Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shane woke to Ilya on top of him. Kissing him, pressing his body into the bed. Hands wormed their way to his wrist and pulled them up above his head, holding him in place. Trapping him below his Captain. Shane moaned at the restriction, and he could feel Ilya’s lips pull into a smile. 

“Moy posyl'nyy, are you ready?”

“Green,” Shane’s voice was husky with sleep... or lust. 

“Any changes from yesterday?” Ilya asked. 

“No,” now Shane’s voice was definitely husky with lust. His body was on fire, heart beating. Cock hard. Wanting. 

“Ok, then you are mine now.” Ilya kissed him again. Hard. His lips moved from Shane’s to his neck. Teeth nipped at his flesh and dragged across his skin, sucking and pulling and biting their way to Shane’s nipple. Fingers found his other, and Ilya nipped and pinched until Shane was arching off the bed— vibrations rumbling through his chest. A heady whine punched its way out of his throat. 

Ilya sank lower until Shane’s cock was at his eye level. He sucked Shane down in one smooth motion and began bobbing his head. A pointed tongue pushed its way through his foreskin, then Ilya’s hand was there to pull the flesh back and expose the sensitive head. He dragged his tongue underneath and around, coming up and pressing into his slit. 

It was intense, but not enough to get off on. Ilya was mapping the curves and dips of his erect cock with his tongue. Touching and tasting, not for Shane’s pleasure but just because he wanted to. 

“You like that, da?” he asked, before Ilya sucked him down again, taking Shane deep for just a moment before pulling back off. 

“Yes,” Shane breathed.

“Is this what you want today? Me to blow you until you come?”

“Yes,” Shane closed his eyes. 

“Is that all you want?” He could feel Ilya’s fingers walking their way up his thigh. 

“No,” he confessed. He wanted more, god, he wanted. 

“Tell me. Tell me what you want.” Ilya's voice was stern, but not angry. 

“I want you. I want to be yours,” he confessed. Was it even a confession when they both knew it?

“You are always mine, moya lyubov. Tell me what you want.” Ilya kept pressing, needing to hear the words. And Shane needed to say them. 

“I want you to own me today. Please.” Shane could hear how breathy, how desperate he sounded and didn’t care. 

“Da. I own you. You are mine.” Possessive hands landed hard on his groin and squeezed, “This cock is mine, this ass is mine.” A thumb slipped lower, pressing into his flesh, “This fuck hole is mine. All mine. I own you today. Do you want to come now?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter what you want?”

“No,” he whined, like a petulant child, but he didn’t fucking care. 

“Da, good. You are learning,” the praise soothed him. It gave him a brief moment of peace before Ilya sank back down on his cock and brought him right to the edge. When he couldn’t take it anymore, Shane frantically yelled, “I’m close! I’m close!” and Ilya pulled off of him. 

“Good boy,” the words sent a shiver through his body. Ilya swatted at his cock, and pulled his testicles away from his body just hard enough to bring Shane back from the very brink. “Come with me,” Ilya said, pulling Shane off the bed.

He led him to the bathroom and directed Shane to the shower stall. Ilya pulled the head down and turned the water on. He tested it for a moment before spraying Shane’s groin. It was ice cold. The remains of Shane’s erection were gone instantly. His cock and balls shrivelled up between his legs. 

The water was off, and Ilya was kneeling in front of him. He slipped Shane’s soft dick and testicles through a black silicone ring, pressing it snug against the black wiry hair on his body. Ilya moved away briefly and returned with a cage in hand. This one was a deep emerald green and lightweight. He made quick work of locking Shane away before sucking him back into his mouth. It seemed like Ilya’s favourite thing to do was to cage him and then immediately try to suck his dick. When he was satisfied, he pulled off and whispered, “mine.” 

Ilya stood, and Shane kissed him. Shane was always allowed to kiss him when he needed it, and he needed it right now. “I love you,” he whispered into Ilya’s lips. 

He could feel the smile, he could see the way Ilya’s eyes crinkled, “I love you too, colour?” he whispered back. 

“Green,”

“Ok, moya igrushka,” my toy, “time to get ready for the day.”

Ilya pulled his own clothes off and turned the shower back on, thankfully hot this time. Shane was directed under the spray and was rewarded with warmth. Immediately, Ilya was beside him, holding his caged member, pointing it down. “You need to piss, no?” Ilya wasn’t really doing anything; he wasn’t directing his cock, he wasn’t pulling it away from Shane’s body. But somehow it was different. Ilya was in control, so in control. He couldn’t do anything that Ilya didn’t want him to do. It was a heady feeling. 

Shane nodded, “Yeah, I need to pee.” The words got caught in his throat, but he managed to say them. 

“Then pee,” Ilya commanded, “release.”

And Shane let go. It wasn’t sexual. He didn’t get off on seeing urine. But there was something about Ilya telling him to do it— it sent him straight to that happy floaty state that he craved. That he needed. He needed Ilya to make the choices for him today; he didn’t want any responsibilities. Not even deciding when to go to the bathroom. 

Shane’s body was relaxed when he was finished, and Ilya released him. He was whispering praise into his ear, “such a good boy,” and “So pretty for me,” and “Ya tebya lyublyu.” 

Shane felt a warm cloth washing his backside, gently pressing between his cheeks. He felt soft, scent-free soap washing him. He felt a single finger work its way into his body. Not for pleasure, but for rather more practical purposes. Still, his knees went weak, and he was holding on to his Captain’s body to keep him upright. Ilya's mouth was at his neck, biting and sucking, and teasing him.

And then it was done. Because his Captain was done, Shane was wrapped in a soft towel and guided to his bedroom. Ilya directed him to sit on the bed and turned away, gathering something out of the dresser that he took over. 

He came back with a deep burgundy leather collar, and Shane had a hard time swallowing around the lump of desire that formed in his throat. He wanted.

“Moy lyubimyy, colour?”

“Green,” he forced out of his mouth. The world was getting fuzzy again, focusing down to a single point, a single man in front of him. Words were getting hard again. Thoughts slowed down, and he let them. 

“You are so good for me, you know that. So attentive, so needy. I think is time I show everyone who you belong to, no?”

Shane nodded. His Captain stepped forward and buckled the thick leather around his neck. It was so soft, buttery smooth. When Shane shifted his neck, he could feel a hint of restriction. But mostly the collar felt like a mix of love and belonging. His Captain stepped back, “There, now everyone will know you are mine. All mine.”

***

His Bellboy was so beautiful like this. Sitting there, dressed only in his cage and his collar. There were two gold rings sewn into the leather, one on the front and one on the back. He had plans for both today. But for now, he slipped a finger between his lover's skin and the leather and pulled lightly, checking the fit. Shane’s whole body lurched forward, and before Ilya could stop him, he was at Ilya’s feet on his knees. 

Shane was leaning against him. That’s not what Ilya had intended, but he learned long ago to let his Bellboy do what he needed in the moment— as long as it didn’t disrupt Ilya’s plans too much. Ilya reached for the towel that Shane had left on the bed and ran it over his wet hair. When the dark spikes were as dry as he could make them, he abandoned the effort and scratched at the base of Shane’s skull, eliciting groans from his Bellboy. 

Ilya tried to turn and gather his next implements without breaking contact, but he couldn’t. Shane whined when he had to step away. “Shhh, shhh, I’ll be right back.” He returned with dark navy leather cuffs, made by the same woman who made the collar. Ilya liked the mismatching set, he liked dressing his toy up like the jewel he was. “I need you on the bed, moya lyubimyy,” he helped his lover back up to a sitting position. “I have other pretty things for you, because you are so pretty, hmm.” Ilya reached forward and took Shane’s left arm. He ran his hand along his forearm and then brought Shane’s wrist to his mouth, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the warm skin. He covered his kiss with the soft leather strap, buckling it in place, and repeated the steps for his other wrist.  

The final piece Ilya had was a length of leather with golden hooks at either end. One went on the back of his bellboy’s collar, and the other end was attached to his wrists. Ilya adjusted everything so that it fell comfortably for Shane. “Colour,” he asked when he was satisfied. 

“Green,” Shane answered. 

“Good, good. Time for breakfast, I think.” He led Shane out to the kitchen, where he had left a pillow last night. It was set next to the head of the table, and he directed Shane down onto his knees. “Moye solnyshko, can I blindfold you now?” he asked.

“Green, please.” Shane’s eyes were bright and desperate, needy and his.

He could tell his sweetheart was well on his way to floating through the day. That was the plan, and he looked so beautiful doing it. Ilya placed the plain black blindfold on his Bellboy. He squeezed his shoulder before bending over and pressing a kiss into his forehead. “You will let me know if anything gets too much or is not good, da?”

“Yes, green. I will,” he promised. 

***

Shane had to hold his shoulders up slightly, and they were starting to strain. If he let his arms go lax, the strap connecting them to his collar pulled tight. Too long like that, he started to feel blood pounding in his ears. It was ok though, he liked it, he didn’t mind. The tension in his body kept him grounded and present. 

Without his eyes, he had to focus on the sounds around him. He could hear Ilya moving. Whenever he was close, Ilya would brush a hand through his hair. The kettle boiled, the coffee was ground, and the machine was filled. Toast popped, fridge opened. Things were placed on the table near him, and then, finally, a chair was dragged out from the table. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it happening all around him. 

“My darling, you are so pretty for me.” The praise flowed through his body, landing in his cock that was already straining against its confines. “Open,” Ilya commanded. 

Shane parted his lips and felt two fingers press in his mouth. Instinctively, he sucked on them. “Neyt, open my bellboy.” Shane obeyed. 

The fingers left and were replaced by something sweet— a piece of cantaloupe. Shane chewed and swallowed, opening his mouth again. This time, a strawberry was placed on his tongue. It was cool from the fridge, sliced in half and sweet. Sweeter than it should be for the early-season strawberries that were sold at a stall up the road. More melon, more berries, then a warm mug of tea was pressed to his lips. It was cooler than he normally liked it, having sat longer than usual. But still the warmth flowed through him. “More?” his Captain asked.

“Yes, please,” Shane responded. The mug was there again, gently tipping into his mouth. The next thing the fingers brought him was toast, ripped into small pieces. Sometimes the fingers pressed in just to feel his tongue, but usually they are there to feed him. He greedily took everything they offered. 

He finished the tea, a few drops spilled over his lips, but it's ok, the liquid wasn’t too hot. Water was at his lips next, then a towel to wipe away the mess. “Good, so good for me,” he heard from above, and he’s happy. So happy. 

The weight of his arms was released, and he all but fell forward onto all fours. He still couldn’t see anything, but he could feel warm hands guiding him, rubbing his shoulders and moving him into place. “Open,” he heard again, so he did. His head was guided forward, and a soft cock was fed between his lips. 

The fingers gave him something else to enjoy, so he does. 

***

Ilya thanked God every day for Shane’s oral fixation, that he can have a warm mouth on his cock whenever they are together. A hand slipped under the table to where Shane was resting right now, mouth holding him soft. He ran it through his Bellboy’s hair just to feel the moan he knows it will pull out of Shane. 

He ate his own breakfast: the leftover fruits, a slice of cold toast, and coffee that was nearing room temperature. They’ll need a good lunch to keep up their energy. But until then, he had protein bars stashed with the lube in every room.

He kept a hand on the back of Shane’s head while he finished eating, and left it there while he just sat with contentment. The sun had bathed the cottage in golden light. Ilya could feel the heat on him as his back was to the windows. He had plans if it rained or cooled off, but he was happy he wouldn’t have to use them. 

***

Strong arms pulled him off the still soft cock he had been holding in his mouth. They tried to pull him to his feet, but he was finding it hard to stand. That was ok, he was happy on the floor. He was happy wherever he was because his Captain had him, was guiding him, was walking by his side. He did have to stand eventually, because he wasn’t allowed to crawl down steps while blindfolded. It was ok though, because his Captain helped him stand up. He held the strap at the back of his neck tight. And then they were somewhere soft, and he was allowed to rest for a while. Warm hands roamed his body, and he was happy. 

Praise drifted over him like waves crashing on a beach. He lay in the sand, letting them warm him all the way through. 

“So good for me,”

“So strong and needy.”

“So pretty.”

“You need this, da?”

“You need someone else in control?”

“Neyt, you need me in control. Only me.”

“I think I will fuck you many times today, you want that?”

He floated, rested, and soaked up the praise until he felt a cool liquid poured over his back. Fingers, those beautiful, wonderful, generous fingers, pressed into him. One and then two, gently, too gently stretching him open. He whined and bucked his hips. “Shhh, you take what you get, moya lyubimyy,” and he stilled. 

The fingers weren’t enough, it wasn’t enough. Even if he could get hard, even if he was allowed to rut, it still wouldn’t be enough. Suddenly, a blunt object pressed against his opening. It teased its way into his body and settled deep. The weight was present and comfortable. Grounding. 

He was dumped back on the floor, but that was ok. That’s where he should be, on his knees. God. He was so fucking lucky to be on his knees; he loved it. His lids sank low, closing behind the blindfold, further cutting him off from the outside world. 

“Cockslut,” he heard distantly, sweetly. His mind was drifting away from him, but he fought his way to attention. “Hey, cockslut,” it was his Captain again. He had to listen to him. They were a team, and his Captain was in charge right now. He couldn’t open his eyes, and speaking was out of the question. What was he supposed to do? Right! He snapped twice. That meant he was good, because he was good. So fucking good right now. 

“Ah, you are so far under, aren’t you. Moya Cockslut. Give me your colour once more, please.” His Captain’s voice was gentle, kind, soft. 

He snapped twice and then drifted away, with hands in his hair and gentle praise raining down on him. 

***

The first thing he noticed was that his knees ached; the second thing he noticed was the low-grade pleasure emanating from inside his ass. The plug. It was vibrating. The third thing he noticed was the hard cock in front of his face when he finally opened his eyes. 

He looked up and saw hunger on his Captain’s face, then the cock was pressed between his lips. He took it. He was a cockslut after all. He knew his place, on his knees, right here, providing a good mouth for his Captain to fuck. 

He felt free. He felt light, as if he would float away, except where his body was held to the ground by his Captain. 

The vibrations increased.

They ebbed, and they flowed. Pressing into his body. Shane squirmed, trying to get just the right pressure in just the right spot. He looked up at his Captain. But he couldn’t see any change in his expression.

His Captain was so unaffected by this. 

Because he was just a tool, a toy. Something to be used. Loved, cherished, and used. He was gone, he was nothing. He had no responsibilities, duties or anything. He just had to be here. To be used.

He had been sucking long enough that there was no taste except skin. He groaned around the cock in his mouth, and this finally got a reaction from his Captain. The vibrations increased sharply, and he was losing control; his throat was working the cock, as best he could, air coming only every two or three thrusts. His body was turning to jelly with the pleasure rocking through him. 

It was so close, it was almost enough, just a little bit more. 

“Deep breath,” his Captain pulled back and commanded. He obeyed, and then the cock was deep in his throat again, cutting off his air supply once more, “swallow,” and he obeyed. His throat worked the cock inside of him, while his lungs became desperate for air. 

His Captain was grunting above him, and he was still on his knees, still on the edge. The edge of pleasure, the edge of pain, the edge of consciousness, the edge of coming, even with his cock soft and caged. 

And then his Captain pulled out, cock spent. He collapsed forward. Still on the edge. Not going over. His lungs took great, gasping breaths, and strong arms pulled him up onto a warm body that held him and covered him with softness.  

He stayed. Floating. Tethered to earth only by the hands running up his spine and the soft words in his ear, “moya lyubimyy, you did so well. You are so pretty for me, moye solnyshko. I love you, Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you, I love you, I love you. Ya tebya lyublyu. My beautiful, cockslut. I love you. So good, and so pretty for me.”

He drifted, feeling a deep-seated sense of peace. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. Nothing in the world could touch him here, nothing bad could happen in Captain’s arms. 

He came back to himself slowly, happy to stay in his lover's arms. Shane didn’t sleep so much as rest, reset, reboot. He could feel the kisses being pressed into his forehead, and he smiled into Ilya's bare chest. 

Eventually, Ilya spoke, “I think is lunch time. What do you want?” he asked. 

His thoughts were slow, but he still remembered all the food from the party. “I think there is some leftover pasta salad—” Ilya cuts him off with a kiss. 

“Nope! Is not your choice today, moya lyubimyy,” he teased Shane, playful. Happy. Shane rolled his eyes, but he was secretly overjoyed at how happy Ilya seemed, how loose and rested he looked. 

Ilya stood and pulled him up the few steps into the kitchen. “You just go over there and look pretty,” he commanded. Shane pretended to scowl at him but still obeyed. Or at least he tried, “No, no, no, neyt. Not like that.” Ilya's tone was light and playful, but Shane still didn’t feel good about the disapproval. The ebbs of distress must have shown on his face, because Ilya kissed his hands, cradling his head, knees weakening. “Sit,” Ilya commanded, flipping a chair from the table around. The angle of the seat was just right to make sure Shane wouldn’t forget about the plug in his ass. Ilya used his foot to push Shane’s legs open before falling to his knees himself. 

He captured Shane’s caged cock in his mouth, running his tongue over the gaps in the hard green plastic. Shane was straining again, his hand was in Ilya’s hair. His body was trying so fucking hard to get hard. But it couldn’t. When Ilya pulled off, Shane had silent tears running down his face, he was begging, begging, “Please let me get hard. I, I— I don’t even have to come, just please!” The words were falling out of his mouth.

Ilya looked up at him, “Is that what you really want? Colour?” he asked. 

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. Willing himself to stop the tears from falling. His voice was quite, barely above a whisper, “green. no.” 

“There, now you look pretty.”

Shane looked down at himself. The ring that sat snug to his body (making it that much harder for him to come) anchored the cage, pushing his testicles up and out, making them look huge and angry red. His cock was obviously soft, not by its own choice. And everything was coated with a thin sheen from Ilya's spit. Tears had dropped onto his chest, landing on his pecks. His nipples were hard and pointed. He could feel, if not see, the collar around his neck with every breath, and the plug in his ass with every tiny movement. He couldn’t hide how desperate he was. Not from anyone who walked by, but most definitely not from Ilya. 

Ilya. 

Ilya, who pulled a large glass bowl out of the fridge. Ilya, who set the large cast-iron pan to heat on the gas range. Ilya, who began frying chicken marinated in some sort of green sauce, way more pieces than they would need for lunch (even if they had been working up an appetite). Ilya, who had a plan, Ilya, who was in charge, and Shane was just here for the ride. Fuck. That more than anything thrilled him. 

***

Shane was always beautiful. This was a fact Ilya had been convinced of for more than a decade. The constellation of freckles that danced across his nose. The faint stretch marks on his lower back and his ass, the scars that marred his skin, and the sparse, wiry hair around his groin. Everything. It was all so beautiful.

He leaned in the last year, when he had been allowed to look, that his freckle’s change. Each freckle came and went, darkest in the fall, lightest in early spring. There were always some scattered across his nose. The ones on his shoulders appeared out of nowhere last summer; he didn’t know to expect them until they had already arrived. Ilya was more than excited to watch Shane’s freckles change as the summer went on. 

But it wasn’t just Shane's freckles or his sweet little smile— The real one, not the one Ilya had seen on TV. It wasn’t how he dressed or how he insisted on maintaining his training schedule even during the summer months, when he should be relaxing and enjoying himself. It wasn’t even how boring he was. None of those things were the reason why Ilya Rozanov, Russian superstar, new starting center for the fucking Ottawa Centaurs, was completely and totally obsessed with Shane fucking Hollander. 

It was because Shane Hollander threw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did, whether that was hockey, or cleaning, or planning the perfect Canada Day party. Or asking Ilya for what he needed. 

Asking Ilya to be totally in control for a day.

Asking Ilya to take him apart, to push his limits, to push him to his limit. And be there to pull him back together. 

Ilya looked over at him. Sitting naked, thighs spread apart, cock caged. Messy in a way he would never normally let himself be. Skin marked from Ilya’s pleasure. Ilya’s greed. Because Shane wanted him to be greedy, and he was very bad at not giving Shane exactly what he wanted. 

Shane was staring at him. Not hungry, not needy, eyes not laced with desire, instead with a focus that he only ever saw from Shane on the ice. Ilya wanted that focus on him for the rest of his life. 

He had to turn away and focus on the chicken thighs sizzling in one of the pans in front of him. Otherwise, Ilya would crack, he’d lose focus, he’d go over to his lyubimyy and fuck him silly. Which would probably ruin their lunch and keep Ilya from giving his Bellboy one of his deepest fantasies. 

Instead, he pulled out the bowl of pre-sliced veg and threw them in the empty pan. They won't need much time to sear before adding water to steam. 

Ilya took out a serving platter and a glass container. 12 of the thighs went directly into the container and into the fridge. The other eight ended up on a cutting board, where he sliced them into bite-sized pieces. He doled out half on one side of the platter and half on the other, with the veggies piled in the middle. Ilya took the food over and set it at his spot at the head of the table. 

He could feel Shane’s eyes on him, tracking him like he was prey, or the puck. But still he didn’t move, legs splayed open, hands on his thighs. He watched as Ilya went back to the kitchen and fetched a small bowl of leftover pasta salad. He watched as Ilya pulled out the scale and weighed out 150 grams into one bowl, and three large spoonfuls into another. 

Finally, the table was set, and Ilya sat down. He had pulled the chair sideways and moved the pillow from that morning between his legs. He spread his legs open to mirror his Bellboy’s.

“Come here,” he said when he was finally ready. Shane, that beautiful asshole, slipped off the chair where he had been sitting for the last half hour and crawled over to him, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s. Shane settled on his knees between Ilya’s legs, looking up at him through hooded lids. The peaceful look Shane had this morning while he floated through breakfast had been replaced now with pure desire. Heat. Need. Ilya swallowed. 

Lunch. 

They had to have lunch. 

Fuck. 

Ilya wanted to forget everything and just throw Shane on the table and fuck him hard and rough and thorough. But that would come in a little bit. 

Instead, he picked a piece of chicken up and popped it in his mouth, chewing while he looked down at his Bellboy. He picked another piece of chicken up, but this time he held it in front of Shane’s lips. He opened and accepted the meat, letting his tongue swipe over Ilya’s fingers. Fuck. Ilya could not let Shane see how affected he was by this. 

He focused on trading bites, one for him, one for Shane, alternating between the chicken and vegetables. He held a glass to Shane’s lips, tipping the water into his mouth as he had with the tea this morning. It was easier, though, because he wasn’t worried about burning his lover. 

When half the food was gone, Ilya turned the vibrations on again. He kept it on low, just enough so Shane would feel it, so that it would slowly start to drive him insane. 

He continued to feed him chicken, vegetable, piece of bowtie pasta, repeat. Shane only looked more hungry as the food disappeared. 

When lunch was finished, Ilya turned the vibrations up once again. “Stay, while I clean up. Colour?”

“Green,” Shane’s voice was desperate. He was teetering at the edge of control. Ilya could see a bead of sweat forming at his hairline. He cleared the dishes and counted back from 20 while he filled the sink. When he reached zero, Ilya gave Shane some relief. He dialled back the vibrations until they were barely on. 

He saw Shane’s body sag forward, “good boy,” he said from behind the sink, “you are being so good for me, my Bellboy. So good.” Shane’s posture went back to picture perfect, and Ilya washed the few dishes he had used slowly and carefully. He didn’t want to rush to the next activity he had planned. 

***

Shane was drifting lazily through his thoughts. He was still kneeling on the soft cushion by the table. He could hear, if not see, Ilya in the kitchen. His belly was full, and his mind was virtually empty. The early afternoon sun was high overhead, but its rays were still warming him through the window. 

Shane loved the windows in his cottage, he loved how much natural light the place got. And he loved the privacy he had on the lake, because nowhere else in the world could he sit naked and caged next to a fucking window in broad daylight. He still felt so exposed, so naked in a way that didn’t involve not having clothes on. 

Shane had been naked in front of people so often in his professional life that it hardly even registered anymore. But right now, he felt more than naked— he felt exposed, vulnerable. He felt like he was on display. 

He kinda was, he was on display for Ilya, for his Captain, and it felt freeing. It felt right, like he didn’t have to think about anything else except for staying right here and looking pretty. His skin prickled with a thousand sets of eyes that existed only in his imagination. 

Shane was on display for so much of his life, he was a thing, a commodity. He accepted that, tolerated it, and played the part. Posed for the pictures, filmed the commercials, fulfilled his obligations. He didn’t mind that (usually), but he didn’t enjoy it either. 

This, being on display, collared, caged, needy, desperate, wanting. This was everything. He imagined what JJ would say if he saw him right now. What would JJ think if he walked around the back of the house and saw Shane through the window? He’d probably think he was a desperate, needy cockslut.  

And he’d be right. 

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and Shane looked outside, almost wishing someone would walk up on them. He definitely wished that he could be even more exposed right now. He needed it, craved it in a way he couldn’t really explain. So much of his life was public, why couldn’t this be too? Why couldn’t everyone see how beautifully he took cock, how well he took Ilya’s dick? His Captain’s cock. 

Suddenly, Ilya dragged Shane to his feet and pressed him close to his body. The hand that pulled him up snaked its way down to take hold of his caged cock. The other wormed its way up, grabbing Shane by the throat, roughly pressing into his flesh. His Captain pressed his naked body to the cool glass. “I think I want to go outside, what do you think, moye solnyshko?” his honey tone sent shivers down Shane’s body when he whispered in his ear. Shane’s cock was straining again (if it ever really stopped), and his knees were weak. 

“Green,” he breathed out. 

The hand at his throat pushed his neck to the side, granting access to the greedy mouth that attacked his neck. Ilya was biting him now, feral. Sucking and pulling at his flesh, the hand on his cock was pulling the cage away from his body, adding a layer of tension mixed with pain. It was all so much that Shane was sure the only thing keeping him on his feet was his Captain’s arms and the press of his body against the glass. 

This was confirmed when Ilya pushed off of him, releasing his restraints, and Shane crumpled to the floor, breathing heavy. The vibrations in his ass increased, momentarily spiking to a level that made him scream out before dropping back down, still higher than before. 

His Captain was back. He clipped the length of leather on the back of his collar and slid the door open. Shane was half dragged outside onto the wooden patio and over to the grass. 

His Captain pulled the short lead up and unhooked it from the collar, dropping Shane, letting him fall to the ground. A foot was there pushing him over, forcing him onto his back in the grass. Hands grabbed his wrists and clipped them together; the short leather lead was attached there. Shane was pulled forward, and then he heard the sounds of metal crashing onto metal. He tilted his head up and saw his Captain hammering a spike into the ground, trapping him, tethering him to the earth. When he was finished, his Captain pulled at the leather lead, testing how secure the spike was. It wouldn’t budge. he was trapped here. Stuck. Vulnerable in a way he had never been before. Fuck. Need caught in his throat. He snapped twice, unprompted. 

His Captain dropped his pants and climbed on top of Shane's trapped body. He shoved his cock into his mouth and started fucking down. His head was pressed into the ground. He tried to relax his throat and jaw, taking the cock as best he could. “Da, like that. You take it so good.” 

Trapped between the cold grass, damp earth and the body pressing him down, Shane lost himself. He was a tool, a vessel, not for himself but for someone else. For his Captain’s pleasure, his whims, his desires. God, it felt good to be needed like this.  

He was suddenly left gasping for air, empty, exposed. His Captain had left his body, but was still speaking to him, still there keeping him safe. “Look at you, so needy. So open, I think I need to mark my property so no one will touch you. Because you look so fucking touchable like this moya lyubimyy.” The foot was back; this time, it was digging under him and lifting up. Guiding him to flip over. It wasn’t graceful, but he managed to find his knees, arms still pulled forward, forearms and hands resting in the grass. 

He heard the sound of metal striking metal again. He looked up. This time, it was a metal spike with a handwritten sign attached. 

Property of Ilya Rozanov 

DO NOT TOUCH

He started to groan; his hips bucked forward, looking for any friction. Any release. But there was none to be found. 

“God, you are a desperate little bitch. A desperate little cockslut. Say it.” He flushed red, his face was burning. He tried to open his mouth and speak, but the words caught in his throat. “Say it,” his Captain commanded again. 

“I’m a desperate little cockslut.” He was literally chained to the ground outside! Somehow, saying those words made him feel more exposed. Made him feel truly naked.

He was a desperate little cockslut. He was. He needed it. He was desperate for it. “I need it. I need your cock” he begged.

“Not yet, I think.” A sharp crack split the air as a hand made contact with the meaty part of his ass. It was louder than it hurt, but it was just the beginning. Soon, hands rained down on him, first warming his flesh up. Bring blood to the surface, making him red and desperate. 

His face was pressed into the grass, tears were leaking from his eyes, dropping from his face only to be soaked up by the dirt. He was nothing, tied to the earth, completely free. The strikes got harder, but the pain disappeared; he was floating outside his own body. He looked down at himself, chained to the literal ground, desperately whining as his backside was being beaten. His cock was straining, the flesh trying to escape its plastic confines, was as red as his ass.  

Here, he was a fucking thing, a toy, and an object to be used. His body was built for precision, for performance, but none of that mattered right now. He was at the edge, he was barely a person right now, and he fucking loved it. He could feel the reciprocal heat of his Captain's hands moving up his back, a finger looped through the ring on the back of his collar and pulled his head back. “Now I fuck you? Da.”

He snapped twice, his Captain dropped his head, and pushed him fully to the ground. He was gasping for air, his knees and arms were grass-stained, and his shoulders ached with strain. He just wanted to get hard, fuck! 

Instead, he got fucked hard. The plug was ruthlessly pulled from his hole. Spit and lube were poured into him, and then he was full, he felt fuller than he had ever been before. His Captain’s hot cock, pressed in, nothing between them, the slide stung his raw backside, but that just added to the feeling. “Fuck!” he screamed out, 

“Da, I will,” and then his Captain was moving above him. Pressing him into the dirt and grime of the outdoors. He felt dirty, good dirty. He let his face drop to the ground and took it. 

“So good, for me, so hot and tight for me. Fuck!” The angle was all wrong; he was only getting a modicum of relief, of pleasure from this. “This is how you want it?” His Captain asked.

He tried to shake his head, but that wasn’t good enough. A hand was back on his collar, pulling his head back, “Neyt. Use your words, ask.” 

“Please,” he whined. 

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me harder, please, let me get hard, let me come, please, please, please.” his voice fell off into a series of moans that were half pleading for pleasure, half screams in time with the cock thrusting into him.

“You will not be getting hard, but I can make it better for you.” 

“Please, please, please!” he begged some more. His voice was getting raw.

His Captain pulled out of him and grabbed his ankles. He pulled him taut against the restraints that pinned his arms to the grass. His Captain then firmly flipped his body over and pushed his legs up so his knees were by his head. He dropped to his own knees and pressed back into his toy. Now, with every thrust, he could feel pleasure ripping through his body, nailing him exactly where he dreaded, exactly where he wanted. His body was a contraction, pain, pleasure, need, want, overwhelmed. He wanted to get hard so badly, but his Captain didn’t want that yet. So he didn’t want it either.    

His Captain leaned forward, bending him in half and breathing heavily in his space. Pleasure was still building in his body, not in his cock, that was painfully restrained— which somehow added to everything. The pleasure was building in his burning thighs, in his back, in his chest, everywhere. An indescribable feeling. A hand was on his chest, thumb stroking over his nipple, and pleasure started building there too. Lips were at his, and then he was gone, body writhing on the grass, back arching, cock softly dribbling through the cage.  

His voice was raw from screaming, and his Captain was stuttering above him, and he was gone. Floating away completely. He knew he was safe, he knew his Captain would take care of him. 

He was distantly aware that the chains that bound his arms had been released, and then he was somewhere warm. 

The cuffs on his wrist were removed. When fingers went to his throat to remove his collar, he protested. “Solnyshko, I don’t want it to get wet. I’m right by you, we’ll always be touching.”

“Don’t wanna not be yours,” he managed to say weakly. 

“Moya lyubov, you’re mine. Even without this, ok?” It didn’t make sense, he needed everyone to see who he belonged to. But he trusted his Captain. 

“Ok,” he snapped twice, and let the fingers make him naked. Then he was on the floor of the shower stall, with warm water falling over him, washing the dirt away. Soft soap was worked into his skin; he watched the dirty water flow from him onto the floor and down the drain, making him clean again. 

Ilya was behind him, leaning against the wall, legs spread, and holding Shane against his chest. Lips pressed kisses to the back of his neck, and his head fell back, resting against Ilyas's shoulder. He was boneless, relaxed. 

Hands went to his cock, and began releasing the cage, finally freeing him. They first gently rinsed the flesh of sweat and lube and spit. A gentle grip engulfed him, stroking until he was hard, the first time since this morning. His body was wrung out, but his cock didn’t get the message, he came quickly. The release was nothing like what happened outside, but it left him spent all the same. He drifted again until he was tucked warmly into bed, pulled tight against Ilya's equally naked body. He rested. 

***

Ilya didn’t sleep right away, even though he was exhausted and pleasure drunk. It was 2 pm, and his alarm was set for 3 pm. That would leave four hours after they woke up, during which he was still in control. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but it had been worth it. So completely worth it to hear his Bellboy let go in a way he never had before. Worth it to bring his lovers' deepest fantasies to life. Worth it to give him the complete and total release he craved. Fuck, he loved him. He loved Shane goddamn Hollander more than he thought possible. 

It used to eat him from the inside, but a year ago he got to say it out loud. He got to hear it back. A year ago he got to start being a boyfriend. He didn’t know what was next, but he couldn’t fucking wait. 

Until then, he needed to rest and then have four hours of care, which his Bellboy needed. But he just might need it more…

Ilya woke to the sound of his alarm. The sun was high overhead, making the room bright. He could hear the birds chirping once again through the open window. They had scared them away earlier with all their noise.

Shane was still tucked against his side, eyes still closed, face pressed into his chest. Peaceful. That's how Ilya would describe it, Shane was peaceful like this. Everything else was washed away, no contracts or moving details to worry about. No photo ops or commercials to shoot. They had a month. A full month before any of that mattered again.  

Ilya pushed away all thoughts of reality and focused instead on the feeling of skin against skin. The prickle of stubble that melted into his chest. Of post-nap stickiness that stretched through his abdomen. The feeling of a cool, soft cock and testicles resting against his hip. His legs tangled together with Shane's, tying them together again. 

Sex was great, sex with Shane was even better. But the after of it all, after sex, after a scene, after he had teased and tortured and pushed his Bellboy around, he needed this. Hell, on a normal day, he needed this. This closeness, this connection, this warmth that spread from deep in his chest outward, fuelled by the body currently curled around him. He needed Shane, he could admit that freely now. 

They would say goodbye more now, he was in Ottawa, they would see each other so much more, he hoped (he knew). They would have to say goodbye so much more now. But they’d get to say hello so much more, too. So that's what he was going to focus on. Saying hello.  

The body wrapped around him started to move. Ilya kept his arms tight, not letting Shane pull away as he woke up. 

Shane’s head tilted up, looking at him, he smiled and Ilya smiled back, “Hey,” his voice was hoarse with sex and sleep. 

“Hello, moya lyubov. Did you rest well?”  

“Yes, did you?”

“Da. How are you feeling? Anything sore, anything hurt? More than it should, I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Shane smiled into his chest. Ilya loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He could see Shane’s freckles already darkening after only a few days in the sun. 

“No, I’m fine. I’m good. Happy.” Happy. Shane was happy. Ilya was happy too. 

“I think we should watch movie? Do you want?”

Shane looked back up at him, “I thought you were supposed to be in charge today?” Shane was a brat sometimes, a very pretty brat who had Ilya’s number.  

“Da, but doesn’t mean I won’t ask for your opinion. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen to it either.” He finally loosened his arms and let Shane pull away from him, peeling their bodies apart. 

Ilya slipped on a pair of track pants and started to head down to the entertainment room. He paused at the door when Shane didn’t follow him. He was still sitting on the bed, sheets pooled around his waist, “Moya lyubimyy, what is wrong?” 

“I— can I have the collar again?” The way he asked, it was almost as if he thought Ilya would say no. Almost as if he forgot Ilya would do anything for him— would do everything for him. 

“Da, moy posyl'nyy, of course.” Ilya moved quickly to retrieve the burgundy leather from where he had left it hours ago and slipped it back into place. He checked the tightness with two fingers, even though he knew it was the perfect fit. It was worth it just to see his lover's eyes flutter closed when he tugged gently on the collar. “Come now, my Shane?”

His eyes flicked open, and Ilya could see Shane settle back in that happy place. This time, he followed Ilya out to the couch and settled on top of Ilya’s chest when he pulled him down. 

Ilya put on some action movie he had seen a thousand times, and ran his fingers through his Bellboy’s hair. Shane drifted, not falling asleep exactly, but resting nonetheless. Ilya's hands eventually worked their way down to Shane’s ass. He gently grabbed hold. The skin was still hot, still red, and Shane inhaled deeply when Ilya applied any pressure. He was going to have fun with that, but later. Now he settled in and rested. 

They stayed wrapped around each other until the credits rolled, and Ilya's stomach growled. Shane laughed at him, but not a moment later, his stomach growled too. 

Ilya prepared dinner (leftover chicken and pasta salad) while Shane sat on his knees beside him. Ilya brought the food to the table, again all on one large plate, and Shane settled at his feet again. When Shane opened his mouth, Ilya fed him bites of chicken and vegetables, and carb-filled pasta. 

Shane took everything he gave, sucking Ilyas fingers into his mouth when he was allowed. His eyes never left Ilya’s. He wasn’t looking up at Ilya with heat or desire. It was maybe something different, something more peaceful. Ilya didn’t want to waste time thinking about how Shane was looking at him. Instead, he wanted to enjoy it, savour it, live in this moment forever. This time, Ilya let Shane drink from the glass of water himself. He smiled when Shane refused to break eye contact even then. It was like a tether connected them, neither able to look away. 

Shane was hard by the time dinner finished. Ilya was hard, too. He stood, forgetting about the few dishes they had used, instead telling Shane to follow him. 

The bastard did, but he didn’t stand up. Instead, his Bellboy crawled across the floor and up the few steps to their bedroom. Ilya shook his head and shucked his pants. He lay back on the bed and slicked his hard cock up with lube. 

“Here, now,” he said, pointing directly at his cock. The benefit of all the fucking and the toy he had used on Shane earlier was that he was open. 

It was a tight fit still, going from nothing to an achingly hard cock. Shane slipped down onto him slowly, enveloping Ilya’s cock, with his tight heat. Fuck. It was perfect. It was better than perfect. 

Shane’s legs bracketed Ilya’s hips, and he began to gently rock. Slowly, so slowly, building fraction by fraction, millimetre by millimetre. Ilya wanted more, harder, faster, more, but not yet. 

Right now, he really wanted to savour this moment, after a long day, after a long season. A year, they had been together a year. Every day for the last year, Ilya got to tell Shane Hollander that he loved him, not always with his voice, and definitely not always in person. But every day for a year, he had been allowed to love Shane Hollander, out loud— well, out loud enough. “I love you,” he said between one small thrust and the next. 

“I love you too, fuck Ilya, I need it!” He could tell Shane also wanted more— harder, faster, more. But it was just so god damn fun to deny him. 

“No, not yet. Slow still. Did you like it today? Did you like being mine?”

“Yes, fuck. Yes, I did,” he panted. 

“Hmm, what was your favourite part?” Ilya dramatically rolled his r’s and teased Shane with several rapid thrusts, breaking the rhythm Shane was trying to build. 

“I uhh— I liked this morning. When you— fuck. When you feed me breakfast. And then I got to hold your dick for a while.”

Ilya wasn’t surprised exactly, but he wasn’t expecting that answer either. Shane loved to float. Ilya was still working out ways to make it easier for him to reach that special, peaceful place. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease Shane now. He used his hands to guide Shane’s hips higher on his upswing, lengthening the thrusts. “You did not like when I fucked you?” he asked, before slamming Shane back down onto his cock. 

“Fuck! I liked that too. Fuck”

“Da, is what I am doing right now. Fucking you.” he slowed his pace again, drawing it out even further. 

“Asshole, what was your favourite part?”

“Any time I was touching you. I liked that.” 

“You were touching me all day!”

“Da, I had a great day.” He knew he was smirking, and he didn’t care. 

“Ilya!” Shane stretched his name out until it became a moan, a prayer. He picked up speed, and this time Ilya let him, building a rhythm together, moving as one. 

Ilya was thrusting up now, punching sounds out of his Bellboy over and over again, “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me, what have you been calling me in your head all day?” A hand was at Shane’s cock, pumping up and down, working the flesh in time with his thrusts, wringing pleasure out of his lover. 

“Ilya,”

“No, not that. The other thing?”

“I– I… I can’t!”

“Colour? Do you want me to make you say it?”

Shane was quiet for a beat, “Yes, green. Make me.”

Ilya adjusted his feet to gain more leverage and began taking a more active role in the endeavour. Harder, faster, more. “Say it,” he demanded. 

Shane was a sight, bouncing on his cock, sweat building on his body. Trying to let go, still needing help. Ilya’s right hand worked Shane’s dick, while his left reached up and hooked a finger in the gold ring attached to the leather wrapped around his lover's neck. He pulled forward, dragging his Bellboy down, and hungry lips took what they wanted. “Say it, tell me what you’ve been calling me in your head all day.”

“You know what it is,” Shane whined.

“Da, but I want to hear you say it before I make you come.” The hand on Shane’s cock stopped, it held tight. 

“Captain, my Captain! Fuck, please!” Shane was coming, hard, spilling over his Captain's chest. Fuck. It shouldn’t be as hot as it was. Ilya placed his hands on the small of his Bellboy's back and flipped him over, before pistoning in hard and fast, chasing his own pleasure. 

“Fuck, moy posyl'nyy, my Bellboy,” Shane was entering the overstimulated territory, pain was mixing in with the pleasure, and Ilya knew from experience his Bellboy couldn’t stand right. He pressed a kiss to his face, tasting tears and sweat. Then he pressed another and another, “Fuck. I love you. I love you so much.” He was coming, collapsing, making a mess of the two of them. “Ya tebya lyublyu, I love you.”

He stayed on top of his lover, his Bellboy, until he risked falling asleep. Ilya pulled himself away and grabbed a wet cloth from the bathroom, cleaning the worst of the mess off of them. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, when Shane hardly moved. Two snaps. Good. 

He pulled Shane into his arms, making sure his lover looped his own around Ilya’s neck. He lifted with his legs because the one time he didn’t, Shane lectured him for 10 minutes during their bath (soon as he had come back to himself, of course). 

Carrying his Bellboy wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy either. It made him feel strong though, it made him feel useful. He had to be exceptionally careful, there were more steps than he usually had to deal with at their cottage. First down to the main level and then some more to the lowest level, to where the guest rooms were. 

Ilya gently kicked the bathroom door open and placed his spaced-out lover into the large porcelain bathtub, gently resting him against the back. He made quick work of turning the taps and starting to fill the tub with water that was just the right side of too warm. Ilya grabbed two soft, grey towels and put them on the small table next to where Shane was sitting. He went to unbuckle the leather collar that sat snug against his lover's throat. Shane flinched away as soon as Ilya’s hands went near the buckle. “Moya lyubov?” he knelt next to the tub, settling at eye level.

“I— it’s silly.” Shane was blushing slightly and looking away. That was Shane’s tell for when Ilya should push harder. 

“Dorogoy, it’s not silly, this is the second time today you do not want to take the collar off, yes?”

“Yes,”

“Why not?”

“I just like belonging to you, it’s stupid.” Ilya very much did not like it when Shane spoke like that.  

He firmly grabbed Shane’s chin and gently guided him to meet Ilya’s eyes. “Is not stupid. Is very hot and very sweet.” His Bellboy’s eyes were glassy and his lips kissable, so he leaned over and kissed him before continuing. “You are always mine, and I am always yours. Nothing will change that. Does not matter if we are on the ice, or if you wear my collar, or if we are apart. We belong to each other, always. Ya lyublyu tebya.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” The sound of the words was distorted, first by Shane’s inexperienced tongue, and second by Ilya’s grip on his lover’s face. Ilya pressed another kiss, and another and another, pressing forward and feeling a very experienced tongue pushing back. 

By the time they parted the the tub was already half full, and Ilya knew what he had to do. “Moya lyubov, can I leave you for a moment?”

Shane paused for a moment before answering, “Yeah, I’m ok, I think.”

Ilya checked the temperature of the water and turned it up a fraction before moving through the cottage at lightning pace. He found the square, turquoise-blue box buried in the drawer where he had unpacked his clothes. With it in hand, he rushed back down to where his lover was. He turned the water off and dropped to his knees next to Shane again, holding out the gift he was going to give Shane next week on their I love you anniversary (not to be confused with their first blowjob, first fuck, or first date anniversary), all of which had received smaller presents (even if Ilya was the only one who knew the occasion). 

Shane, of course, refused to take the gift until Ilya first handed him a towel to dry his hands off with. The water sluiced around his body as he pulled the delicate white ribbon away, releasing the bow. 

Inside was a custom-made sterling silver chain; the links were large enough to have soft, rounded edges yet still small and delicate. Ilya had requested something sleek, stylish, and lightweight. He hoped Shane would wear it always, but he knew his lover was very particular, especially about his game-day attire. If it didn't fit comfortably under his gear, Ilya would understand. 

Shane pulled the chain from the box. “Ilya, it’s beautiful,”  he said.

Ilya, of course, was too excited, “Look, here.” He pointed at the small metal plaque next to the clasp. One side had Tiffany embossed on it; the other had a set of three letters engraved. 

“PIR?”

“Property of Ilya Rozanov,” he said proudly. 

“Oh,” Shane looked up at him, his eyes starting to well. “I… thank you.” Shane held the chain to Ilya, silently asking him to put it on. Ilya took it, but instead of unhooking the clasp, he placed it back in the box and gestured for Shane to move forward. Ilya finally slipped into the water, letting it warm his body and relax his muscles. He slid down, bracketed Shane with his legs, and pulled him back so he was resting with his back pressed against Ilya's front.  

Ilya’s fingers went straight to unbuckling the burgundy leather that had decorated Shane’s neck for most of the day. It had been beautiful and heady to watch what the simple strip of material had done to the love of his life (and what it had done to himself in return). But he couldn’t own Shane like that every day; he didn’t want to. He wanted his boring, hockey-obsessed, neurotic partner, who frequently nagged him to stop smoking and wear sunscreen. 

Though, he did want his boyfriend to have some visible physical reminder of their love and devotion— even if only a handful of people would know that's what it was— and only two would know its deeper meaning. So he placed the burgundy leather on the side table and picked up the silver chain, opened the clasp, and pulled it around his Bellboy’s neck. He felt Shane almost sag with relief when the chain was secured against his skin. 

Ilya adjusted the metal against Shane’s chest, just to feel the weight of it more than anything else. He spoke softly in Shane’s ear. “Such a needy, greedy boy you are. Is ok, I will always give you what you want, everything you ever want for as long as you want it.”

“Forever?” Shane asked, resting his head back on Ilya’s shoulder. 

“Da, forever.”

They stayed in the water until it was cold, and their fingers were pruny. Tomorrow, Ilya would walk down the driveway and open the gate, letting the world back in. But tonight, he could still rest with his Shane in his arms.