket too. When he finally shares the warmth with his husband, the rising goosebumps on his skin settle.

Behind Shane, the trees outside of the window sway in the nightly wind. They’re illuminated gently by the moon, which reflects off of the leaves and other flora.

Ilya shuts his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep once more.

Except he doesn’t, because his eyes snap open when a meow cries further out into the house.

Pork doesn’t meow much. He’s often quiet, reserving his voice to growl and hiss at either Anya or Ilya. He really only shares his voice to Shane, but in the form of purrs and chirps. He never lets out a full meow.

This time he does. It’s drawn out, like a howl. Ilya can’t compare anything to it. Not even Anya cries out like this, for her howl reminds him of a wolf.

Beside him Shane sighs into his pillow, eyebrows furrowing and frown deepening. Guilt settles into Ilya’s heart because if he’d known better, he wouldn’t have tugged on the blanket and disturb Shane’s peace.

The house goes silent, and Ilya anticipates Pork's next cry. Anya is somewhere at the foot of the bed, because he can hear her huff and shift on her dog bed. Shane has never liked dogs on the bed or any animals for that matter, but Ilya guesses that doesn’t apply to Pork. Or perhaps Shane tries with the cat, yet he doesn’t care either way. That’s usually how it works for cats.

They think they run the world and the people living in it. Ilya could back that claim up, but if it were to defend Pork; he’s not so sure.

Suddenly, the crackle of fabric being torn stretches through the house. Ilya jolts, looking out their door. He can’t see anything besides the wall of the hallway and the few picture frames lined up. Is that Pork? Is he clawing at his tree again? That’s what it must be, because Shane gets onto him for scratching the couch and rug anyways. Pork will listen to Shane… Sometimes.

Ilya sets his head back onto the pillow beside Shane, bringing himself closer to lay his leg across Shane’s. He’ll just fall back asleep. It’s late and he doesn’t want to wake up like he got dragged out of hell.

He lets the warmth wafting off of Shane settle into his skin, drawing him closer and closer into sleep. His body grows lax as he focuses on getting to that sweet spot where he’s floating off somewhere.

That never happens, this time because Pork decides to disturb the night once more.

Just as Ilya was about to lose himself to sleep, something thuds well into the house. It must’ve been in the livingroom, because it doesn’t clatter like something would when it falls on the tiles of their kitchen or on the floorboards of everywhere else.

He knows the cat can climb around. He’s notorious for scaling the shelves and cabinets, sticking his head into them and striking worry. Usually, Shane would come around and peel Pork away from wherever he’s crawled up, reprimanding him for getting so close to picture frames and trinkets.

Yet that doesn’t happen this time, because Shane is drooling into his pillow now and he could be anywhere else but in this world.

Ilya studies Shane. He doesn’t want to wake him up just to tell him the cat is being a shit stirrer. Shane knows the cat and him don’t like one another, but that shouldn’t be enough to confront Pork. Ilya is a big boy, he can handle an evil, fleshy cat who’s decided he hates every fiber of him.

He loses himself in the sprinkle of freckles on Shane’s cheeks and nose. He could just stay here and count them like he’s done many times before, all while letting Pork get up to no good in the livingroom. He can stay where he is and deal with it tomorrow. With his husband.

Something else thuds in the house, and it must be in the dining room now because the sound is closer to the bedroom.

The sound irks at Ilya, pressing at him to get up and check on Pork. He could’ve gotten into Shane’s bookcase earlier and disrupted his books, letting them crash onto the large rug of the livingroom. Maybe now, he is messing around with the table runner of the dining table, an act he often does that has Shane shooing him away.

Ilya pulls his leg away from Shane’s and gets one more indulgent look at the span of his eyelashes bracing against the start of his cheeks. Perhaps the picture of his eyelashes will soothe him as he tackles the brave act of confronting Pork and his mischievous frolicking.

He gets up from the bed, chest panging and body aching as he listens to the drawn sigh of Shane, who brings himself closer to the patch of warmth Ilya left on the bed.

As he makes his way out of the room, he hopes nothing is broken.

When he arrives to the dining room, rumpled by sleep and the warmth of Shane waving off of him, he’s met with Pork.

Pork sits on the table, eyes wide and focused on Ilya as he licks his front paw. From where Ilya stands at the start of the hallway, he keeps his eyes on the cat, watching him groom himself petulantly.

How do you confront a cat who doesn’t even like you?

Pork is intimidating as he shifts to lick at his lean tail, ears flat against his head. As Ilya watches him, he fiddles with the band of his sleep shorts. He could shoo the cat away from the table just how Shane does, but then Pork would continue with his nefarious activities.

He can’t give him a treat as a bribe, because then that would just reward him for the behavior he’s already doing. He doesn’t want to do that, definitely not.

When Pork is done grooming himself, he stares at Ilya, who in turns stands awkwardly and limp with sleep.

He has to do something.

So Ilya warily inches closer towards Pork, who watches him with a curious glint in his eyes. There on the kitchen table he sits almost innocently, as if he’d never been up to anything to begin with. His eyes track Ilya as he comes closer, wide and dark in the dim room of the dining area.

Ilya stands not even a few inches away from the cat, looking down at him gingerly. Does he pick the cat up? Push him off? Shoo him away?

Swallowing down the rock rising in his throat, he raises his hands quickly to embrace the cat and pull him into his chest.

Pork squirms almost immediately, grunting and throwing himself around in Ilya’s hold, who begins to swiftly tiptoe back to the room. He lets out a growl deep from his throat, and Ilya’s body grows frigid with worry.

He’s never held the cat like this; skin-to-skin. It feels odd. It reminds him of when he hugs Shane and they’re both shirtless. The cat is warm against his chest, and he’s not sure if he’s the one who’s slightly clammy or if it’s Pork instead. Either way, the experience is freakish and he doesn’t know what to make out of it.

When he reaches the threshold of the bedroom, Pork lurches in his hold. He twists with a soft growl and then pain flares across Ilya’s pecs.

His arms fall limp, and the cat falls out of his hold, thumping onto the floor. He lands on his paws with a slap against the wooden floorboards, and Ilya gulps through the pain on his chest as he kicks the door shut.

He can hear Pork clamber up the bed and make his way to Shane, who shifts and allows Pork into the comforter. Ilya’s not even sure he’s awake enough to realize the cat got on the bed again, or that Ilya just got a broad scratch by Pork.

His skin burns as he gets to his side of the bed. Sitting down, he lets out a much needed sigh and grabs his phone off the bedside table. It’s four fifteen. Is he even going to sleep now that’s worked up by the cat?

Angling the phone down, he lets the tender light of the screen illuminate his chest. From this angle he can see the four long scratches that run from the left side of his collarbone down the underside of his right pectoral. Right across his chest. His skin is beginning to inflame from the trauma of Pork’s brazen behavior, and when he runs his fingers across the scratches he hisses in pain.

Pork has scratched him many times before. He’s racked up some scars on his hands from him, yet this one takes the cake. He doesn’t even know if this will scar. Maybe he’ll grow his chest hair back if it does.

He twists around to face Pork. He’s curled up on the side of Shane, whose hair is thrown recklessly over the pillow now. Ilya can’t see the cat’s face, and a part of him is grateful for that.

Looking back at his phone, he stares at the time until it blurs in his vision. He’s so tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep next to Pork. He wants to cuddle up against Shane and bathe in the heat of his sleep, not the cat’s. His eyes focus on the wallpaper of his phone; Shane resting on the hammock at his cottage. It’s such a candid photo that it makes Ilya ache for him, despite the fact that he’s only a few inches away from him.

However he shuts his phone and lets his hand brace on his thighs.

He’ll drag Anya onto the couch with him for the rest of the night, Ilya supposes.

When he wakes again, it’s because Shane’s nudging at him and wondering why he slept on the couch. Ilya makes up a lie and tells him Anya wanted to go outside, and he fell asleep on the couch.

Shane doesn’t take shit when he sees the scratch marks on his chest, so Ilya tells him he tried to get Pork to stop pushing things over.

❧

Ilya will battle the devil if it means to have one more moment with Shane.

They’re on the couch in the living room. Ilya is crowding over Shane who wraps his legs around his hips and presses his heels down into the small of his back, pulling Ilya closer into his body

Shane hums as he brings Ilya closer, latching onto his neck to scrape and suck at the skin there. It causes Ilya to roll his hips into Shane, drawing out a catch in his husband who in return sucks harder on his neck.

“Do you want to fuck?” Ilya gasps, nuzzling into the hinge of Shane’s jaw as he gyrates his hips slowly. His skin burns with a fire well known, and he knows it sets Shane’s hands alight when he runs them beneath his shirt and across his back.

They’d been watching a show earlier; some house renovation reality show Shane had gotten really into and dragged Ilya into it. He’d been watching it for a while now, and while Ilya never really got the interest, he agreed to participate just to make him happy.

Which leads to… Whatever this is.

In Ilya’s defense, Shane grew bored of the show and turned to his phone, throwing on his reading glasses. They were the patient zero of Ilya’s weaknesses for Shane. He’s only so much of a human and he crumbles at the sight of his husband losing himself to an article on his phone, adorned in nothing but his loungewear and reading glasses.

So he did what he deemed right: jumping his husband’s bones.

Maybe it’s because lately, Shane has just been looking much more handsome than usual. He’s always beautiful, often stopping Ilya short and breathless. Yet during times like these, where he’s just gotten a haircut and his skin is unusually tan, Ilya finds himself captured by Shane’s appearance.

Shane grabs a hold of Ilya’s face to bring him down to a searing kiss, one that’s open mouthed and loose. The kiss has Ilya’s hips stuttering before rolling much more frantically into Shane, who groans into his mouth before sucking on his tongue.

They spend a good while here on the couch, making out relentlessly and losing themselves to the friction between them.

Ilya isn’t even doing this to gain pleasure, he’s just desperate to get close to Shane in whatever way’s possible. He can keep this roil in his gut for as long as possible if it meant to continue this moment with Shane, and he knows his husband feels the exact same way, because he lets up on his hips and presses his mouth harder into Ilya’s.

He lets his hands slide up beneath Shane’s shirt, roaming over the expanse of his abdomen and ribs to fall on his nipples, where he pinches and rolls them gently between his fingertips. Ilya bathes in the soft hum Shane releases into his mouth, nipping at his plush bottom lip.

Shane’s hands glide from where they were searching around Ilya back to now his head. They tug at his curls, scouring through his hair and scraping nails against his Scalp. The scratch releases a shudder through his bones, making him grow lax as he presses himself deeper onto Shane.

They lose themselves into each other when suddenly the end of the couch shifts.

It’s a large couch, Ilya knows that for sure, they could both lay here and still have room for maybe two more people. So it wouldn’t be an issue for one of the animals to clamber up and make themselves comfortable on the couch.

Yet right now isn’t exactly the moment to do that.

Ilya tears himself away from Shane who groans at the parting, “I was enjoying that.”

“I know, was too,” Ilya sits up to straddle Shane’s hips. From here he gazes down at Shane who’s face has settled into a tender, serene expression. His lips, puffy and wet, are thin with a slight smile as he glances back at Ilya.

Shane braces his hands against Ilya’s thighs, squeezing the muscles beneath him and testing their strength.

The couch shifts again.

Is Anya up on the couch?

Ilya twists from where he’s straddling Shane to look behind him, expecting Anya to be curled up at the end of the couch as she usually does. Whenever they cuddle up on the couch she’ll take the space at the end of their feet.

Usually.

Except there sits Pork, who glares at Ilya with the most devilish shadow in his eyes Ilya has ever seen before. It’s as if the green in that hazel color is the manifestation of poison or an evil dragon’s scales.

Beneath Ilya, Shane shifts to peer at what Ilya is looking at,

“Ilya, it’s just Pork,” he deadpans, hands rising to pinch at the sides of his stomach.

Holding eye contact with Pork, “He’s up to something,” Ilya replies, swallowing down his anticipation and hardening his face.

Shane sighs, “No he’s not. Leave him alone.”

Pork keeps Ilya’s eyes. His ears begin to flatten against his head, and his body grows tense all over. He’s preparing for something. For what? Ilya doesn’t know.

“Then why is he looking at me like that!”

Shane then tuts and tries to sit up with Ilya still on his hips, “Like what?”

Ilya twists to settle in the space between the back of the couch and Shane. With a hand pointed at the cat, “Like— Like that!”

Silence falls between the three until Shane cackles and presses a kiss to Ilya’s cheek, “He just has a bitch resting face, leave him.”

How could a cat possibly have a bitch resting face? It’s a cat. They’re all cute and fluffy and sweet, even if they have a grumpy expression on them at all times. Pork’s face is actually set into a grimace that Ilya knows is reserved for him, because when the cat’s eyes briefly fall onto Shane, they squint just slightly before hardening once more when facing Ilya.

“Right,” Ilya huffs and settles closer into Shane, eyes set on Pork who sits at the end of the couch.

When Ilya finally gets through his fear, he regrets it.

He leans to grab at Shane’s face, turning him to look at him rather than the TV. With Pork in the corner of Ilya’s eyes, he swallows down the sickly feeling and presses a kiss to Shane’s lips.

It’s tender and fleeting, and it’s also the catalyst for Pork.

Pork launches from the end of their feet to jump at Ilya. All in a sudden moment, a mass of flesh, skin, and bone come flying at Ilya to latch onto the arm that’s now resting on Shane’s torso.

Ilya yelps, pushing Shane off the couch who grabs at Pork immediately to tear him off of Ilya’s arm. Yet it’s too late, because his forearm, once smooth, is now burdened with a long scratch running down and a bite mark to pair with it.

“Pork!” Shane shrieks, dropping the cat onto the floor.

Pork skitters away to his cat tree, quickly scaling the posts and small beds to sit at the top of the tree. From there, he peers at Ilya, eyes glaring and pupils deep with fury.

His arm doesn’t hurt. He’s been through enough injuries and animal scratches to bear through the pain of a cat’s scratch.

Yet as he shares the glare with Pork, the scratch along his forearm burns, and he has to press his hand against the gash to soothe the pain. It doesn’t help.

Shane rushes to Ilya, crowding his space and taking his arm into his hold, “Are you okay?”

He has a deep frown etched into his face, and Ilya searches frantically to calm his husband,

“Yes. Is not first time I’ve been scratched before, yes?”

It doesn’t help. Shane only winces and drags Ilya along to put something on the scratch.

❧

Ilya knows Shane loves Pork.

He’s always wanted a cat. Ever since they moved in together and lived life together, he always wanted a cat. And he got his cat, Ilya is proud to admit.

Except clearly this cat only wanted Shane. Not his other half.

Which is okay for Ilya too. If Pork only wants to have Shane in his life, fine. But it all becomes a problem when he can’t share Shane’s life with the damn cat either.

Soon, it grows to a point where Ilya can’t be as touchy as he usually is with Shane whenever Pork is around. Sure, he could manage to hug him and maybe sneak a kiss in, but anything further is like nightmare fuel for a third degree reprimanding by Pork himself.

Because of this, Ilya could say Pork is even raising conflicts between him and his husband.

“He does not like me, Shane!” Ilya cries, exasperated as he flails his arm. Anya is scrounging about in their backyard, and Pork is somewhere in their shared office.

Shane braces himself on the counter of the kitchen island, bringing a hand up to pinch at his bridge before facing Ilya with a tense frown, “He’s just a cat Ilya, he’ll get over it.”

That’s what Shane has been saying for the past months now. He’ll get over it. He’s just not used to you. He’s just scared. He’s just shy. Skittish.

No. Pork just doesn’t like Ilya. There is no excuse to help soothe the blow.

“That’s what you have been saying!” Ilya scoffs, “Does it happen? No!”

Shane sighs, flopping his arms down beside his body, “Well I don’t know what you want me to do Ilya!”

They share a silence for a moment, with Ilya standing behind the counter and Shane standing on his own end.

Ilya huffs and leans down to brace his elbows onto the island, letting his head hang into his arms. His eyes follow the marbling of the counter, listening to the air conditioning run and the soft breaths of Shane who isn’t that far from him.

Shane’s feet thud against the floor as he teeters towards Ilya. He sets a hand on his hunched back, rubbing it through the tank top he wears.

“I think he just doesn’t like you, baby.”

Ilya’s heart pangs as he registers the admission from Shane. He lifts his head between hunched shoulders to face Shane, who looks at him with a pained expression plastered on his face. The rare petname shudders through Ilya moments after.

He wants to ask why, but he knows Shane doesn’t have an answer for that. He might be Pork’s favorite, but that doesn’t mean he can read the cat’s thoughts and true emotions.

“How.” Ilya gruffs, shifting as he crosses a leg over another.

“Hmm?” Shane hums, letting his hand run beneath the hem of Ilya’s tank top to make contact with his skin.

“How do I make him like me?”

A daunting silence follows from Shane.

Then, his hand flees from Ilya’s back, leaving him aching for contact. Shane then flits around the kitchen, bending down to a cabinet in the far right corner. The door squeaks as he opens the cabinet, and Ilya makes a mental note to put some lubricant on the hinge because he knows that sound sends a chalky feeling down Shane’s bones, as per his very inept description.

The sound of plastic crackles between the two of them, and soon Shane appears before him with a tender flush on his cheeks. He huffs as he shakes a treat bag in Ilya’s face and them flings it on the counter.

“What is that?” Ilya squints at Shane, who braces himself on the counter to face Ilya.

“Catnip treats. Pork doesn’t know where they are because I’ve made it out like they’re a delicacy.”

Ilya hums and brings the bag of treats closer to him, sliding them across the counter. The plastic creaks beneath his fingers as he squeezes the packaging, little cubed treats poking through the plastic bag.

“Give him two and he’ll love you. I think.”

“That does not sound promising, pomidor,” Ilya gnaws at his bottom lip, glancing at Shane who runs a hand through the flick of his hair.

Then, he shrugs, pursing his lips and breaching Ilya’s space to press a kiss onto his lips, “Try it then.”

Shane then wanders off somewhere, leaving Ilya and the catnip treats alone to wallow in the fear of facing Pork.

He has to do this. If Shane says that the treats might get Pork closer to Ilya, then he’s got to try it. There’s no way he could know if he never gets it done.

So Ilya pulls his big boy pants on, gripping the bag tight, and storms down to their office.

The door is cracked open, hinting at the midday sun that peers through the windows. The stretch of light peeks through the seam of the threshold, and settles onto the floorboards just by Ilya’s feet.

Ilya grips the bag tighter, the plastic packaging crinkling beneath his grasp. He can do this. It’s just a cat, it’s just Pork. Pork is just a cat.

Except Pork is more than just a cat. He’s Shane’s best friend and Ilya’s archnemesis. He’s Anya’s eternal tormentor and the furniture's greatest fear in all of history. Pork, in all of his skin and bones, is at the very top of the proverbial barrel.

But he must do this. He needs to see if Shane is right about the treats. That tender part of him— which is only reserved for Shane— tells him that he could never be wrong. Shane knows Pork because he happens to be graced by the cat’s presence much more than Ilya does, so it wouldn’t be odd to know all the little tricks to get Pork to fall right in your palms.

He latches onto the doorknob, and slowly widens the door to let himself in.

The office is a mess (as per usual). There’s random hockey sticks all over the place, ones from brand deals he and Shane had been subjected to via Yuna. In one corner, there’s a box of new pride tapes that have more than just the rainbow flags. Of course, he and Shane had been approached first when it came to repping their own respectful flags, which means that in that box there’s probably gay man and bisexual tapes.

On their shared desk lies many scattered documents. Ilya’s not even sure what a good ninety percent of them mean. Chances are, they’re probably regulations behind their brand deals. Ilya never follows those.

And in Shane’s chair, tucked tight and neatly into the table, sits Pork.

He’s curled up in himself, the folds of his skin working ten-fold to really bring that alienish look to him. His abdomen rises and sets with each tender breath, and it seems that as Ilya stalks closer towards the cat, he doesn’t notice the human. He must be deep into sleep.

Ilya is wary of waking up Pork. He doesn’t want to startle him and then deal with the consequences all in this short moment. He continues to creep forward, his feet gently thudding against the flooring of the office before muffling completely when stepping onto the rug.

But then all of his effort goes down the drain when the bag slips out from his hand, and crashes to the floor in a plastic, treat-filled crinkle.

He stills as he watches Pork snap his head up, searching with his ears twisting like little antennae before his eyes fall on Ilya, who stands over the plastic bag in a crouch.

They squint, his ears slowly flattening into what Shane calls his “airplane mode.”

As Ilya retrieves the treats from the floor, he keeps eye contact with the cat, “I have something for you,” he whispers to Pork, as if he’s sharing a well-kept secret.

Pork’s eyes fall on the treats, and he perks up as a whole. He begins to sit up from where he’d been curled up, his spine stretching into an upside-down U as pulls the sleep out of his feline body.

Ilya thinks he has this in the bag now. This is the only time Pork has been remotely interested in him. Maybe Pork can associate Ilya with treats, and change his behavior towards him.

From the other side of the desk, Ilya kneels down to sort of get beneath the desk. There’s a computer cable in his way that he has to shove away in order to get to Pork, who watches him warily yet now with a newly kindled spark in his eyes.

Then, he peels the bag open, the crackling of the plastic twisting Pork’s ears about and lurching him closer.

Ilya definitely has this in the bag.

Just as Shane said, he picks out two treats. They’re small in his palm, slightly green, and fairly cubed. They smell faintly of fish, causing Ilya’s nose to wrinkle.

Here goes.

Pushing the two treats to his fingertips, he keeps his hand flat as he slowly inches it closer to where Pork is sitting on Shane’s computer chair. His heart pounds at his chest as Pork eyes his hand, then the treats, then Ilya.

Pork lurches closer, his wet nose brushing against Ilya’s fingers as he sniffs him.

He pulls away and something in Ilya’s chest shatters, crumbling to dust right at his feet.

“You don’t want?” Ilya hushes, soft in the moment between him and Pork.

The cat’s ears flatten more than before as he pulls himself away from Ilya, leering at him from the back of the chair with wide pupils and tense posture.

Stupidly, Ilya keeps his hand flattened for Pork, palm open and bare with the two innocent treats lying right at the start of his fingers. He watches as Pork flits his eyes from Ilya to the treats.

Dejectedly, Ilya sets the treats down onto the chair, waiting for Pork to come closer once more and take the two catnip cubes.

Yet he doesn’t.

Abandoning the treats, Pork clambers off the chair all whilst keeping an eye on Ilya, who doesn’t dare to move from where he’s kneeling at the start of the chair. Pork creeps around the large desk, keeping a wide berth from Ilya with his steps tentative and his expression wary.

Pork then launches himself at Ilya, grappling onto the nearest limb.

When Ilya exits the office, he’s defeated and battered with scratches for the day.