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If Ilya Rozanov had been in possession of some kind of time-turning device he would have turned back time to the exact moment when he’d agreed to go out with Sasha Belov and made his past self change his mind. Because this? This was not worth the money or the art pieces he was scamming the man for.
Sasha Belov might just be the most annoying man Ilya's has ever had the displeasure of meeting. And he was friends with the Penguin. Well. As friendly as one could get with the man.
Now, Ilya had dated many annoying men. Many men who spent hours and hours only talking about themselves; expecting him to just sit and nod and look pretty while they babbled on and on about their work or their troubles or how Important they all were.
It came with the job.
He didn’t mind.
He had learned years ago to tune them out and focus on the important things; anything they might let slip that could be important information for future jobs, anything that might help with any potential case he was working on, anything that might be in his favour once he’d finally rob whoever he was currently scamming.
But Sasha Belov had to take the cake. The man had not stopped talking since the moment they’d met up outside of the fancy new Italian restaurant that had opened downtown. And every single thing he said — every single thing — was a compliment to himself. A way to brag about his accomplishments.
But, well.
The thing was.
He was lying.
Ilya had always excelled at being able to tell when people lied. As one of the best liars he knew — par for his brother and his father — he knew exactly how to read people. And Sasha Belov was not hard to read at all.
Every single extravagant story he had told all evening had been fabricated.
Actually, every single story, period.
To sum things up: Sasha Belov was full of it.
There had not been any reprieve from mendacity all evening. Ilya wouldn’t have minded so much if Sasha hadn’t just been so… well, boring. At this point in the evening all he wanted was to go home and curl up with a cat or two in his PJs and call it a night. Sasha could keep his inheritance. Ilya was too annoyed to want it anymore.
“So,” Sasha said with what Ilya was sure he thought of as a seductive voice. “Are you going to invite me in?”
He inclined his head towards the door behind Sasha and took a step closer so that his dark hair fell into his face.
Ilya wished he had his gloves so that he could cut them off with his claws.
“Actually,” he said, taking a step back and leaning against the door to his apartment. “I have a really early morning tomorrow. I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
He faked a yawn for added effect.
“Oh,” Sasha said, disappointment clear on his face. It dissipated seconds later as he thought of something that made the cocky smile return to his face.
“How about I kiss you goodnight then? And in the morning I’ll make us some plans for another date. One that can take place on a night where you… won’t be busy the next day.”
Ilya resisted the urge to make a face. He was absolutely not going on a second date with this man.
He took a step forward, looking down through his lashes and putting a hand on Sasha's chest lightly.
“How about,” he whispered in his best sultry voice. “We save that for next time.”
He moved closer still, his eyes focused on Sasha's lips. It really was a shame that the man was so horrid because he was pretty.
Just not pretty enough for Ilya to endure a single minute more with him.
Sasha's breath caught and his eyes had darkened by the time Ilya's had looked up again. He waited a second longer, letting his lips hover close to Sasha's and feeling his heartbeat hammer under his hand before taking a step back and winking.
He left him standing like that as he made his way into his apartment.
𓆩𓃠𓆪
Ilya was a firm believer in not owning cats. They were independent creatures, just like him, and trying to tame them was futile. That didn’t stop him from collecting strays though.
At any given moment his apartment would have at least three strays coming and going as they wished and Ilya would feel accomplished every single time he’d gained the trust of a new one. Cats in general tended to mistrust people but strays? Getting a stray to trust you was almost impossible.
Ilya could relate.
It was not unusual for Ilya to be greeted by several tails winding their way around his legs followed by meows and demands to be fed. So he was not surprised to find himself in that scenario once he'd opened the door.
What was unusual was finding a bleeding man on his floor.
And not just any man — a man dressed in all black kevlar with a mask suspiciously like a bat's on.
“Shane?” Ilya said, already moving closer to see why his sometimes-maybe-boyfriend-slash-ex-slash-lover-slash-enemy-slash-sometimes-partner was bleeding all over his white carpet.
The pile on the floor made a noise that was somewhere between a hiss and a whirr.
Oh, something was wrong.
See, the thing was Shane never came to Ilya's apartment dressed in the suit.
It was an unspoken rule between the two of them to never show up at each other's door dressed as their alter egos — you never knew who might follow you when you’re in the suit. You never knew what they might do with the information they’d get from following you to someone you knew in your civilian life.
Ilya had learned that the hard way.
So had Shane.
So Shane had never showed up in his suit.
But he was here now.
And he was bleeding.
Something was definitely wrong.
Ilya crouched down next to him and did a quick scan with his eyes to see where the blood was coming from. He realised pretty instantly that it must’ve been where Shane was clutching at his abdomen. Carefully, he lifted Shane's arm away and tried not to make a face at the squelching sound it made.
There was definitely blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood. His suit was soaked in it and there was a puddle collecting on the floor under him, outlining Shane's body like chalk on a crime scene. They smell of iron burned Ilya's nose.
Ilya swore.
“Why are you here, you idiot? You should’ve gone to see Dr. Hayes about this!”
Shane mumbled something incoherently and Ilya ignored him, focusing instead on what was in front of him. The combination of blood and black kevlar didn’t make it easy to see anything so with a sigh Ilya reached for the knife he kept strapped to the inside of his boots and started cutting.
Kevlar was a strong material - the best out there really, which was probably due to some Hollander Enterprise technology — but a knife was still a knife and Ilya always had the best ones. It didn’t take long for him to make a hole in the suit that was big enough to see the wound through and Ilya gave a sigh of relief.
It was a stab wound, which was certainly bad. But it seemed to be pretty shallow. Ilya could deal with this.
He started working.
Because of his night time proclivities he always kept a first aid kit at hand. His wasn’t like a normal first aid kit you got at the store though. This one had some extra things — tongs for pulling out bullets, liquid bandage, needle and a thread for the many, many times he had to stitch himself up.
He started by disinfecting the wound, making sure to mop up as much of the blood as he could as he went so that he could see the source of the bleeding clearer. Shane didn’t hiss when the disinfectant stung his skin but he gave a small twitch and Ilya sent up a thank you to whichever deity was listening for that small act of acknowledging what was happening to him.
“Shane?” Ilya tried again and this time Shane's head turned towards him.
“What happened?”
A shuddering breath.
A beat of silence.
And then:
“Got in a fight.”
Ilya resisted the urge to slap him.
“No shit, you idiot,” he said and turned back to the wound. He didn’t think it needed stitches, it would probably be fine with some bandages until he could either get Shane to Lisa or get Lisa to Shane. It was wider than he felt comfortable with but not deep enough for it to be an emergency.
He got the bandages out.
Shane stayed quiet while Ilya worked, the only sign of him still being conscious being the way his eyes followed every movement Ilya made. It made him feel self-conscious in a way Shane's gaze never did otherwise.
Maybe it was because of the situation. Because he was taking care of him. Ilya didn’t take care of anyone, really. Maybe the cats. Maybe the street kids he tried to help. But never like this. Never with someone he had an actual relationship with. He wasn’t sure how to take care of anyone. The only people who’d ever shown him care in his life were Svetlana and his mother. He wasn’t sure if what he was doing now would be comparable to that though.
When he was done he looked to the window a few feet away and got up to close it, pulling the blinds down before turning around and taking Shane's mask off.
There was a trick to taking it off. See, Shane, being as smart as he is, had prepared for the fact that he may someday get captured and have someone try to take the mask off. So he had installed a safety precaution; anyone who tried to take it off would get hit by a very, very high voltage electric shock.
But Ilya was not just anyone. He knew things others didn't know about Shane. Including the fact that there was a way around it, a little button just at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t visible; it was just a matter of placing your finger in the right spot and holding down in the same way you’d use your finger to unlock your phone. Once the release-mechanism made a sound and the mask relaxed he pulled it off and had to keep himself from gasping.
It wasn’t unusual for Shane to have bruises after a night out. Cuts, scrapes, claw marks. Even the occasional grazing of a bullet. But tonight his left eye was so swollen he couldn’t open it and there was blood dripping from his nose, from his swollen and split lips.
Ilya swallowed.
“Hey,” Shane whispered, his lips tugging upwards before he winced at the attempt to smile.
Ilya frowned.
“Hey,” he said back. “C’mon I’m taking you into the bathroom for your face. I don’t want anymore blood on my carpet.”
Surprisingly Ilya didn’t need to help Shane get up that much and once he’d stood he’d managed to walk to the bathroom with just an arm wrapped loosely around Ilya.
Ilya positioned him on the toilet seat, settling between his legs as he started wiping Shane's face clean of blood, pale hands working efficiently against Shane's freckled skin.
“Sorry,” Shane said after a few moments of silence.
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“For what? Ruining my carpet?” he said dryly.
“For interrupting your date,” Shane said.
Ilya didn’t know what to say to that. On one hand, he relished the idea that Shane might be jealous. On the other hand, Shane knew what he did for a living. And it wasn’t like he didn’t open the news to new pictures of Shane with a model or an actor or a lawyer on his arm every other day. They had a deal. An unspoken one.
In the end he settled for the truth.
“Wasn’t much of a date. I’ve never met a man more in love with himself than Sasha Belov, ” he said and threw away the now bloody, grimey wipe he’d been using. He poured some disinfectant onto a cotton pad and continued.
“Besides. You didn’t interrupt it. I ended it. He wasn’t worth the hassle.”
Shane was quiet at that, looking at Ilya in contemplation. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so seen under Shane's watchful gaze but he did his best to ignore it by focusing on the task at hand.
It was harder to ignore the way it made something in his stomach tug.
“I’m sorry I came here, then. I didn’t mean to. It was just.. They were still chasing me and I could already feel myself getting ready to pass out and your place was right there. I thought it’d be better to pass out surrounded by your cats than right in front of an enemy.”
Ilya took that in, nodding. He pushed a little harder against a blood stain that had dried on Shane's cheek and rubbed at it until it started crumbling and fell onto the cotton like tiny burgundy snowflakes.
“Not my cats,” Ilya reminded him. “And you don’t have to apologise. You made the right call. Although I do wish you’d called either me or Lisa once you knew you were coming here,” he added wryly.
“Didn’t have time before I passed out. Sorry,” Shane said sheepishly. Ilya rolled his eyes, throwing away yet another bloody cotton pad before starting the process of cleansing all over again.
“Stay still,” he said. “I’m going to do your mouth now.”
Shane, used to this as much as Ilya, didn’t wince. Ilya still tried to be gentle; his lower lip had been split open but it wasn’t too bad. The mask had probably taken the brunt of the blow. Still, the mouth was a sensitive area so Ilya went slow, only barely pressing down and swiping away what blood was leftover from his previous rounds of cleaning. Shane's breathing was slowing down and when Ilya looked up at him to make sure that he wasn’t losing consciousness he was met by a heavy gaze.
Oh.
Oh.
“Shane,” he whispered a warning.
Shane blinked slowly.
“Yes, Ilya?” he said, voice breathy and lower than it had been a moment ago.
Ilya's fingers stilled against Shane's warm mouth as he bit his lip.
This was not the time to be thinking about sex.
Absolutely not.
There was no way he was touching Shane until Lisa had looked him over.
But.
Well.
A little kissing wouldn’t hurt anyone.
He moved his head closer to Shane's and was just about to cup his cheek when he looked down and remembered exactly how kissing actually could be harmful in this situation.
“You have a split lip,” he breathed against Shane's lips. He looked up at Shane but Shane's eyes seemed to be firmly stuck on Ilya's own lips.
“Hm,” Shane said, putting an arm behind Ilya back to pull him closer.
“Shane,” Ilya warned again but if Shane noticed he chose to ignore the warning note in Ilya's voice.
“Hollander,” he tried in a last attempt to get Shane's attention. Apparently that was enough because Shane blinked suddenly, sitting more upright, eyes coming up to meet Ilya's.
“I’m not touching you until you’ve been looked at. For all we know you have internal bleeding,” Ilya reasoned, pulling back and out of Shane's arms. He tossed the last of the cotton pads and reached for the ointment. When he turned back Shane looked like a kicked puppy.
“Oh, come on,” Ilya exhaled, rolling his eyes. He dipped his fingers in the jar of ointment and started spreading it over bruised, marbled skin. Shane leaned closer and closed his eyes so that Ilya could reach better.
“You can’t possibly be that touch starved. I saw you with that model at the gala two days ago.”
Shane frowned at that, eyes opening as he pulled up from his hunched down position; holding Ilya's wrist when he tried to move Shane back to continue smoothing the balm over his skin.
“Ilya,” he said seriously. “You do know that that’s all for show, right? I don’t—”
He took a deep breath, contemplating his choice of words.
“I don’t do anything with them. They’re just… sort of there. Not that they’re not nice. I’d even go so far as to say some of them are friends. But they’re just.. covers. To keep the paps happy.”
Ilya wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
Did it make him feel better somehow? Not really. But then again, he’d never been very jealous to begin with. He knew Shane was putting on a facade. That he was Shane Hollander: billionaire, orphan, playboy for the masses. So it had never really bothered him much. And he never considered what might actually be going on or not behind closed doors. He didn’t care as long as he got Shane on the rooftops. As long as he could keep breaking into his manor and sleep in his silk sheets.
“Okay,” he answered tentatively. He tried moving his hand out of Shane's grasp and this time he let him, his hand falling down to rest against Ilya's hip as he stepped back between his legs to continue his administration. “I don’t really care if you do, though. I know… I know it’s not the same.”
The as what we have went unsaid.
“Do you…” Ilya added as he smeared some more balm over the cuts on Shane's cheek. “Do you care?”
Shane looked at him: one eye swollen almost completely shut and the other one shining bright even in the low bathroom light.
“I,” he started, swallowing loudly. “I don’t always appreciate seeing you with other people,” he admitted.
Ilya wasn’t sure why he was surprised by this. Maybe it was because Shane had never shown any inclination towards jealousy like this before. Maybe it was because he himself never really felt it. For Ilya, this was a job. It was an act, a farce. It wasn’t real. Shane must’ve known that. It wasn’t like he ever kept any of the men around after he’d taken what he wanted.
Sure, they were both territorial creatures but it had only ever been in bed, on the rooftops. Only in their other life, never in this one.
A smile tugged at his lips and he did his best to bite down on it, not wanting Shane to feel like he was laughing at him for opening up. Shane noticed anyway.
“Don’t look so smug,” he muttered, brows meeting in the middle as he started leaning back again. Ilya's hand shot out to keep him from moving away. He set the ointment down on the edge of the sink and turned back to Shane.
“I’m not being smug,” he sighed. “I just… You don’t have anything to be jealous of. You know this is just a job, right? Could you honestly see me being interested in any of these stuffy, pretentious rich men?”
Shane frowned harder at that.
“I am a stuffy, pretentious rich man.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, stepping closer to Shane now that he didn’t need any distance between them to take care of him.
“No you’re not,” he said and he wasn’t sure why that made Shane's eyes light up the way they did but it did. His arms came up and around Ilya again, lightly resting at the base of his spine.
“So you’re saying you’re interested in me?”
Ilya rolled his eyes again, hand sliding up Shane's chest to rest at his sternum.
“I’m saying,” he started. “That I’m not scamming you. You’re not a job.”
He hoped Shane understood what he was actually saying.
You’re not a job to me.
This is real.
By the way a smile broke out on Shane's face he assumed he did.
“I think I might start showing up here more often if this is the kind of treatment I’m going to get,” he quipped.
“I can still kick you out, you know. See what the people on this side of town will do once they see a billionaire lying bleeding and wounded on the street,” he said flatly and moved away from Shane to start putting everything back into the first aid kit.
“You wouldn’t,” Shane shot back lightly. He braced his hand against the edge of the sink and made to stand up. “I’m not a job.”
Ilya glared at him and pushed him down so that he fell back onto the toilet seat with a surprised oof.
Usually Shane wouldn’t have even budged at that — especially since Ilya wasn’t putting too much power into it considering the man in front of him was injured — so it must’ve been a testament to his pain mixed with the element of surprise that really got him flat on his ass.
“Try me,” Ilya said stubbornly.
Shane gave a laugh that was half incredulous and half impressed.
“Did you just push me? I am an injured man. Lisa would never treat me like this,” he said and stood up again slowly, leaning against the doorframe this time.
Ilya turned around to start filling the bathtub with warm water before looking Shane over. Yeah, adding a bath bomb or two would probably be a good idea.
“Lisa would also not suck your dick. But if you really prefer her treatment you could always show up at her place next time instead,” he said sweetly before exiting the room and leaving a stunned Shane behind him.
By the time he came back with a pair of joggers and a top that Shane kept at his place just in case (at least that’s what he’d said when this all started. Ilya wasn’t sure how he’d gone from that to a whole drawer full of just his things but he didn’t mind. It meant he could wear his clothes whenever the mood struck him) Shane had already stripped and gotten into the bathtub.
One of the cats — a sleek black one with piercing green eyes — had settled next to Shane and he was busy scratching behind its ears as it purred. Ilya resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
He wasn’t sure how but Shane had some kind of magic ability that made all of the strays Ilya took in trust him instantly. It had taken Ilya two days to gain this particular cat's trust and here she was, shamelessly getting petted by someone she’d only just met. It drove him slightly insane at times.
“Traitor,” he said to the cat but the cat only gave a meow before headbutting Shane hand and demanding more affection.
“This one’s new,” Shane commented. Ilya gave a hmm of agreement as he settled down on the floor next to the cat, leaning against the bathtub so that he could face Shane.
“Started following me after a night out. Seemed like she had nowhere to go so I gave her some food. She wouldn’t touch it when I was close to it so I left it on the fire escape. It was empty in the morning and she came back that same evening. Managed to lure her into the apartment with the promise of more food.”
Shane gave a thoughtful hmm as he moved his finger back and forth over the cat’s head in a slow motion.
“What shall we name you, then?” he asked the cat.
Ilya gave a heavy sigh.
While Ilya refused to name the cats, seeing as they belonged to no one but themselves, Shane had a strange fascination with giving every single one a name. When Ilya had asked him about it once he’d claimed that it was because everyone deserved to have a name, to feel like they belonged. Ilya didn’t bother telling him that that wasn’t how it worked.
“I’m thinking… Nigel.”
Ilya face scrunched up at the suggestion.
“Nigel? Why would you name her Nigel?” he said, voice incredulous.
Shane looked up at him through thick lashes and it was only then that Ilya realised he was wearing his glasses.
His breath caught in his throat and he did his best to hide the flush that was making its way onto his face.
“What’s wrong with Nigel?” Shane wondered.
Ilya resisted the urge to look away. Instead, he gave a snort and shook his head.
“You are terrible at naming things,” he declared.
“Name one time I’ve been terrible at naming things!”
“Well, there’s the Batman, the batmobile, the batcave, the batcomputer, the batcow- ”
“Hey, Robin was responsible for naming the cow, you can’t blame that one on me!”
“-the time you named cats after hockey teams. Not even players but actual teams—”
“What’s wrong with hockey?!”
“—the time you decided to name your dog Tuna Melt… Need I go on?”
Shane gave him a withering glare but the effects of it were ruined by the smile he was trying and failing miserably to hide.
“Alright, so I’m not the most creative with my name choices. But Nigel doesn’t seem to mind, do you?”
Ilya ignored him and peered down at the bubbles in the bathtub that were slowly starting to dissipate.
“You took the bandages off before you went in right?” he wondered.
Shane nodded slowly.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, babe. I’ll redress them when I get out,” he murmured, too focused on stroking the cat’s back to pay attention to what Ilya was doing. Which was probably for the best because Ilya wasn’t sure he would be able to hide the fondness on his face very well at that moment.
“I’ll redress them for you, Shane. That’s not why I asked. I just wanted to know if the water was free from blood because the wound had stopped bleeding.”
“Oh,” Shane blinked. “Um.”
He sat up straighter and pulled his hand away from the cat who immediately went to Ilya instead and plopped itself in the space between where his knees were pulled up and his chest. He wasn’t sure which one of them he was most embarrassed of — the cat for having no integrity or himself for having no pride and immediately starting to pet her himself.
Shane's hands moved in the water and some splashed onto the bathroom floor and Ilya's pants as he tried to touch the wound in question.
“It seems to have calmed down,” he said eventually.
“Although,” he continued and batted his eyes at Ilya in an obscene way. “I do think a kiss would make it better.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow at that.
He must've lost way more blood than he thought if he was acting like this.
“Oh, would it now?” he asked anyway.
Shane nodded seriously and moved closer to the edge of the bathtub so that he was face to face with Ilya.
“Yes. It’s scientifically proven to help, actually. Especially if it’s from someone who’s very, very beautiful.”
“Hm,” Ilya replied thoughtfully. “Maybe we should find you someone to kiss then.”
He glanced down at Shane's lips quickly before meeting his gaze again. Shane leaned in closer, almost halfway out of the tub by now. Ilya smiled against him as he lifted the cat up between them.
“Give him a kiss then, Nigel,” he said and booped the cat against Shane's face.
Shane, it seemed, did not find this as funny as Ilya did.
“Tease,” he grumbled good-naturedly, leaning back into the water. Ilya let the cat go when it tried to scratch him at the sight of water and quickly dashed out of the room. He sighed. Yeah, that was going to be an extra day of working to regain her trust.
“I told you I wasn’t touching you until a doctor’s looked at you,” Ilya responded and, if possible, Shane looked even more put out by this.
“Have you called Dr. Hayes, then?” he wondered.
“No. Are you really that eager for a kiss?” Ilya joked.
“I’m always eager when it comes to you,” Shane said, closing his eyes as he sunk deeper into the warm water.
It wasn’t fair, really.
How Shane would sometimes say things like that.
Just out of the blue.
As if it didn’t make Ilya's heart skip a beat every time he did.
He swallowed harshly and looked down at his hands just to have something to focus on.
“Yeah, well. You’ll have to wait a little while longer,” he said at last.
“I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
God.
Words spoken so easily. As if they didn’t weigh down on Ilya's chest. As if they didn’t make it harder for him to breathe. As if they didn’t feel life-changing.
One of these days Shane was going to kill him.
This?
Whatever they were?
It was exhausting. It was draining, in more ways than one. It left him feeling bare and defenceless.
Ilya Rozanov was not made to be defenceless.
“Do you want me to get you some water?” he asked, already standing up to do so.
“Please,” Shane replied and then, after a moment of hesitation: “I might need help drinking it as well. I don’t think my hands are steady enough right now to hold a glass.”
Ilya nodded even though Shane couldn’t see him.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
𓆩𓃠𓆪
Later, when Ilya had put on new bandages and messaged Lisa to come over once she finished working, they’d laid in bed with Nigel curled up by their legs and watched some show on Ilya's laptop.
It wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the night ending — Shane with his head resting against Ilya's chest, Ilya combing through his dark hair — but it was sweet and it felt nice and he was glad for it.
Then again, anything would be better than Sasha Belov.