Chapter Text
The front door of the cottage shut with a slam as the man- Shane’s father -practically sprinted out of the house. Ilya was still lying on the kitchen floor, a little bit frozen from fear, but he quickly defrosted when he saw how Shane was trembling, unsteady on his feet and tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Hey. Shane.” Awkwardly, Ilya got himself to standing. He approached Shane cautiously, a little afraid of sending him spiraling even faster at this point.
“Fuck,” Shane groaned, clutching at his hair. “Fuck. This is a fucking nightmare.”
“Shane,” Ilya repeated, as gentle as he could.
“Oh fuck, this is a fucking nightmare. Oh, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” Then, all at once, like he hadn’t even realized Ilya was standing there until that moment, Shane turned on a dime and rushed to his side, hands dancing over Ilya’s skin like he was checking for injuries. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” Ilya insisted, catching Shane by both wrists and pressing a kiss to each of his palms. “I promise.”
“No, but…” There was a physical weight to Shane’s gaze as he swept up and down Ilya’s body. “I mean are you… are you okay?”
Ilya knew what he meant. Is this your worst nightmare too? But the guilt wasn’t crushing Ilya like he might have expected it to. He was embarrassed, but the waves of shame that might have been washing over him if this had happened a month ago were nowhere to be found. “Yes. Yes, I think I’m okay. I’m worried about you.” Ilya glanced towards the front door. “We should go talk to him.”
“Yeah?” Shane’s face crumpled as he pulled away, his hands falling from Ilya’s grip. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if… fuck, my mom.”
“Hey.” Ilya tried to make his voice firm, to cut through the panic, but he was too out of sorts himself. “They will talk to you.”
“Yeah, but I fucking lied to them,” Shane was pacing now, back and forth across the expensive hardwood floors, still dripping lakewater a little bit. “For so many years, I fucking lied to them, and now my dad just walks in on me doing that. This… this is my fucking nightmare. This is my actual fucking nightmare, Ilya!”
“Okay, okay.” Ilya put a hand on each of Shane’s shoulders, trying to hold him in place in the hopes that it might stop his harried spiral. “Then maybe it’s time to wake up, yes?” This week had been a dream, but if it was a nightmare for Shane, then maybe they needed to head back to reality. Face the world, or at least a part of it.
The misery on Shane’s face was heartbreaking, but Ilya felt slightly better when Shane pulled him into a fierce hug. At least he was still some comfort. “Fuck, I’m scared,” Shane whispered.
“Yes, it’s scary,” Ilya soothed, rubbing circles on his bare back. “But you’re brave.”
“Shut up,” Shane grumbled, which only made Ilya smile.
“You are. You’re brave.” The bravest man Ilya had ever met, by miles and miles.
“I feel like I’m gonna die.” Not that surprising, since Shane was almost definitely having a panic attack. Though when he pulled back, he looked a little more calm, a bit more centered. “So much for easing them into it.”
Ilya felt the knife in his heart twist, just a little. “I’m sorry.” Your father walking in on you kissing your rival was one thing. Your father walking in on you and your rival practicing erotic asphyxiation was another thing entirely.
A calm certainty settled over Shane’s features that hadn’t been there a second ago. “No, this isn’t your fault, Ilya. I asked for it.”
The gut instinct inside Ilya was to resist, to berate himself about his foolishness, about how much he didn’t deserve this man. But he was trying to be better about working past his first, panicked instincts. Ilya took a breath and found Shane’s hand between them, squeezing it tightly. “It’s not your fault either. You didn’t know he was there.”
Shane seemed to swallow something back- maybe an emotion or a retort -before nodding. “Then it’s nobody’s fault, okay? Please don’t beat yourself up over this.” Ilya felt like cheering as a small, hesitant smile formed on Shane’s lips. “I liked it before it ended.”
“I liked it too,” Ilya confessed. “Alright. Nobody’s fault.”
That settled Shane considerably, and he gave a few more thoughtful nods. “Okay. I’m gonna get changed. I’m gonna drive over. And then…” The panic came whirling back, “And then fuck, what am I gonna say?”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Ilya offered.
Shane’s eyes went wide, and there was a moment where they were both clearly doing the mental math on the optics of that. Finally, Shane murmured. “Could you?”
“Of course.” A part of Ilya wasn’t even sure he would be allowed inside the Hollanders’ house, but if Shane needed him, he would fight tooth and nail to be there for the man he loved.
“Okay.” Shane let out a shuddering exhale and pulled Ilya in for another crushing hug.
“Okay.” Ilya echoed.
They stood there for a while, just soaking up comfort in one another’s presence. But after maybe a minute, Shane slowly sank to his knees at Ilya’s feet. It wasn’t sexual, but it was submissive in its own way. A request to hand over the power and the worry and the control, just for a moment. Ilya happily took it, scratching his fingers through Shane’s hair until the greatest hockey player in the world was ready to come up for air.
Shane was ready first, and by the time Ilya got outside, he was already opening the door to the car. He stopped in his tracks though when he saw Ilya, glaring. “That’s not going to help!”
It took Ilya a moment to figure out what he was talking about. Finally, he looked down at his Boston Raiders t-shirt and rolled his eyes. “You think their biggest problem with me is that I play for Boston? Not the spanking or the choking or the bruises, but Boston?”
Shane’s head tilted back as he looked up to the heavens pleadingly, and Ilya immediately regretted what he’d said. “Hey. It will be fine. Let’s go, yes?”
After taking a moment to compose himself, Shane nodded, and they both got into the car. Once they started driving, it was obvious that Shane was still panicking, his fingers tapping rapidly on both the steering wheel and the gear shift. Silently, Ilya covered one of Shane’s hands with his own, lacing their fingers together. He could think of no words that would reassure the man he loved, but physical touch always seemed to calm Shane when nothing else could. Ilya lifted their hands, kissing each of Shane’s knuckles as they wound their way through the quiet wooded roads.
When they got to their destination, Ilya was already unbuckling his seatbelt when Shane stilled him with a hand on his chest.
“Maybe you should wait in the car,” Shane said, sounding deeply hesitant.
Ilya felt the whole world tilt on its side. “Oh.” It made sense. Shane’s father had just seen Ilya choking his son. Of course he would maybe need some space to process that feeling, to understand that Shane was alright. But on the other hand, Shane was still trembling a little, his whole body taut with anxiety. Ilya shook his head. “We should be…” He struggled to remember the phrase his coach had used. “United front, yes? A team.”
Something shined at the edges of Shane’s eyes as he took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. A team. Sorry, I… Thank you for being here.”
“Of course.” Ilya had never seriously considered anything else.
As Shane opened the front door to his parent’s home, he loudly called out, “Hey, it’s me. Shane,” as if modeling for his father the appropriate way to enter someone else’s house. “Hi,” he finished lamely as they both stood in the entryway, looking in on David and Yuna Hollander standing in their living room, David looking ashamed and Yuna wearing an expression of pure confusion.
“Hayden called us,” David explained, words lurching out of him in fits and starts. “He was worried about you. Said you’d been on the phone talking about a wolf in your yard? And we…” He sighed. “We were confused because we thought you were on a silent retreat, so I thought I’d come check on you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see…”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Shane cut his father off, taking mercy on the poor man. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have found out that way.”
Yuna looked between the three men in a rapid cycle, and it was clear she’d been told nothing. “Found out what, exactly?”
Ilya could feel the big breath Shane took in, bracing himself before the words came out. “I’m gay. Which I was gonna tell you soon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Once that basic, fundamental fact was out there, Shane seemed to relax a hair, his shoulders lowering a few centimeters as he gestured to his side. “And this is Ilya… Rozanov. But you already know that.”
“Hi,” Ilya said, still not sure how much he should speak. Not entirely certain that the danger had passed. He stood at attention, somewhere between a guard and a soldier presenting himself for inspection. Maybe he was both.
Shane went on. “He’s visiting and we’re…” He trailed off, and it reminded Ilya of the times when he struggled to remember the right word in English, flicking through mental translations to try to find something that would convey his feelings properly.
“Lovers,” Ilya offered, placing a steady hand on Shane’s shoulder.
“No, Ilya, that’s gross,” Shane groaned, and Ilya removed his hand, trying not to feel chastened. Shane was stressed. Ilya couldn’t take any of this personally right now, even if his heart ached a little bit.
“But… you hate him,” Yuna said.
Shane’s answer was swift. “No. I mean I get that, but actually I…” Again, he seemed to flounder for the right phrase before giving up. “I love him.” That made Ilya stand up a little taller, fighting to rein in a grin. It was one thing for Shane to say it behind closed doors. It was another to hear him announce it to other people. “I did not want this to be how I told you. I’m sorry. Can we just sit down, please?”
Yuna started to move, but David hesitated. “Shane,” he said. “Are you… I mean, when I walked in, I…”
Shane shook his head. “I’m fine, Dad. I want Ilya here. It was all… consensual."
Another weight lifted off Ilya’s shoulders. They’d talked about it in depth at this point, multiple times, but still there was a part of Ilya that was soothed by hearing it out loud. Shane was prepared to admit to what he wanted.
Yet again, Yuna looked around in befuddlement. “What am I missing here? What happened?”
All eyes went to Shane, even Ilya’s, waiting for him to explain. But Shane’s face had gone pink, either from embarrassment or from holding his breath. He stood stock still, mouth hanging open, not even his chest rising and falling anymore.
Because Shane Hollander had nice, caring parents, David tried to explain. “Rozanov- Ilya -he had his… he…”
God, they were never going to get anywhere like this.
“I was choking Shane,” Ilya interrupted.
The look David Hollander gave him was almost… grateful? “That. And Shane’s covered in all these bruises-”
“I asked for it!” Shane said a hair too loudly, having finally found his voice again and apparently compensating for the time he’d been silent. He groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Please, can we sit down and talk?”
Yuna made them all cups of hot, herbal tea. It smelled slightly minty, and Ilya tried to take that as a good sign, because you probably didn’t make mint tea for a man you were going to try to get deported for assault. Though he could never be totally sure, he sipped the drink anyways, letting the warmth settle in his stomach and the hot cup soothe his hands that itched to tremble.
David and Yuna sat across from him and Shane, glancing at each other before Yuna finally got the nerve to break the tense silence. “I think we thought… maybe you were gay,” she confessed.
Shane blinked in surprise, because he still thought he was so good at hiding his sexuality. “You did?”
“I think we thought it was certainly possible,” David said. Christ, maybe Ilya was the only one who had thought it was blindingly obvious.
“For how long?” Shane asked.
Yuna shrugged. “For a while, I guess.”
“We both know you pretty well, Shane,” David said. True in some ways, a massive overstatement in others. “I mean, what we did not suspect was… all this.” He waved his hand in the general direction of Ilya, who tried not to visibly shrink in his chair.
“I know,” Shane sighed. “It’s a long story. I mean, it’s kind of a few different stories.”
Yuna pursed her lips, reaching across the table to place a hand over her son’s. “We’re just… worried. We want to make sure you’re safe, Shane.”
Join the club, Ilya thought. If anyone was leading the Keep Shane Hollander Safe Committee, Ilya considered himself a prime candidate. But he also knew what it looked like, especially with the small, slightly violent snapshot David had gotten. He hadn’t gotten to see the hours of conversation, the soft touches and gentle kisses. Neither of them had any idea how much precare and aftercare went into safely hurting someone you loved. Ilya had wasted far too much time hating himself when he could have been taking better care of Shane.
Shane, who now shook his head and squeezed his mother’s hand. “We’ve been doing this for years. I know what I signed up for.” Ilya wanted to kiss him more than normal.
David’s eyebrows lifted dramatically. “Years?”
“Yeah,” Shane glanced at Ilya with that nervous pinch between his brows that Ilya wanted to smooth away with a kiss. “I mean… the first time was rookie season.”
“Since your rookie season?” Yuna asked, obviously shocked.
“No, is not true,” Ilya cut in with a frown. “Since before that.” It hurt a little, to have their timeline truncated even a tiny bit. Ilya remembered being too impatient, too desperate to wait a second longer. He remembered orchestrating an elaborate scenario so they could be alone together. Rookie season, fucking ridiculous.
“Not helpful,” Shane muttered, but he didn’t say that Ilya was wrong.
Yuna blinked, clearly doing the math. “Before?”
“Since summer before.” No one would take away Ilya’s pride in this, in the beginning of what they had. In how long they’d had it.
Yuna was still looking at them in puzzlement. “So you’ve been in love since…?”
At the exact same moment, Ilya and Shane burst into protests. “No! No, no, no…”
“Just…” Ilya trailed off. He didn’t know the English word. Or rather, he knew the English word, and he was fairly sure you weren’t supposed to admit to having been fuck-buddies with someone’s son.
“Just what?” Yuna asked.
“Just…” Ilya looked to Shane, desperate for help, but the man looked like he’d swallowed a hand grenade and was trying not to detonate it.
“Just…?” she repeated.
“Just.” Ilya took a big gulp of hot tea to give his mouth something to do other than dig holes for himself, apparently.
Shane gave his most ferocious glare. “Ilya.”
Realization seemed to hit Yuna Hollander all at once. “Oh, okay.”
But David was still a few beats behind. “Just what?”
Yuna leaned in close, whispering to her husband, “Bruises.”
Again, Shane and Ilya objected at the exact same time. “No!”
“No, we… we waited for that. It was not right away.” It was important to Ilya that the line was clear. Their relationship hadn’t started as nothing but clandestine kink. In fact, by the time they’d started doing proper scenes, they were both probably in over their heads in terms of real emotion attached to the relationship. But he couldn’t stand the misconception that he’d seen Shane Hollander and immediately thought, I need to beat that man. It was so much more complicated than that.
“Oh.” Yuna glanced between him and Shane. “So just… lovers.”
“Okay,” Shane announced. “No one is allowed to use that word again.”
Already, Yuna was on her feet, heading to the liquor cabinet. “Well, I would love a drink.”
Once Ilya had a glass of vodka in his hand, it took concentrated effort not to down it all at once. He suddenly craved that loose, tipsy place where he could worry a little less about everything that was going on. But Ilya also knew he needed to stay alert for Shane, to keep him steady.
“And there were no nice men in Montreal?” David asked, echoing the same question Ilya had asked himself a hundred times. Wouldn’t Shane be better off with some sweet Canadian man who didn’t do things like choke him or hit him or degrade him?
“I don’t know,” Shane shrugged. “Probably there were.” Ilya glowed with pride.
Yuna was already a few hearty sips into her glass. “And do your teammates know?
“No,” Shane said. “Nobody knows.”
The reminder of that secret, the good and the evil of it, burned at Ilya’s insides. He swallowed some liquor to try to wash it away, and hummed in surprise at the taste. “That’s good vodka.”
David smiled. “Thanks. I try to buy the Russian stuff.” Hollander men could be counted on for their taste for high quality Russian exports, apparently.
Not for the first time, an awkward silence dragged out in front of the group. Everyone sipped their drinks, except Shane who stared at his like he was considering drowning himself in it. Ilya wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he wasn’t sure how welcome physical touch would be right now, especially with Shane’s parents watching.
He got a good idea a moment later.
“So, the… bruises and everything…” Yuna said slowly. “You want that, Shane?”
It still ached, the idea that it was just bruises to them. Just pain, none of the rest of the rainbow of emotions Ilya felt when he was in a scene with Shane. Trust, joy, pleasure, relief. The highs and lows Shane rode like a rollercoaster. To an outsider, it literally looked more like attempted murder than a loving relationship.
But Shane was firm. Decisive in a soothing way. “Yes. I promise I actually want it.” He was so dramatically different from the man who had run away from Ilya’s house, unsure of everything.
Yuna frowned. “It’s not like a… power thing?
“I mean it kind of is.” Shane bumped his elbow gently against Ilya’s on the table top. “But in a good way.”
Something still seemed to bother Yuna though. “I’m just asking… Is this about the hockey? Does he make you let him win?”
It took immense self control for Ilya not to burst out into riotous laughter. As if Shane wouldn’t safeword at the first mention of such a thing. As if Ilya would ever ask for it. As if their competition on the ice weren’t half the heat of their relationship at times.
“Do you let Dad win at cards?” Shane asked.
Yuna gave him an incredulous look. “I’d rather die.”
Shane nodded. “Same here.”
“Alright.”
Ilya took another sip of vodka to hide his massive smirk, and the tense silence returned.
“So your plan is to… what?” David looked around the table. “Just keep doing this in secret until you both retire, or…?”
A question they really hadn’t had time to process. Ilya and Shane looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.
“Probably,” Shane said. “I don’t know.”
“Probably, yes,” Ilya corrected. His own career was a means to an end. A reason to not be in Russia. A job that was mostly enjoyable and kept him in a relatively safe place. But Shane was a once in a generation talent. He couldn’t be allowed to throw that away for a kinky Russian fuck-boy.
But Yuna Hollander frowned. Really, it was a borderline pout. “Oh, no. That’s sad.”
Ilya didn’t miss the way Shane tensed beside him. The way he ground his teeth before he spoke. “I know. We know. We can’t just come out and like… announce it.”
It was a little funny, the way Yuna turned red just like her son at times. “Well,” she said, “Certainly not the-”
“No,” Ilya cut her off. “We won’t tell them that.”
He dreamed of a day when they could announce to the world that they loved each other, but what they did in the bedroom would always stay private. Sure, Ilya had an occasional wild fantasy about public sex, about domming Shane in a crowded room, but that was separate from the reality of the situation. Shane’s well-being and safety was always going to be the priority. And unfortunately they lived in a world where if people found out Shane was submissive and gay, they would look at him differently. They would judge him as lesser, because they were too stupid to see how brave and strong Shane Hollander was.
David cleared his throat pointedly. “Ilya, I’ve gotta say I’m surprised.”
Immediately, Ilya’s spine stiffened. “About which part?” Which sin did you think me incapable of?
“I just mean that you have such a reputation as a ladies’ man.”
Oh. Shame crept up Ilya’s spine for judging this man who had only bought into the public image Ilya had worked so hard to cultivate. “It’s not untrue.”
“Ilya likes both,” Shane explained, eliciting a soft noise of surprise from his mother.
“It’s true. I’ve been with many women.” Too many, honestly. There had been a point where a smarter version of Ilya would have admitted to himself that he was just having meaningless sex to fill the gap in his life every time he and Shane were apart. “But… I have only been in love with one person.” No one compared. No one could hope to. Not man, woman, or anyone else. Shane was it.
“Same here,” Shane murmured, meeting Ilya’s eyes with a soft smile. “Only one.”
Beneath the dining room table, their feet bumped softly against one another, and Ilya was reminded of the reason they were doing all of this. It was the first step of a hundred, a thousand, maybe a journey that would never end. Despite all Ilya’s experience, despite Shane’s extreme naïvete, they had chosen each other. Ilya had claimed so many of Shane’s first experiences, but he wanted to gift this man with all of his final ones. The last kiss to touch Ilya Rozanov’s lips would be one from Shane Hollander. He would accept no substitutes.
Ilya was so lost in Shane’s eyes that he didn’t notice the tension in the room until Yuna was already on her feet and headed for the front door. David frowned and Shane sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Let me go check on her,” he said, standing up.
In a flash, Ilya reached out to catch Shane’s hand before he left, either out of reassurance or panic, he couldn’t say. They were supposed to be a team. They were supposed to do this together. And they hadn’t been apart for longer than it took to go to the bathroom in a week. But of course, they would have to part sooner or later. Ilya would have to go back to Boston. Shane would have to go back to Montreal. Maybe this was practice. At least, that was what the reassuring squeeze Shane gave his hand seemed to indicate.
When Shane was gone, that meant Ilya was sitting across from David Hollander with absolutely no buffer. At least it wasn’t as if they had nothing to talk about. Ilya resolved to address the elephant in the room first, hoping to get ahead of the obvious.
“I am sorry you had to see… what you saw,” Ilya said, fiddling nervously with his glass. “I hope you know I would never hurt Shane. I would rather cut out my own heart.”
The look David gave him was not quite disbelief, but perhaps confusion was the best descriptor. Okay, valid.
“I mean… obviously I have hurt him.” Ilya felt like he was babbling now. Still, he pressed on. “But never in ways he did not want. I… I hated myself for a long time. I thought I was a bad person for doing these things. If Shane wanted to leave, I would let him go. But this is his choice, always.”
David frowned slightly and Ilya’s blood ran cold. “But you want it too?”
The befuddled noise that fell from Ilya’s mouth wasn’t quite a word, but it got his point across.
“I mean, it’s not just something Shane’s pressuring you to do?” David said. “You both want it.”
That was the last thing Ilya had expected. Why would anyone be worried about his consent after seeing him choke his partner? But if it would reassure David, the truth was an easy thing to give. “Yes. I think it is good for both of us. We need it, in a way.”
Shane needed a chance to let go of control, to allow someone else to make all the decisions and take care of him. He also needed to be reminded that he didn’t always have to be perfect. He could give into his base desires, allow himself to just feel, and he would still be worthy at the end of the day. And then, of course, there was the physical stimulation. Shane craved intense sensations, the kind of thing the beatings and bondage were perfect for. He needed the regulation that it brought.
And Ilya… Ilya had spent so much of his life with no control over anything. All power had been stripped from his hands until he was left with blind compliance. It felt good to know someone was not just listening to him, but hanging on his every word. It was a blessing to realize that he could make mistakes, even do things that were painful, and Shane would still be there, trusting and adoring.
David hummed, taking a sip of his vodka before speaking. “When I was a kid, I wanted to play hockey more than anything. My mom refused. She said it was too violent. She was worried I’d get hurt. But I begged and begged and eventually she gave in. She made me promise that I would always wear my safety gear every time. And I did. I still came home from every single practice covered in bruises. I got a few concussions and even broke my arm once. But I was having the time of my life. My mom saw how much I loved that game. I played at school-”
“McGill,” Ilya interrupted without thinking, followed by shrinking into his chair. “Sorry.”
But David didn’t seem upset. He didn’t lash out, he just smiled. “Yeah. McGill. And it’s how I met my wife. I owe hockey a lot. Obviously, Shane loves it too. I don’t know what my life would be without this dangerous, violent sport.”
Ilya nodded, turning the words over in his mind, but mostly considering how different fathers could be. How different families could be.
“Make sure you’re both wearing your helmets, Ilya.”
“Of course,” he said with a careful smile. “Always.”
When silence fell again, it was less awkward. Less stilted. The discomfort faded into the background and Ilya could actually process the fact that- maybe -things weren’t going as horribly as he’d worried they might.
Shane and Yuna returned a few moments later, both of them with red eyes like they’d been crying. Ilya wanted to reach out to comfort Shane, but before he even got the chance, he was stopped in his tracks by Yuna Hollander pulling him up and into a fierce, crushing hug.
Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed so tight he distantly wondered if he would have bruises of his own. And then, a second later, a lump formed in his throat as waves of memory and emotion washed over him. He squeezed her back as best he could with his arms pinned, and when she pulled away, both their smiles were watery.
“I’m going to make pasta,” Yuna announced. “Does anyone want pasta?”
David and Yuna headed into the kitchen, clattering and puttering around, and Shane sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers with Ilya’s like it was instinct, like that was where they both belonged. Blue eyes met brown, and they searched one another’s expressions, looking for signs of distress. But they were both okay. It would be okay.
Ilya realized, as he tucked into a plate full of steaming spaghetti and marinara, that this was the longest string of home cooked meals he’d eaten without having to make them for himself in probably a decade or more. Both Yuna and David seemed to have warmed up to him considerably, despite all his flaws, all the comparatively horrible things he’d done, despite the complications he represented for their son.
They were still feeding him. Hugging him. Reminding him to wear his helmet.
It left him with a homey warmth in his chest and a smile he couldn’t wipe off his face, no matter how much Yuna teased him about his “lack of loyalty” for leaving Boston. It was all in good fun. Families ribbing one another. Yuna was formulating a plan of attack for going public. They wanted the world to know.
“Have you talked to Scott Hunter?” David asked.
“No,” Shane said, shaking his head.
Ilya rushed to swallow his mouthful of pasta. “I did.”
“You did?” Shane looked at him in surprise. They’d been so stuck in their paradise bubble, they hadn’t talked much about the incident that gave Ilya the courage to come in the first place.
“Yeah, briefly. After MLH Awards in June.” God, was this sauce homemade? It tasted so fresh.
“And?” Yuna prompted. “What did he say?”
Iyla shrugged. “Nothing. I didn’t tell him about Shane and me. But what he did, it was…
“Yes, it was very brave,” Yuna said, finishing his thought. Brave in a way Ilya wasn’t sure he would ever have the strength to be.
“It changed things for me, at least,” Ilya said. “Maybe for us.” Maybe bravery was something you could build up, like working a muscle to make it progressively stronger.
Afterwards, Ilya would feel awful for not noticing what was happening with Shane until it was too late. Until he was already tucking his face in his folded arms on the dining room table, his chest rising and falling with rapid, panted breaths.
“Shane?” Ilya murmured, resting his hand on the other man’s back and rubbing in soft circles. “Shane?”
“I’m okay,” Shane protested, his voice as tight as a bowstring. “I’m just freaking out. I’ll be okay in a second.” But if Shane Hollander thought he was going to have a meltdown by himself ever again, he was delusional.
“Hey, hey.” Ilya rested a hand loosely on the back of Shane’s neck, like a gentle reminder of the collar they’d left back on the coffee table. “We’re good here. Your family is here. Your boyfriend is here. You’re good here, okay? You are safe.” It was vital to him that Shane understood that no one here was upset, that there was no danger. But he also knew that sometimes panic- much like subdrop -wasn’t always entirely logical.
After a few seconds, Shane turned his head a little, peering up at Ilya from the shelter of his own body. “My boyfriend?” he whispered.
Oh. Ilya had entirely forgotten that they hadn’t used that word yet. They’d exchanged ‘I love you’s, Ilya had met Shane’s parents, they’d had a formal collaring, they were planning a future together. But ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t a word that had passed either of their lips. They’d defined their relationship in bed with far more detail than their romantic dynamic.
“I mean, yes,” Ilya said, mouth suddenly dry despite all the food and drink. “I think so. Probably.” Definitely. But that was a conversation for private moments. Something to be decided together. He guided Shane up with a firm hand on his jaw, pressing their lips together in a quick, chaste kiss.
When Shane had sat up again and they both looked back across the table, Yuna had tears in her eyes.
“Since rookie season,” she stage-whispered to her husband.
“Summer before,” David corrected.
And Ilya was certain then that their team had doubled in size that day.
When all the food had been eaten and the dishes had been done, the four of them made plans to meet up again for dinner the next day. Knowing Yuna, there would probably be more talk of trying to create a plan for the future, but Ilya would do his best to temper that if it seemed like it was stressing Shane out. For now, they both needed a little space to process everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.
They didn’t talk much as they drove back to Shane’s cottage, or even listen to music. Ilya just watched the sky morph from clear blue to warm oranges and blushing pinks. He also watched Shane’s face, trying to read his expression for signs of spiraling. But his boyfriend had a soft smile on his lips, his eyes focused on the road. The only sign of the day’s tension was that they couldn’t stop touching one another, their hands interlocked, pressing fervent kisses to knuckles whenever they hit a long stretch of straight asphalt.
When they got back home, they waited until the door was closed and locked before melting into one another’s arms. Ilya kissed Shane’s shoulder, his neck, the side of his face, his temple, anything he could reach, just grounding them both in the physical sensations of the moment.
“You’re okay,” he murmured when he felt Shane start to tremble, heard the shudder of his exhales. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane sobbed, clutching the back of Ilya’s shirt, holding them together as closely as possible.
“I know. But it was a good day, yes?”
“A good day?” Shane asked, incredulous.
“Yes.” Ilya combed his fingers gently through Shane’s hair. “Everyone took it well, got good meal, fewer secrets to hide. Good day.”
The wet laugh that dragged itself from Shane’s lungs was a little bit beautiful and a little bit heartbreaking. “You’re ridiculous,” Shane blubbed.
“Mmm. And now your boyfriend has whole evening to make up for getting interrupted,” Ilya murmured, placing his hand back on the nape of Shane’s neck again. “If you want. No pressure.”
Shane’s eyes were still shining with unshed tears as he studied Ilya’s face for a few beats before hesitantly nodding. “Yeah. Please. Get me out of my head.”
“Ah, you are lucky,” Ilya crooned, pressing a kiss to Shane’s lips. “That is my signature move.”
He would never stop being grateful for this. For the trust and faith Shane placed in him, the way he just handed over control without question. Ilya could never be so brave, though he thought if anyone ever stood a chance of dominating him, it was Shane Hollander.
With the reverence of the most devoted zealot preparing a shrine for worship, Ilya stripped Shane bare there in the hallway. He slipped the soft linen shirt from golden shoulders and eased shorts and briefs over the curve of his ass to drop down around his ankles. In the end, Shane Hollander stood there in the middle of the cottage entryway looking like one of those ancient Greek statues of Olympian athletes. Or maybe more like a god.
“So pretty,” Ilya murmured, kissing a few of his favorite freckles before remembering that they were all his favorites and they would never get to the bedroom at this rate. “Come here,” he ordered, leading Shane by the hand to his own bedroom.
Once they arrived Ilya directed Shane to lie down on the bed, and Ilya sat on the edge of the mattress trailing light touches over his quickly pinkening chest. Already, Shane’s eyes were wide and dark with lust. “Listen to me,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane’s jaw and smiling when he whimpered. “I am going to go get some things from the basement. You will be good and stay here, yes?”
Shane whined but nodded.
“Listen to me,” Ilya emphasized, fingertips mashing into Shane’s cheeks. “I will be back. I am not abandoning you. I promise I will come back.” It was vital that Shane didn’t feel left in the lurch after everything that had happened today. It was painful for Ilya to leave him even for a moment, but he had intricate plans that required a few supplies. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand, Sir,” Shane whispered. Ilya was nice, so he didn’t even make fun of the fact that Shane was already getting hard.
“Good boy.” Ilya released Shane’s jaw and gave his cheek a light slap as well as a kiss. “Be patient for me.”
He tried to move as quickly as possible without slipping on Hollander’s stupidly polished wooden floors, but it still took a couple minutes for Ilya to find everything he was looking for in Shane’s well-stocked toy cupboards downstairs. He returned with his arms full and dumped all his treasures on the duvet, grinning widely.
“There,” he declared. “Everything I need to ruin my favorite whore.” It was impossible to tell whether it was ‘favorite’ or ‘whore’ that had Shane’s cheeks flushing, but the odds seemed good that it was a combination of both.
First, some preparation. Ilya grabbed two bundles of soft, black rope and used them to lash Shane’s wrists to either corner of the headboard. He was still working towards the suspension fantasy Shane had mentioned, but this was a much simpler series of knots. Once everything was secure and Shane confirmed that nothing was uncomfortable, Ilya climbed onto the bed and shoved his boyfriend’s legs apart, settling between them.
Boyfriend. That still took some getting used to.
“Aww, look,” Ilya cooed, dragging a feather-light fingertip along the length of Shane’s cock. “You are very eager, yes?” He could only resist mocking the man he loved for so long. He was still just a human. Shane didn’t make a sound, instead biting his lip as he hid his face against his raised arm. “I asked you a question!” Ilya snapped, slapping sharply at Shane’s inner thigh.
“Oh god!” Shane gasped. “Yes, yes, I’m eager. I want it.”
The feeling of satisfaction and pride that washed over Ilya was immense. No one else got to see Shane Hollander like this. There was no one else in the world Shane would trust to do this. And if Ilya played his cards very carefully, he might get to keep this version of Shane for the rest of his life. And better yet, he might get to belong to Shane in that same way. Shane might actually keep him.
“So perfect, so beautiful,” Ilya said as he covered Shane’s thighs in kisses. “All mine.” He couldn’t help but switch back and forth between the taunting and the praise. Shane drew both out of him equally, with no effort at all on his part.
“Please,” Shane keened. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” Ilya pointed out, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Shane’s knee. “See?”
The grinding of Shane’s teeth was almost audible, but it was certainly visible. “Not what I fucking meant.”
Which of course earned him a quick nip to the meat of his thigh. “So rude. But alright, I will touch you.”
He wrapped a dry hand around Shane’s cock, giving it a few strokes to draw it to half mast, flushed and shining at the head. Shane let out blissful little sighs and moans at the contact, his hips thrusting lazily into Ilya’s grip. That was Ilya’s cue. He reached down into his pile of toys, which apparently Shane hadn’t inspected too closely, and pulled out a cock ring, which he lubed up and secured around the base of Shane’s cock. He got no verbal protest from Shane, just a small inhale and those big brown eyes looking at him with a truly pathetic amount of pleading. It almost worked.
“Do you trust me?” Ilya asked, grabbing the bottle of lube again and drizzling a little over his fingers. “Do you trust me to make it good?”
Shane didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes. Just… really impatient.”
“I disagree. I think you are very patient.” Ilya pressed one slick finger against Shane’s hole and slowly breached him. “Very good at waiting for your reward.”
Shane hitched his legs up to his chest as he moaned, because he was just like that, just naturally always desperate for more sensation, more contact, more feeling. He took it all so beautifully as Ilya slowly worked him open, going from one finger to three over the course of several torturously slow minutes. Shane was very good at waiting for what he wanted, but Ilya was terribly impatient. He always wanted to rush to the grand finale. The only thing that urged him to slow down was that ecstatic look on Shane’s face, the needy whines he made when he wanted more before his body was ready. It was like watching a figure skater dance across the ice in these elaborate poses to an expertly selected soundtrack. It was art.
And then there was the begging.
“Fuck me,” Shane pleaded, “I need you."
“I’m right here.” It was meant to come out as teasing, but it ended up more soothing, a reassurance. He pressed the tips of his fingers against Shane’s prostate just to hear him whimper.
“Oh fuck! Not that. Please, Ilya, please.”
“Please what? English is my second language. Need you to be specific or I will not understand.”
“You absolute shithead asshole, fucking merde.” Shane thrashed, tugging at the ropes binding him to the headboard. “Put your dick in me or I’m going to kill you.”
“Hmm,” Ilya pretended to consider as he tapped his chin. “I think I would like to see you try. Murder with both hands tied would be impressive.”
“Ilya!” Shane groaned.
He grinned, so unashamedly pleased. “Say it again. Beg one more time for me, maybe I change my mind.”
There was a wetness shining around the edges of Shane’s eyes then, and Ilya was having so much fun he thought he was going to burst. “Please, Ilya,” Shane whispered, desperate and wrecked. “Please fuck me.”
Slowly, Ilya kissed his way up Shane’s body, leaving little nips and bruises intermixed with the tender brush of lips. He reached his boyfriend’s mouth, kissing him unhurriedly, like a delicious dessert to be savored. Something worth licking the spoon clean.
“No,” Ilya whispered against Shane’s mouth, sliding his fingers free. “I have plans for you, Hollander.” He expected more insults and curses, but all he got from Shane was a high pitched whine.
“The noises you make,” Ilya chided as he slunk down Shane’s body again, leaving a few more kisses along the way, “They drive me insane.”
Shane huffed out a broken sounding laugh. “Everything you do drives me insane.”
This was what Ilya was born to do, probably. He was born to take apart Shane Hollander specifically. To drive him mad, to strip him down to his most essential parts, to fuck him like he deserved to be fucked. He was good at it. Maybe better than he was at hockey. Certainly better than he was at most other things in life. He felt at home there between Shane’s legs, picking up a hot pink silicone toy and pressing it slowly into his boyfriend’s hole.
Above him, Shane gasped and craned his neck, trying to peer down at what Ilya was doing. “Which one is that?”
“One you will like.” Ilya pressed the on button at the base of the prostate massager, turning it up to level three right away.
“Oh Jesus fucking-” Shane immediately set to thrashing again, moaning and panting heavily.
“Stay still, pet,” Ilya ordered, pinning Shane’s legs to the bed and tisking in disappointment. “Did you forget your manners because I didn’t put your collar on? Do you need a reminder of what happens to naughty boys?”
Shane’s chest was rising and falling rapidly at the same time as his cock started dribbling in the most pathetic way. “I remember.”
“Good boy.” The flush that spread across Shane’s face was worth everything. Worth the hiding, worth the stress, worth the months apart, worth the doubt and the self-loathing. For this moment, Ilya would have done anything in the world.
He kept going, working Shane up slowly through higher and higher levels on the massager until tears rolled down his cheeks and his cock was leaking a thin, clear fluid.
“Please,” Shane begged. “Please, Sir, Ilya, fuck.”
He’d been begging and swearing the entire time, an endless dialogue, but Ilya was feeling like a little shit, so he gasped theatrically and put on an expression of shock. “Oh, you want this off? You should have said so. I did not hear you say anything.”
He switched the toy off and immediately Shane went limp, sobbing with relief. Ilya tried to be as gentle as possible as he removed the prostate massager as well as taking off the cockring. He then kissed Shane’s soft stomach, running hands soothingly up and down his thighs. “So good, beautiful. You were perfect. Everything I wanted. Put on such a good show.”
All he got from Shane were little sniffling noises, but that was okay. He didn’t have to say anything.
“I’m going to fuck you now. Do you still want? Just yes or no is fine.”
“Yes,” Shane croaked, his eyes red-rimmed and gorgeous. “Please.”
A part of Ilya was tempted to spend some of his stupid pile of money on an art gallery, just so he could fill the walls with paintings and photos of Shane like this, wrecked and magnificent. But a greater part of him was greedy and wanted to keep this sight just for himself. No one else would understand or treasure it properly.
He slicked up his own cock, achingly hard but ignored until now, and pressed slowly into Shane’s pliant, yielding body. They groaned in unison. Though Ilya hadn’t been deliberately overstimulating himself like Shane, he was already close to the edge. It took almost no effort. Shane came first, completely untouched and looking like one of those gothic paintings of saints seeing God. But Ilya didn’t slow down. He lifted Shane’s hips off the bed and drilled into him harder, a half dozen more frantic thrusts until he was spilling himself inside this man he would burn the world for.
Shane made a pitiful sound as Ilya pulled out, his eyes heavy-lidded and limbs loose when the knots were undone. Ilya cleaned him up with a damp cloth from the bathroom before crawling into bed and tucking Shane against his chest. The panther that lived in his chest purred, pleased to have his mate close and safe.
A vague mumble fell from Shane’s lips, words completely unintelligible, and Ilya kissed his shoulder with a smile. “In language I can speak, maybe?”
“Shoulda been wearing my collar,” Shane rumbled.
“Mmm, silly pet,” Ilya teased, giving Shane’s waist a squeeze, “You think the collar is what makes you mine? What makes you mine is you. You keep coming back.”
The slightly drunken grin on Shane’s face was more beautiful than any sunrise. “Yeah? Then you must be mine too. You keep coming back too.”
Ilya snorted a half-laugh. “Back. Stupid. I am never leaving.”