Chapter Text
Shane snuggled deeper into the couch while he watched his husband, Ilya, get ready for a party at Wyatt’s. It was the Stanley Cup finals, so a lot of the team and staff were watching it together. Shane tried to ignore the disdain he felt of not being there, fighting for the Cup, but the anger was there, unbidden.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come, dorogoy?” Sweetheart.
Shane nodded. “Yeah, I’m not feeling up for socializing today.”
Ilya walked over from the kitchen and leaned down, pressing a firm kiss onto Shane’s lips. “Okay,” he said, “just don’t miss me too much.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Poka, Ilya.” Bye.
Ilya smiled at the casual use of Russian. He kissed Shane one more time before grabbing a bottle of vodka from the counter and walking toward the door. He called out, “Ya tebya lyublyu.” I love you.
Shane repeated the sentiment in Ilya’s mother tongue as he disappeared out the door.
And then he waited. He allowed himself to find comfort beneath the weighted blanket, in the security he felt at being in the corner of the couch, surrounded by cushions. He counted his breaths; each time he reached sixty, he allowed his mind to drift closer to the headspace he rarely was allowed anymore. When he lifted his phone from the side table a few moments later, it had been fifteen minutes since Ilya left.
Shane smiled. He pushed his blanket aside and rushed for the stairs, taking two at a time. Upon reaching the top, he walked through the master bedroom and into the walk-in closet. He kneeled down on the carpet and began pushing aside clothes to reveal a hidden chest. He didn’t waste any time as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, hastingly pushing it into the lock. At the sound of an all too familiar click, he lifted the lid.
It was like Shane could breathe again. Inside was his gear—objects that Ilya had no idea he owned. There was a butt plug with an attached black, silk tail, black cat ears that clipped snuggly atop his head, black gloves and socks that had pink paw pads protruding from the soft fabric, and a black ribbon with a bell. He could feel his body begin to buzz in anticipation as he began pulling the items from the chest.
He stripped from his clothing, throwing the garments into the hamper in a hurried manner, while his skin sizzled with elation. Once he was nude, he grabbed the unopened lube from the chest and clicked the lid open. Hurriedly, he applied the lube to his fingers; he got onto his hands and knees, reaching behind himself to touch his hole. It didn’t take long to loosen himself up as Ilya had fucked him roughly earlier that morning.
Shane removed his fingers and grabbed his tail. He covered the black plug with lube, then he pushed it inside. He gasped at the fullness, taking note of his hardened cock. After making sure the plug was firmly in place, he clipped on his ears. He couldn’t control the smile that laced his face as his mind became more languid. He grabbed the ribbon—a poor excuse of a collar—and tied it around his neck, enjoying the ring! of the bell as it collided with his Adam’s apple. Finally, he put on his gloved, socked paws.
He was no longer Shane Hollander, the hockey player—he was a kitten, just a sweet, black kitten.
He crawled out of the closet, relishing in the sway of his soft tail against his thighs. Once he reached the bed, he used his teeth to pull down the comforter. The fluffy, beige blanket was the perfect bed. He fell down, burying his face into the softness. He curled into a ball, wrapping his tail around his leg. His cock twitched at being rubbed against, but he ignored it.
From there, it didn’t take long to begin purring as he faded into unconsciousness. He was safe, wrapped in the protection of the blanket he shared with his owner—no, not owner, Ilya. Nonetheless, he was content, so he drifted.
Shane didn’t know how long he lay there, nestled into a ball of warmth, but when he stretched out, releasing a satisfied groan, and opened his eyes, he was met with the face of his husband.
Startled, he sat up, hissing at the subtle pain from the plug. He looked toward the windows and noticed the sun had set. How long had he been asleep? Hesitantly, he looked back at Ilya.
Ilya was seated on the ground, back against the door, watching. He raised an eyebrow. “Eto novoye,” he said. This is new.
Shane flushed. He bit his lip as he looked down. He was incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. Sure, he and Ilya partook in a few kinks that were a long way from vanilla, but this was far from their normal. Shane was dressed as a cat, for gods sake. His heart was thumping, beating erratically against his chest. He could feel the panic forming as he was forcefully extracted from his kitten headspace.
Seeming to sense Shane’s panic, Ilya smiled softly. “You are okay, milyy,” he affirmed. Darling. “You look very comfortable. May I join you?”
Shane slowly nodded, cautious of this foreign situation. He never planned to reveal this side of himself to Ilya, but that choice was taken from him due to his stupidity. He should have set a timer, like he used to do.
Across the room, Ilya rose. His movements were careful, calculated; he knew they were walking on a tight rope. As he approached Shane’s makeshift dog bed, he bent down. He reached his hand out, leaving it to hang in front of Shane’s face, as if he were… “Sniff? Kittens do that, yes?”
Abruptly, his kitten headspace came roaring back. His anxiety ceased, allowing peacefulness to stop his racing heart. He leaned forward and pushed his head against Ilya’s extended finger, relaxing at the familiar ring! of his bell. He hummed in pleasure.
Ilya smiled. His eyes shined with love, while the barely there crows feet near his eyes crinkled in excitement. “Oh, kotyonok,” he whispered. Kitten. “You are precious.”
Shane smiled. He turned away from his husband and went down on his hands and knees. Slowly, he lowered his face to the comforter and raised his ass, revealing his plugged hole and tail.
Ilya took a deep and sharp inhale. “Blyat',” he muttered. Fuck. He reached out and began caressing the black fur. “You are beautiful, sweetheart.”
Shane could only form one reasonable response to that—he purred.