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Ilya peeks at the time on his phone. 2:27 AM. He has to be at the rink for morning practice at 7 AM. Ilya promised that he wouldn’t wait up, that he would go to bed at a reasonable time and not imagine the worst case scenarios. I’ll always come home to you, Ilya.
But he could not help it.
It is difficult to fall asleep when the familiar press of a warm body is not next to him, Ilya unable to inhale the soothing scent of peppermint, nose not pressed into freshly washed hair. It’s pathetic that he showered with Shane’s body wash, an attempt to bridge the gap in his heart.
It’s simply not the same.
Most nights, just like this one, Ilya is wide awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for the slightest change in the apartment. Hoping his boyfriend is done saving the city for the night, so he can finally save his sleep schedule.
His coach is certainly going to give him shit once he sees Ilya’s sluggish form after another night of less than five hours of sleep. Everyone chalks up his behavior to Ilya’s public reputation of clubbing till dawn. He will get a stern talking-to, lectures about being a good example for the rookies, and maybe benched for the first couple preseason games for being so irresponsible with his sleep schedule as a professional athlete.
Little do they know their assumptions are very, very, very wrong.
His sleep schedule is absolutely fucked because of one very boring, too-selfless, pretty boy–and his insistence on pursuing a nighttime hobby of protecting New York City.
Ilya wouldn’t trade it, trade him, for anything. He just wishes that Shane would give himself breaks, sometimes.
Just as Ilya is closing his eyes, his fifth attempt at falling asleep, he hears a knocking sound from the bedroom window across the room. When he lifts his head off the pillow, he spots familiar black hair being pulled free from a blue and red mask. He watches a freckled cheek pressing against the window pane, the soft knocking sounding once more.
Ilya flicks on the lamp on his nightstand for a quick source of light, the warm glow barely reaching the figure in the window. Ilya chuckles under his breath as he heads over to greet the intruder. Always a show-off.
He clicks the lock open before sliding his window up. “Didn’t want to use front…”
His excitement trails away as he catches a glimpse of the scattered splotches of blood on Shane’s torso, revealed by deep cuts in the fabric. Ilya watches the shallow rise and fall of Shane’s breathing.
To the plain eye, Spider-Man is unbreakable, practically immortal. But not to Ilya Rozanov. He knows the man beneath the mask. Ilya knows just how human he really is.
Shane’s head leans against the window frame, body slumped on the metal fire escape. He grins tiredly, “Hey baby. Missed you.”
Ilya lets out a scoff, ignoring how his heart clenches at the pet name, “What the hell, Hollander?”
His hands come to touch Shane’s face, fingers gentle against the jagged cuts and bruises accompanying the constellations of freckles. He skims over a blooming purple spot, and frowns when Shane pulls away, flinching in pain.
“It’s nothing. They’ll go away by morning.” Shane tries to assure, gently gripping Ilya’s worried fingers in his gloved grasp, bringing the back of Ilya’s hand to his lips to press a chaste kiss to it. “Sorry for waking you.”
“What happened?”
Shane hums in thought. “A traffic jam on the Main Bridge.”
Ilya’s brows furrow. “What kind of traffic jam claws you up like cat?”
“Just some mutant lizard man.” Shane shrugs as if it is a daily occurrence. Something he encounters on his daily patrols of the hectic streets of New York City, hidden behind an infamous vigilante persona. Ilya supposes this type of thing is a daily occurrence for his boyfriend.
Ilya’s eyes widen. “You are joking?”
“Nope,” Shane replies, letting the p-sound fall off his lips like a pop. “Got in a nasty fight with one scaly, green, human-sized reptile. I won, though,” Shane pauses briefly. “Pretty sure I did…”
Ilya shakes his head in disbelief. “Get in here before you bleed out on fire escape.”
Shane does a half-attempt of a salute, stumbling slightly as he pushes himself through the window and into the warmth of the room, a groan escaping his lips.
Ilya holds out his hands in worry as he watches his boyfriend stumble towards their shared bed, wincing with every step. Shane doesn’t quite make it on the bed, collapsing just ahead of it on the floor, leaning his back against the edge of the mattress.
Ilya kneels next to Shane, continuing his examination. “You have concussion?” Ilya runs his fingers through Shane’s hair gently, searching for wet spots signaling blood or bumps on his scalp. Shane leans into the touch, closing his eyes as he lets out a low, almost-purring noise, head leaning into the dip of Ilya’s throat.
“Head feels a lil’ fuzzy, but I don’t think so. No five-story free-falls tonight.” Shane jokes, but the frown painted on Ilya’s face doesn’t disappear. His search found nothing of concern, just gravel and sweat tangled in the strands.
Ilya feels the rumble of Shane’s soft voice before he hears the comment. “You smell like me. I like it. Minty.”
“We sleep in same bed. Inevitable.” Ilya quickly replies, the last word’s five syllables feeling clunky in his mouth.
Shane leans back slowly against the mattress, eyes still closed in exhaustion, “Inevitable. Where’d you learn that word?”
He ignores Shane’s words as his fingers lightly skim the sides of his torso, searching for tender spots that could mean broken ribs. Ilya watches Shane’s expression and body language carefully, looking for any reaction.
At this angle, with better lighting, Ilya can see just how deep the slashes on Shane’s chest and stomach go. Some are short, practically already a scar. But the worst are deep, spanning the entire width of Shane’s torso. The sight of them causes a sinking feeling in Ilya’s stomach. He tries his best to ignore the nausea growing. All this blood. An endless cycle of what ifs fill Ilya’s mind.
Shane must have sensed a shift in Ilya’s emotions, eyes blinking open slowly.
“Hey…” He begins, lifting his gloved hand, with holes ripped open to expose his bloody knuckles. He caresses Ilya’s cheek with his palm, trying to smooth out the worried creases. “I’m okay– really. It looks worse than it is.”
Ilya’s eyes narrow, “You have always been very bad liar.”
Shane’s nose scrunches, “I’m not lying this time.”
This time.
“Just let me do this. So I do not worry.” Ilya pleads lightly, and Shane stares at him for a moment before nodding.
Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s sweaty forehead, catching a salty taste. He stands up from his space next to his boyfriend and heads to their bathroom.
“You worry about me?” Shane asks.
Ilya scoffs, “When do I not? My selfless boyfriend goes out every night and wants to get into fights with big guns and very awful people. Defends a city that calls him dangerous and does not appreciate him enough.”
“Not every night.” Ilya hears Shane reply as he pulls out the metal first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. It feels lighter than before. He mentally adds replenishing the box to the shopping list.
“Not every night, my bleeding boyfriend says,” Ilya parrots, shaking his head as he walks back towards Shane’s exhausted body, barely sitting up against the hardwood floor.
Shane tilts his head towards Ilya with a smile, watching him cross the room towards him. “Мой идеальный парень.” The words are crooked, not able to sit comfortably against Shane’s English-speaking tongue, but the pronunciation has improved over the months of being together.
Ilya fights a smile. “Still practicing that perfect Russian accent for me, дa?”
A small grin grows on Shane’s bruised face. “Дa.”
“You know drill– Take that off.” Ilya motions to Shane’s ripped suit, as he wets a hand towel with antiseptic solution. Shane grimaces as he attempts to unzip himself from his suit. Ilya glances over with an offer to help, “Do you need–”
“I’ve got it,” His stubborn boyfriend says through gritted teeth, an obvious sign that he does not ‘got it.’ Shane does manage to get his top half out of the suit, slower than if he just let Ilya help.
Ilya begins to dab down the edges of the larger cuts on Shane’s chest with the towel, attempting to clean the wound of any gravel and dirt. The task is unnecessary when it comes to avoiding infections, thanks to Shane’s superhuman immune system.
But if Ilya didn’t do this step, he would feel useless. This is more for Ilya’s benefit than it is for Shane’s.
No one talks for a bit, the only noise from the street below, flowing through the open window behind Ilya. He is not sure if the silence is to not interrupt his focus, or if it’s caused by the pit in his stomach that hasn’t gone away since Shane stumbled through their window tonight. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, and he’s prone to speaking before thinking. So he keeps his mouth shut.
Unfortunately, that is not good enough for Shane, who’s too attentive.
“Are you mad at me?” His voice is small, and it pains Ilya more to know, out of everything tonight, Shane’s main concern is, and always will be, Ilya.
Ilya lets out a breath. “Why would I be mad at you, Shane?”
“I worry you. You said it yourself. I can hear it in your heartbeat every time I come home later than expected.”
“That is unfair,” Ilya complains under his breath, which is pointless because he knows Shane can still hear him. As he finishes cleaning the last cut, he adds. “But, no. I could never be mad at you.”
Shane frowns. “Then– what? I don’t like knowing you’re upset.”
Ilya tosses the blood-stained towel into a nearby hamper. “It’s very late, солнышко. You should wash New York off you.”
He can see that Shane is not satisfied with that answer, and he knows that Shane knows he’s deflecting. Avoiding an important conversation. An inevitable conservation. But Shane doesn’t say anything. Just like Ilya, he keeps his mouth shut as he uses the mattress for leverage to stand up.
Once Shane is upright, he strips out of the rest of the suit, leaving him in boxers. Ilya tries to not react at the newly revealed bruises on Shane’s shins, already healing to become brown marks with green edges. He watches Shane fold the tattered suit and rests it on top of a dresser. Ilya sits himself at the foot of the bed, feet planted where Shane was slumped, and stares at a random spot on the wall, trying to not allow Shane to read him so easily for once.
Shane begins to head over to their bathroom, but Ilya watches as he pivots to walk over and place himself in-between Ilya’s thighs, and Ilya lets him do so willingly. His hands gravitate towards Shane’s waist on instinct, holding him steady. Shane places his palms on both sides of Ilya’s face and leans down, kissing him softly. Ilya complies instantly, melting into the physical connection, pulling in Shane by the waist and angling his chin up for more.
The kiss doesn’t last long, just for a few seconds. But it still makes Ilya’s heart flutter like it’s the first time. It always does.
Shane pulls away to rest his forehead against Ilya’s. “I love you,” he whispers, his breath tickling Ilya’s skin.
Ilya strokes his thumb absentmindedly against Shane’s hip as he whispers back, “I love you, of course I do.”
Shane pulls back, reluctantly, away from Ilya’s grasp, and walks back to his original task. “I’ll be quick.”
Ilya nods, his gaze dropping to his lap, “Yeah. Okay.”
His eyes don’t drift from the spot until he hears the shower head turn on and the curtain close. Only then does he collapse backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with a head full of thoughts he doesn’t know how to organize.
With the shower running as white noise, Ilya tries his best to sort through them.
No, his frustration isn't towards Shane. That is a fact. There is nothing Shane could do that would ever push Ilya away.
Shane could break his heart a thousand times over and Ilya would forgive him every time– because it’s Shane. Ilya knows just how pathetic that sounds and he doesn’t even care.
Yes, he’s frustrated, nonetheless.
Shane isn’t dumb nor irrational. He’s never actually seen Shane in action up-close as Spider-Man. Only through nearby civilians’ videos posted online or a live news report. But he knows every action and response Shane does is calculated and with purpose. Nobody could do the job better than him.
But Shane cannot prepare for everything. Telling the future is not one of his superpowers. Shane is not perfect– and that exact fact is what’s upsetting Ilya.
Ilya has a habit of commenting on the consistency of Shane’s patrols.
It’s not only on your shoulders. The police can take care of the city for one night.
But he always means it. New York City has never deserved the years of Shane Hollander protecting them. Spider-Man has prevented mass casualties and unnecessary deaths more times than Ilya can count, and yet the public still believes they have the right to critique and berate Spider-Man for the few times when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.
Stay here, with me, where it’s warm. Where it’s safe.
Sometimes, Ilya’s comments are a plea. Where the thoughts in his head scream at him and Ilya can’t help but believe if he lets Shane go out into the dark of night, it might be the last time he ever sees the love of his life, breathing and alive.
Where I know you won’t be dead when I wake up.
Those nights are the hardest, when Ilya bites his tongue and shoves down his words because he knows he can’t stop Shane from being Shane. Devoted helper, selfless to all. No limits to just how much he can give and give and never expect anything in return.
Sure, tonight, Shane kept his promise and came home. But there could be a time when Shane doesn’t. Where Shane can’t. Where Ilya stays up all night, waiting with an anxious heart, without a clue that Shane tried his best, but it was not enough. Where someone or something evil and awful takes Shane, his Shane, from him without permission.
Ilya wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened. He wouldn’t be able to live at all.
So, yes. He is frustrated. Angry, even. Angry at the world. Angry at the circumstances. Angry that he cannot do anything to help but clean Shane’s wounds and lick his own.
“You still awake?”
Ilya turns his head and sits up to see his freshly-showered boyfriend, wearing one of Ilya’s t-shirts. His heart warms at the sight. The shirt falls to Shane’s mid-thigh, just barely revealing the bottom hem of clean boxers. That sight warms a different part of Ilya. He holds an inviting hand open, and Shane walks over and lets himself be pulled to sit in Ilya’s lap.
Once Shane settles, Ilya notices that the cuts across Shane’s freckles have mostly faded to thin white lines, bruises hardly visible in the dim lighting. The back of his hand skims gently, brushing over the freckles next to the lines over his pretty boyfriend’s face. Now the constellations look like comets.
“Told you– I heal fast,” Shane comments.
Ilya tuts, poking Shane’s cheek, “Must you have to be correct all the time?”
“Yes,” Shane replies proudly, then sighs, “I still feel bad that I woke you up.”
“You didn’t wake me. I was never asleep.”
Shane’s eyes narrow in confusion, “I thought you have practice in the morning.”
Ilya shrugs, “Captains can show up late. No big deal.”
Shane tilts his head, “I’m certain that is not true. It’s a very big deal.”
Ilya ignores Shane’s concerns, lifting up the hem of Shane’s–Ilya’s–shirt to peek at the cuts. They don’t look as gaping and fresh as before, now just dark red lines slashed over Shane’s stomach, warm to the touch from his shower.
Shane pushes Ilya’s hand away, letting the shirt fall to cover him again. “Ilya.” His voice holds a mixture of concern and exasperation. “I’m fine. Why won’t you believe me?”
“I believe you, солнышко,” Ilya replies casually. “I wanted to look at body of my sexy crime-fighting boyfriend.” It’s not the full truth, but it is not a lie, either.
Shane rolls his eyes, but Ilya notices the pinkish hue rising to accompany the freckles. “Right.”
Despite his clear annoyance, Shane rests his arms on Ilya’s shoulders, bracketing himself around his boyfriend. Shane leans in, kissing Ilya just like before, though with more urgency. Ilya’s fingers find Shane’s damp hair, running through the strands gently.
Ilya finds himself being pushed down into the bed, kisses being peppered down his neck. He humors Shane, because he cannot deny his boyfriend when he looks like that in his clothes.
Ilya is a weak man.
But the pit in his stomach still remains and cannot be ignored, even when Shane is pressed against him in the most perfect way. It wouldn’t feel right.
“Easy, жук-мальчик.” He murmurs, lightly pinches the side of Shane’s exposed thigh, inciting a small yelp. “I thought you wanted me sleeping for practice.”
Shane groans softly in the crook of Ilya’s neck, then pulls away to look at Ilya.
He replies in-between planting quick kisses all over Ilya’s face. “You just look so good,” kiss, “It does something to me,” kiss, “I missed you all night,” kiss, “Let a guy indulge for a minute.”
The final kiss is longer, pressed against Ilya’s lips. He complies, letting Shane take whatever he needs from him.
When Shane pulls away, he sighs. “Okay. Indulging over.” Ilya cannot help but chuckle at his boyfriend’s dramatics.
Shane slides off of Ilya’s lap, both of them readjusting until they’re both under the blankets, laying pressed together with Ilya lying flat and Shane draped over him, Ilya’s arm thrown over his boyfriend’s back and Shane’s cheek resting over Ilya’s beating heart.
Ilya leans down, inhaling the comforting peppermint scent from Shane’s hair. Everything’s perfect. Just as it should be. He lets out a soft sigh, finally feeling the grasp of sleep pulling him in.
He can still feel the pit lingering, but with Shane next to him, it’s a problem he can put off until the morning. They both should sleep tonight. Ilya has to be up in an excruciatingly few amount of hours. He doesn’t want to know the exact amount. Ignorance is bliss.
Shane certainly deserves the sleep, too. He has more than earned it. Fighting a man-sized lizard for who knows how long. Fucking hell, Shane. Ilya predicts he’ll hear about the altercation somewhere online later tomorrow, if his teammates don’t mention it at morning practice.
Ilya could wait until the sun rose.
“Do you ever wish I wasn’t Spider-Man?”
It seems Shane could not wait until sunrise.
Ilya lifts his head. He can’t see Shane’s face, as he’s facing away from him. But he feels a small wet drop fall on his skin. Ilya’s heart breaks at the thought of Shane crying.
Ilya rubs his back, an instinctual action to soothe him. “What makes you think that?”
Shane lets out an unsteady breath. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I wish someone else got bitten by that fucking spider,” he admits, pulling away from Ilya to sit up and lean against their headboard.
Ilya doesn’t say a word, merely following Shane’s action and sitting up with him, not wanting to scare away Shane’s vulnerability.
“It was easier. Being Spider-Man, before I met you,” Shane begins, fidgeting with the hem of Ilya’s shirt on him, before quickly adding, “Not that I regret meeting you. I would never–”
Ilya gives him an encouraging smile, cutting him off with a chaste kiss. “I know.”
Shane attempts a tearful smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He continues. “If I got hurt on the job, it didn’t matter. That was something I could deal with at the end of the night, by myself. Quick and easy…” Shane pauses for a moment, “But easier doesn’t mean better, because the end of those nights felt so lonely. All that work, and for what? I wished so badly to share this big fucking secret with someone, to not have to carry it all by myself just once.”
“Then I found you– and things made sense. More than anything else in my life. I don’t carry the burden by myself anymore,” Shane’s lips quirk to the side, eyes glistening. “But… that means I’m burdening you with it, too. Sharing it with you means it hurts you just as much as it does me. I hate myself for it.”
Ilya grabs Shane’s hand, linking their fingers together. “You never burden me, Shane.”
Shane lets out a wet scoff, “Liar. I scared you tonight. And I know my life as Spider-Man has scared you before. Seeing the bruises and the blood.” His boyfriend stares into Ilya’s eyes helplessly, then repeats his initial question. “So– do you? Do you ever wish I wasn’t Spider-Man?”
Ilya wished he could just say no. That the thought of Shane being a regular civilian has never crossed his mind. That Shane being Spider-Man is never a problem for him.
But how he feels isn’t that simple.
“I… I wish the world didn’t need Spider-Man.” He watches Shane’s expression crumble, because it’s not the answer he wanted.
Ilya quickly adds, squeezing Shane’s hand in his grip, “I love that you’re Spider-Man. I love that you are so brave, throwing yourself in front of danger to protect strangers without anything in return. I love that first thought after getting bit by fucking spider was helping others.”
Shane’s demeanor lightens, but his usual glow doesn’t completely restore. So, Ilya continues, “I would never wish for you to not be Spider-Man. I wish for world to be nicer to you, instead.”
Ilya lets out an unsteady breath, “I wish for world to promise to never take you away from me. I… I can’t lose you, too.” Ilya admits, feeling his own eyes getting teary. “You’re it for me.”
“Ilya,” Shane exhales, leaning his head against Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya returns the physical connection, leaning into Shane’s touch.
“I know I cannot stop you from being Spider-Man. That is like stopping you from breathing. I do not want you to stop unless you want to stop. But I want–no, need–to make sure you’re okay. Every time you come home. Hurt from fight or not. It’s the only thing I can do. I know I am annoying when I constantly check every bruise and scar. Yes, it scares me to see every time. But it makes me feel… normal. Don’t push me away so you can hide the pain. All I ask is you let me do this. For myself.”
Shane lifts his head, looking at Ilya with wet tracks on his cheeks. He leans in, pressing a quick, tearful kiss to Ilya’s lips.
“Okay,” Shane whispers. “I can agree to that.”
Ilya blinks, relieved. “Okay?”
Shane leans into another kiss. “You can annoy me with your whole nurse routine every night if you need to.”
Ilya smirks, “I am very hot nurse, yes?”
Shane scoffs lightly, “The hottest.” He moves to lay back down on the bed, motioning Ilya to do the same. Ilya complies instantly. They return to the same position as before, with Ilya on his back and Shane laying on his chest.
They both sleep easier that night, with Ilya no longer feeling that anxious pit. In its place is warmth planted by the love he feels for Shane Hollander.
Merely two hours later, Ilya’s phone blares its 6 AM alarm.
Ilya groans, reluctantly moving away from the warm body pressed against him to snooze it. He immediately moves back to his original place, laying on his side with Shane nuzzling into his chest. He takes a tired peek at Shane’s sleeping form, making a mental note of the now light-pink hue of the scars against Shane’s torso. Ilya lets out a relieved sigh, predicting all evidence from the fight with the lizard will be gone by noon.
He pulls Shane closer. Ilya will happily take any harsh lecture from his coach if he can sleep in just a little longer with his boyfriend finally home.