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streets-and-sodium-lights · 6 months ago

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your love is a murder

Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz (Birds of Prey), Rated M, fluff, but it's them so it's unhealthy af. more or less a missing scene from the movie after Roman talks with Mr. Keo.

beta'd by @jowoanofheart

~~~

“Mr. Zsasz,” Roman said, his voice a drunken drawl over the noise of the Black Mask Club. It was almost three in the morning, and Roman had been indulging in his club more than usual tonight. As Victor walked over, Roman grasped at his collar roughly, like he was trying to pull Victor to the ground. “Mr. Zsasz, would you get me a drink?” he asked sweetly. “A martini, the way I like them?” His head lolled to one side as he spoke. He was absolutely wasted.

Victor put a hand on Roman’s shoulder to steady him. “Sure, Boss,” he replied as Roman leaned into the touch. God, he was an affectionate drunk. Victor slowly pulled his hand away and Roman tried to reach out for it, trying to follow it back to his lover. No one was supposed to know, according to Roman, but when he was drunk, it was more than clear what they were to one another. The other people at Roman’s table- a group of three twenty-something girls and a smug-looking man- all diverted their gazes, knowing that this moment was something they weren’t supposed to see.

Victor pulled his hand away and walked across the club to the bar without so much as looking back, but he knew Roman’s eyes were on him. Victor knew damn well that if that fool had another martini, he’d black out, and Roman hated to be seen as weak.

“One vodka martini, dirty, two olives, no lemon twist,” he said to the bartender; some new guy who was under-experienced but pretty enough that Roman hired him anyway. Roman liked pretty things. Often, Victor wondered why in the world Roman kept him; scarred, aging, and jaded, when he had all of them.

He returned to the table with Roman’s favorite drink. It was said that putting two olives in a martini was an omen of bad luck, but that hadn’t served Roman poorly yet. “Here,” he said, holding out the drink. Roman looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He had his arm around one of the women at the table, a beautiful blonde with small, high breasts and a sheer blue dress. When she saw Victor, her smile disappeared and she leaned away from Roman.

“What was that for?” Roman asked, and although his tone was still calm, Victor could feel the man’s anger rising to the surface.

Victor swallowed tensely. He hated watching Roman when he acted like this, so he did something he didn’t usually do when Roman was this drunk- he brought out the marionette strings. “Seems like she’s scared of you, Boss.”

Roman quickly turned his attention to Victor. “Scared of me?” He grinned and turned back to the blonde, who had now fully recoiled away from him and moved towards another woman at the table, probably a friend who she’d started the night with, entirely unaware of who owned the club she was headed to. “You should be,” Roman said. “All of you should be!” He was yelling now, making a scene. “Do you know who I am? I don’t need cowardly filth like you in my club!” He got up from the booth and stood beside Victor, one arm around him and the other pointing towards the door. “Go! GO!”

The four civilians took little time to disperse before Roman reached for the martini Victor had brought him. Victor knocked over the glass before Roman could reach it, spilling its contents onto the rich, dark wood of the table.

“What’d you do that for?” Roman asked as if he was personally offended by the act. “You’re dead drunk, Boss,” Victor said. He shifted the weight of Roman’s arm on his shoulders, allowing him to lean on Victor. Sure enough, he did.

“Are you saying I can’t handle my liquor, Mr. Zsasz?” Roman asked with a small, weak hiccup.

“Of course not, Boss,” Victor said quietly. “That was upsetting… how those four betrayed you. Let’s go upstairs, finish this night well.”

Roman considered Victor’s words before he finally nodded. “Right. Good thinking, Mr. Zsasz.”

Victor nodded and adjusted Roman’s arms so that he was leaning most of his weight on Victor as they walked. The club would be fine. They’d left it unattended enough nights now that the workers knew how to manage without Roman’s watchful eyes, not that he had to know that.

Roman more or less stumbled upstairs to the apartment, where Victor led him to the bathroom and sat him on the floor in front of the toilet. It was only a matter of time before Roman’s body realized that it needed to purge itself of the mix of expensive spirits he’d downed.

“I don’t want to throw up,” Roman said, suddenly distraught. “It’s so gross. I hate gross things, Victor.” There it was, his first name. Roman was his again, not some random blonde’s. A sickly happiness bloomed in Victor’s chest.

“I know,” he said with a sigh. He sat down on the floor with Roman, his back against the cabinet under the marble sink so he could watch him. “What did you have tonight? Just alcohol?”

Roman shrugged cluelessly.

“It was that Keo jackass, wasn’t it?” Victor took out his folding knife and popped it open and closed, open and closed. “We’ll kill him, slow and painful. We’ll peel his face off.”

Roman looked at him with adoring eyes. “Victor,” he said, the name leaving his lips like a dead man’s last breath. Then he looked back at the toilet and Victor got up to hold the crime lord’s hair back as he threw up.

“So fucking gross,” Roman choked out. “Fuck.” Then he retched uselessly for a while before he threw up again.

Victor leaned his head against Roman’s back. “Done?” he asked him.

“God, let’s hope so,” Roman groaned.

Victor nodded and picked Roman up from under his arms like a cat and guided him into the shower, where he got to work on undressing him, starting with his monogrammed gloves. “Feel better?” Victor asked, making quick work of the buttons on the man’s velvet blazer.

“Not by much,” Roman replied. When Victor’s hands drifted to try and take off Roman’s tank top, he brushed them off and did it himself. He started to bend over to take off his shoes, but stopped himself suddenly. Evidently, he was still nauseous.

“Don’t,” Victor said as he knelt down to untie his partner’s shoes. He removed them easily, then stripped Roman of the rest of his clothes. Another time, all this would lead to a very different night, but at the moment, he was just here to take care of his drunk partner. “Cold or hot?” Victor asked as he reached for the handle of the shower’s temperature valve.

Roman reached for Victor’s hand and kissed it. “Hot. Will you join me?”

Victor sighed. Roman was drunk enough that he didn’t care that his designer velvet blazer was on the bathroom floor in a pile. “Come on. You’re wasted.”

“I just want to be with you,” Roman said, his rarely-seen romantic side emerging once again. “Please, Victor?”

He nodded and stepped out of the shower to pile his clothes next to Roman’s. He said nothing as he got in beside Roman and turned the water on. Everything about Roman was at least slightly sexual, and he usually didn’t mind one bit, but tonight he just stood behind him and helped him clean himself off. There wasn’t much to clean. In Roman’s eyes, though, he was sure they both seemed grimy. Once Roman figured out that Victor was helping him wash off, he gave up trying to do it on his own and stood there, lifeless, and watched as Victor scrubbed at his arms, his hair, his back until he was clean. Even now, he was Roman’s right hand, doing all of the things Roman lost patience for.

Roman traced one of Victor’s newer scars. “Who was this?” he whispered.

“That idiot acid dealer you had me kill last month, the one who was broking deals in your club without your permission.” “It’s brokering,” Roman corrected crossly. “I don’t remember him.”

Victor slicked Roman’s wet hair back to get it out of his face. “You don’t need to, Boss, that’s my job.”

Roman leaned his head on Victor’s scarred chest and wrapped his arms around him. Victor was done bathing them both. At this point, they were just standing under the warm water. “What would I do without you?” he asked.

“You would be the crime lord who owns the finest club in the city, just as you are now,” Victor said, although he knew that probably wouldn’t be the case.

Roman said the truth for them both: “I’d be in Arkham.” Victor was the only one who could calm him down, the only one who could reach him during an episode. They both knew that Roman had little power or sense of self on his own, despite his claims that he owned Zsasz like he was an object. No, Victor was there by choice, but no one outside these walls had to know that.

Victor turned off the water, and Roman crowded even closer to him, shivering in the sudden cold. “Let’s get you to bed,” Victor said.

It was raining outside the tall glass windows of the apartment, Victor realized as he walked out to get Roman’s robe, buck naked because he couldn’t care less these days. He found Roman’s robe and walked back to the bathroom.

“Someone could see you, you know,” Roman said as he walked back in. He was definitely still drunk, but now he was content and clean, and that had sobered him slightly.

“So what?” Victor replied. “Get dressed, brush your teeth, and I’ll find you something to eat.” As he walked to the kitchen, he spotted a group of young blonde women laughing, stumbling down the street. He tried not to think about that blonde in the sheer dress, but she came to the forefront of his mind all too easily. Roman needed him. Roman should want him, too.

“Thank you, Victor,” Roman said as Victor walked into the bedroom- their bedroom, really, as the one that used to be Victor’s was rarely used these days. Victor set down a tray of charcuterie the chef had prepared earlier that day. “Wine?” Roman suggested.

“Water,” Victor replied, handing him a glass of ice-cold water with a thin slice of lemon in it. He sat down on the bed next to Roman as the man began to pick at his food. “How’s your memory of tonight?” Victor asked.

“Vague, but not absent,” he answered, gesturing to the tray. “You can have some too.”

Victor shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“No, you’re upset,” Roman replied. “What about, I don’t know. You’re insufferable sometimes.” He plucked a grape off of the tray and fed it to Victor with a careful hand. Victor crunched it obediently, despite his annoyance.

Roman sighed. His hand drifted to Victor’s upper thigh, but Victor shook his head negatively and pushed it away.

“Pity,” Roman replied. “What is it that’s on your mind?” He reached over and brought Victor’s face close to his own and looked him in the eyes before he kissed him. “Hm?” he prodded. He ran his hand down Victor’s chest, but Victor moved it before he got too far.

“The blonde,” Victor said, his face still inches from Roman’s. “The one in the blue dress, the one you were flirting with.”

“I was flirting with a blonde?” Roman asked. “I don’t remember her. All I remember is you walking me upstairs, taking off my blazer, your hands in my hair in the shower,” he murmured, kissing Victor again. “You should kill her tomorrow,” he suggested. “Make it agonizing. Show her the cost of flirting with the Black Mask tonight.” He ran a finger down a scar, old enough to fade, but young enough to be a kill he made at Roman’s command. Years of death, all for him. “Mark your territory, Mr. Zsasz.”

So Victor kissed Roman again and crawled on top of him possessively, pinning Roman’s arms to the sheets. The man looked entirely unthreatened. “What happened to ‘no sex, I’m upset?’” Roman asked, but he was smiling. Victor kicked the tray of fruit and cheeses across the bed and onto the floor, prompting Roman to grin even wider and lean in for another kiss, violent and fast. Roman should’ve cared about the mess, but he was distracted. “Go on,” Roman encouraged. He wrenched his arm out from under Victor’s to trace the edge of his jaw. “I enjoy pretty things, you know that.”

He kissed Roman again as he worked on the loose knot that held his robe closed.

~~~

The next morning, Victor woke to find Roman tangled up in blankets, sleeping with his head on Victor’s shoulder. God, what the world would think if they could see Roman Sionis now, asleep on his subordinate’s shoulder. Victor ran his hand through Roman’s matted hair. He’d be mad about that when he woke up, but for now, he was nothing more than a sleeping lover, with no sign of the Black Mask’s aggression or mania. Victor couldn’t decide which version of Roman he preferred. After some time, the spell broke, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Victor greeted him. “How do you feel?”

“Hungover,” Roman responded, his voice rough from sleep. As he ran his hand through his hair, he paused, shocked. “Shit, I slept on it wet.”

“It was probably more than just you sleeping on it wet,” Victor said.

Roman exhaled frustratedly. “This is unacceptable. I have things to do today. Where’s my robe?”

Victor picked up the red robe off the floor on his side of the bed and tossed it at Roman. “Here. You should go get ready.”

Roman nodded. “I should. And I should fix this fucking headache.”

“You should let me make you a little hangover cure,” Victor suggested. When he was fully sober, Roman was always more receptive to orders when they were phrased as suggestions.

“Yes, do that,” Roman agreed. “I’ll be right back.” Actually, he would be about an hour, maybe more if he decided to put on eyeliner, because he was particular about that. Appropriately, Victor allowed himself a few more minutes in bed while Roman showered yet again and preened his feathers. Victor’s timing was perfect. Just as Roman emerged from the bathroom, he handed him a weak cocktail that would ward off his hangover a bit longer. “You look good, Boss,” he said as he handed it to him.

“I do, don’t I?” Roman agreed. He ran his fingertips across Victor’s short bleached hair and pinched the collar of the bowling shirt he was wearing. “Change your shirt and throw this one away while you’re at it,” he ordered. “This puce color makes you look absolutely pallid.”

Victor nodded and left to pick something he knew Roman would like before he returned, dropping the sickly pink shirt in the kitchen trash on his way back into the living area.

“Well, well, well,” Roman mused as he leaned on the windowsill, his robe slipping down his arm. “Could that be our little Miss Lance? All these years I thought she was just a pretty face and a fine set of lungs.” Roman sighed, calm and happy as if he’d been drugged. For a split second, Victor started to feel jealous, but then Roman turned around to look at him, and all the jealousy left Victor’s body, only an obsessive, all-consuming attraction left. “Oh, Mr. Zsasz,” he breathed, wrapping an arm around Victor affectionately, “I’ve had an amazing idea.”

#roman sionis #victor zsasz #vicroman #zsaszmask #fanfic #birds of prey #the menty b got me good #help lol

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