Archive of Our Own

“Shane?” Ilya’s voice rumbled through their bedroom, rough with sleep. 

Across the room, halfway through changing into running gear, Shane stilled. He blinked, grimacing, and barely resisted a muffled curse, instead breathing for a few seconds before answering. “Go back to sleep, Ilya,” he insisted softly. Rain splattered against the windows, the sound barely registering in the background with the air con running quietly.

“Yes. When you come here,” Ilya agreed in that same tired rumble. Shane noticed the way his boyfriend’s accent thickened as it often did when he was so close to sleep, unable to swallow his smile. He was confident that if he could just wait a few more minutes, maybe–But no, he Shane wasn't that lucky. Ilya was still mumbling something, one eye half open as he tried to make out his boyfriend in the gloom. Shane shifted, glancing towards the door then back. 

“I can’t sleep, I’m just going for a run. Be back soon.” He smiled, letting it light up his eyes when he caught Ilya's eye. “I’m fine, really. Just go back to sleep, Ilya.”

Ilya only groaned, running a hand down his face in their King size bed. “My God, Hollander. Who runs in middle of night? It is–” He trailed off, glances at the LED display alarm clock on the nightstand, and then cursed in Russian. Ilya pushed himself upwards to prop himself on his elbows, watching Shane by the moonlight filtering in through the window. “Two. In morning," he insisted, horrified.

Shane didn't move, didn't speak for a minute. His mind raced thinking of a way to insist he knew himself and his limits better than his boyfriend. It wasn't like he was sleeping anyway, and he was sure going for a run might help him to fall asleep. He just needed to tire himself out enough to stop thinking about plays and practice and playoffs and — “Fuck off, Ilya. I know what I need.”

Ilya’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline at that. “I think I know what you need also. You need sleep, Shane. Is big game tomorrow, you cannot play best hockey if you have not slept. If you want to run then I run with you in morning. When we are both not so tired.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Not my fault you can’t keep up,” he retorts without thinking. “Look, I tried sleeping and it didn’t work. I can’t just lie there for hours watching the clock change, it’s the worst feeling ever.” He hears the way his voice rises a little in frustration. 

“Besides, we can’t run together, Ilya. Nobody knows about us, remember? Someone might see us. Together.”

Ilya snorted, looking around the room at the windows out into the woods that backed onto the house he'd bought in Ottawa. “Tell me, Hollander, who do you think knows we are here? Is quiet, no neighbors. Nobody will know.”

Shane narrowed his eyes at the easy dismissal, feeling it bring out his stubborn tendencies. “Fuck you, Rozanov,” he muttered, falling back on familiar insults. They both knew he didn't really mean it, even if it sounded like he did. “I’m going to run now, I want to run now. So just go back to sleep and I’ll be back soon. Okay?”

“Hmm.” Ilya hummed and tossed the covers back, pushing himself up from the bed and padding towards Shane. Shane could feel his heart start to jackhammer, unsure what his boyfriend might say —or do— next. It was Ilya, after all, it could be anything. Telling Ilya to fuck off always seemed like a great idea until the man was prowling towards him with that determined look in his eye. Somehow it was even more intoxicating with Ilya’s curls sleep tousled and his eyes still heavy. Shane swallowed thickly, forcing himself to stand his ground and not back away. He tilted his chin up with determination of his own, eyes glinting with a challenge in the dim light.

“Okay, Hollander,” his boyfriend said when they were close enough to touch. 

“Okay? Really?” Shane looked surprised for a moment before smiling, for once not disappointed to be getting his own way. “Oh. Okay, well, great. See you soon.” 

He leaned up to kiss Ilya, surprised when Ilya’s hand settled on his jaw, fingers cupping his chin. “Okay,” Ilya agreed. “I mean it is okay that you do not know what you need. I know.”

Shane shivered at the way his boyfriend's voice deepened at that, biting his lip without noticing. “What does that even mean?” He blurted it out, defensive and curious in equal measure. Almost immediately he could feel the all-too-familiar heat in his cheeks as he blushed furiously. Shane closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to squirm. Shit. How did Ilya have this effect on him every time? he wondered, trying not to groan as he opened his eyes and looked up at his boyfriend.

Ilya nodded in answer, leaning in to kiss him with a soft smile. “It means you have a choice you can make. You can come with me to bed where I will hold you until you sleep or you can do this with a sore ass. For me, is no problem. For you, is maybe easier to sleep when your ass is hot. I think you will sleep better when I pull you close against me after I spank you. And—“ Ilya kissed his forehead. “I think this will, what did you say? Ah yes, ‘tire you out’ so you do not try to go running again before morning time. Hmm?”

Shane felt the blush warming his cheeks spread to his ears and neck, and ducked his head as much as he could with Ilya’s hand on his jaw. To his embarrassment, his boyfriend didn't let go like he hoped, instead firming his grip and tapping Shane’s chin meaningfully with one finger. “No, do not hide from me, Shane. You never need to hide from me.”

Ilya kissed his brow again, then his freckled cheeks one after the other, smiling at him. “Is okay if you need spanking, Shane. Really. I do not mind.”

Something about the way Ilya said it so easily made Shane want to squirm more but then he felt his stubborn streak flaring again. Deep down he knew arguing with Ilya was futile; his boyfriend never backed down when he’d made up his mind about something, but especially when it came to 'taking care' of Shane. Shane was stubborn as a mule too though, when he wanted to be. He thought for a moment, letting Ilya think he was considering his options, and then he sighed. “Alright, I’ll come back to bed. I gotta use the bathroom first though.”

“Of course.” Ilya smiled and kissed him, letting it stretch for a moment before stepping back so that Shane can get past. 

“Why don’t you get back into bed? I’ll be back in a minute,” Shane suggested as he edged around him and towards the stairs, taking them two at a time towards the bathroom. He heard Ilya reply but didn't process the words in his enthusiasm to escape the Russian's scrutiny.

In hindsight, he should probably have known Ilya would see through the excuse, but it wasn't uncommon for Shane to get up in the night for water, so Ilya shouldn't have had reason to think anything of Shane going to grab water too. The Russian didn't usually wake easily in the night anyway, and he fell asleep again almost immediately if he did, so Shane was confident that if Ilya was waiting for him in their bed he’d fall asleep before Shane returned, and then he wouldn't notice Shane going for a run. 

He was bent over to pull his running trainers on when he heard the unmistakable sound of his boyfriend clearing his throat somewhere across the room. Shane glanced over, swallowing as he took in the sight of Ilya leaning against the doorframe in the kitchen, arms folded over his chest with legs crossed at the ankle. He still looked sleep tousled, like he couldn't quite understand how he'd ended up here when he could have been in bed with his arms wrapped around his boyfriend. Shane almost rolled his eyes as he straightened, hand hovering near the door.

Ilya quirked a brow at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Ilya tsked at him. "Are you sure you this is what you want to do, Shane?"

Shane felt his stomach drop at the tone. It was a casual question delivered in Ilya's usual relaxed tone when it came to topping him, but Shane could feel the promise in the words. He could do this —and Ilya almost certainly expected it— but there would be consequences. He waited, relaxing his posture and turning towards Ilya in a way that signaled he was going to cooperate, and was rewarded when Ilya relaxed enough to run a tired hand over his face and close his eyes briefly.

Shane took the opportunity for what it was and darted out a hand to the screen door, pushing on the lock and yanking it open. He hears Ilya's surprised curse but he was already moving through the doorway. As he jogged across the yard, Shane realized he'd forgotten to shove his earphones in. He'd have to do that when he was out of the danger zone. Ilya's legs were longer than his, and Shane knew the Russian was faster than him — even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone. His mind drifted back to that first night in the gym racing Ilya, then to the many other nights they'd pushed each other to the limits, confirming his suspicions. He had a head start though. That had to count for something, right?

Ilya was tired. He should be asleep, in bed, with his arms and legs wrapped around his boyfriend. Instead he'd woken to the sight of Shane half dressed and already halfway out of the door. He'd thought he'd handled it, but then he'd gone to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for Shane while he was in the bathroom, only to find his stubborn, handsome, dedicated boyfriend tying his laces by the screen door. Ilya knew Shane. He'd known when he asked if Shane really wanted to do this that the man giving him angry kitten eyes was had certainly already decided to follow through with his plan. Still he'd managed to trick Ilya. If anyone asked, Ilya would blame his sleep-deprived state.

Now, he watched in disbelief as Shane wrenched the sliding screen door open and set off across the yard in the rain. "My God, Hollander…" Ilya muttered in Russian, cursing and scrambling to catch him before he made it to the sidewalk. He barely had time to step into the sliders he kept by the door before he was stumbling out into the rain, Shane visible ten feet away thanks to the outdoor lighting casting a fuzzy glow over them. "Shane!"

Shane didn't slow down.

Of course not, why would he? He knew if he slowed then Ilya would catch him and if Ilya caught him he would be spanked. They were both familiar with this game. They both enjoyed this game, even. Ilya enjoyed it more when it was time to be awake and when he wasn't running in a torrential downpour trying not to slide out of his shoes. He slowed a fraction, worried about falling and spraining his ankle. Shane must have heard the change in the sound of his footsteps because Ilya saw him falter indecisively, half twisting to look at him.

He took his chance.

Breaking a bone would be worth it for the satisfaction of carrying Shane back across the yard over his shoulder. Ilya was going to be laying down firm smacks to get his attention the entire time they were at the mercy of the elements. Something told him that would be very satisfying, especially if Shane yelped and hissed the way Ilya imagined he would. It was addictive.

He pumped his legs, pushing himself into a sprint and lunging forward to catch Shane around the waist and haul him off his feet. As he'd anticipated, Shane yelped in surprise. Apparently he hadn't believed Ilya would succeed in catching him. Ilya caught his eye, offering Shane a wink. "I am always telling you, Hollander. I am bigger and faster. I always win."

"Put me down!" Shane hissed, trying to glare at Ilya but failing thanks to the water he had to shake out of his eyes. Ilya was almost certain Shane hadn't really noticed the rain when he hatched his little plan. Probably, he had only been thinking of getting Ilya's attention. Maybe Ilya had been too amused for Shane's liking in their bedroom. He hadn't been very awake, in his defence. It was late. Ilya didn't mind though, not really. He would make up for it as soon as he got Shane inside and over his knee. By the time he was finished, Shane would have exhausted himself hissing and kicking and be pliant and content with his backside burning.

Right now, they were still in angry kitten mode so Ilya shifted a little and swung Shane up and over his shoulder. His boyfriend's head hung down Ilya's back, leaving his ass easily accessible. "Yes, later. When we are home and can deal with your naughty behavior," he agreed easily, patting Shane's backside meaningfully.

There was a low growl somewhere behind him and Ilya grinned to himself. He really did love when Shane was so prickly and defiant. One of Ilya's favorite activities was slowly unraveling Shane's bratty streak, which was a mile wide when it was just them. Shane Hollander contained so many multitudes, that so many people didn't get to see. Ilya saw them all, and he loved them all. It amazed him every day that he was trusted with Shane's most vulnerable pieces. Sometimes that looked like tears. Others it looked like this—the Shane Hollander nobody else knew existed, the one who was all Ilya's to love and treasure. He took his responsibilities to this version of Shane very seriously. Shane was beautiful and brilliant and he deserved to have all of his needs met. He deserved the world. Ilya would do whatever he could to make sure his boyfriend had that.

He laughed softly, secretly thrilled when he felt Shane shoving at his shoulder in annoyance. "Ah, ah." He tsked. "This is very naughty behavior, Hollander. Do you know what happens to boys who are naughty and disobey?"

"You didn't say I couldn't! Shit-ow! Ilya!"

Ilya brought his palm down against Shane's wet shorts a second time. "Shane," He scolded, letting it hang between them. "Is not good idea to lie when you are so easy to spank. See?" He landed another swat against Shane's upper thigh in demonstration.

Shane grunted and squirmed in his hold, apparently trying to get his arm around to defend his vulnerable ass. Ilya rolled his eyes and swatted his palm away, earning another indignant growl in response. When a flurry of swats landed over Shane's shorts close together, his growl morphed into a whine in the back of his throat. "Oww! Okay. Okay! Ilya, come on…" he protested, squirming as the sting registered, the wet material of the running shorts clinging to his ass uncomfortably. "Just put me down, okay? I can walk…"

"No offense, Hollander, but I don't think your walking will get me into nice, dry house faster. Seems you want to run in opposite direction, hmm?" He could practically feel the heat of Shane's blush despite the chill of the rain seeping into his clothes, water dripping from his curls to run in narrow rivulets down his spine. He lengthened his strides, not wanting to risk either of them ending up unwell after this little adventure.

For his part, Shane remained quiet and focused on squirming and trying to leverage himself up. Ilya answered with more smacks, covering Shane's damp clothes with a steady stream of stinging smacks the entirety of their short return journey across the yard. Ilya was surprised by how far they'd traveled, given how short-lived that chase had been. Shane's temper tantrum was probably fueled by his embarrassment that Ilya had caught him so fast. Ilya knew that Shane would hate having been beaten so quickly. Maybe later, or in the morning, Ilya would remind him of it while fucking him into the mattress. He had a feeling it would seem hot if he was teasing him for it then. He filed that away to act on later.

They made it back to the safety of the screen door and Ilya stepped inside, sliding it closed behind them. Still he didn't deposit Shane on his feet, despite Shane's vocal protests. Ilya tsked, shifting to tug his boyfriend's running shoes off his feet. He didn't bother with the laces right now. Ilya was strong, but Shane resembled a feral animal when he was twisting like this and it didn't seem worth the additional effort. He grunted when Shane kicked his hand, bringing his hand down in a heavier swat. "Enough, Hollander. Do we need spoon before your spanking?"

"You can't spank me when I'm cold and—and wet!" Shane protested, sounding smug.

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Who's fault is that, bratty boy? No worries, Hollander. I do not think you will be so cold in a few minutes." He swatted his thighs, letting the action speak for itself. "Now, do we need spoon or you can be good?"

Shane squirmed, whining softly. "Ilya, no…" he protested. "Come on, don't. I don't need—" There was a pause as he wrestled with the words. "That."

"Then enough. Tomorrow you will be stressed the laces were not untied, yes?" At Shane's groan he smiled softly, pleased when Shane lifted his feet to grant him easier access. "Good boy. Thank you." He slid his own shoes off, using his foot to nudge the shoes into a mostly neat line by the door where they could dry. Satisfied that it would do for tonight, Ilya set off for their bedroom.

"You can put me down now…" Shane tried, voice high and wary.

"I could." Ilya acknowledged without making any move to put him down. "But I don't plan to spend whole night chasing you down for nice, long spanking. Quiet now, I do not want more excuses."

He ignored Shane's squirming, knowing it was likely nerves now that he knew he'd be facing consequences soon. Shane was a brat, but his sense of justice also stopped him from being too rebellious. If he knew he'd put someone out, the guilt would kick in. He never wanted to inconvenience or upset anyone. Ilya had seen it—with him, with David and Yuna, with Shane's teams and coaches, and even with the press and fans. It had taken time and effort on Ilya's part to encourage Shane to give himself permission to have moments like this where he only focused on his own needs and not the needs of everyone around him. So while Ilya would give him the long, hard spanking he was sure Shane was now dreading, he was pleased that Shane was letting his walls down and leaning into the scene. He knew how daunting it had been for him to accept this side of himself and wanted to make sure Shane was well cared for.

Ilya didn't put his boyfriend down until they arrived at the bed, where he set Shane on his feet and took a seat on the corner of the mattress. After a moment's hesitation he returned to his own feet —without letting go of his escapee— and shoved his hand into the waistband of his sleep pants to drag them down and kick them off his long legs. Then, he returned to his spot on the bed. Hopefully the bedding would get too wet over the next few minutes. If it did, he'd change it while he got Shane under the spray of a hot shower. He could see the surprise on Shane's face as he found himself deposited between Ilya's thighs. “Stay,” Ilya warned as he leaned forward to start removing Shane's wet clothes, one sodden article at a time.

“I’m not a dog, Ilya,” Shane grumbled, shifting nervously. Despite his obvious dissatisfaction at being where he was, Shane wisely didn't try to disobey. He was a good boy at heart though and Ilya knew deep down that he wanted to be good, even if he wasn't being well behaved tonight. Ilya knew he was stressed, between finishing the season and the upcoming playoffs —and all the pressure that came with it— and he knew that often his boyfriend carried the weight of the world over these things and needed help letting go. Ilya was more than happy to help, even if it meant dealing with his boyfriend being prickly.

“No,” Ilya agreed. “You are naughty boyfriend who runs away instead of listening. So now I will help you get ready for bed, since you cannot be good boy and do as you’re told.” 

Shane’s blush flamed to life once again and he abandoned eye contact, trying to step backwards out of reach. Deciding it was time to up his game and put an end to Shane's rebellion, Ilya landed a swat to top of his thigh in answer. “No,” he chided, pulling Shane back towards him and using his legs to keep him there. He slid his fingers into the waistband of the running shorts. When Shane made a stubborn sound in the back of his throat and started to shift away again, Ilya just raised an eyebrow. "I can take your clothes off while you are over my knee if you prefer," he offered with a shrug.

He started to reach for Shane's wrist, unsurprised when his boyfriend shook his head quickly. "N-no. Ilya, no. We don't need to do that," Shane insisted quickly, looking mildly alarmed. Ilya considered him a moment, debating, but nodded and leaned forward to tap his hip expectantly. This time Shane reluctantly stepped out of his running shorts when Ilya pushed them down.

Ilya debated for a minute as he helped Shane peel his wet clothes off, eventually sighing when he saw Shane shiver. "Shower," he decided, pushing to his feet and stripping his own wet clothes off quickly. He ignored the way Shane's eyes raked over him with difficulty, instead reaching down to gather the bundle of damp clothes so he could dump them in the laundry hamper. "We don't want you getting sick with cold."

"What about you?" Shane retorted, scowling slightly.

"I am Russian. We do not get sick from cold," Ilya reminded him with a shrug.

"Yeah, well I'm Canadian. We're used to the cold too."

"Maybe, but you were outside longer and in only shorts. Anyway, does now really seem good time to fight with me?" He raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend, unsurprised when Shane blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor, scuffing his foot against the floorboards. Ilya sighed, reaching out a thumb to brush over Shane's cheek. "What will I do with you, hmm?"

"I can think of a few things…" Shane murmured, eyes twinkling as they darted up to meet Ilya's.

Ilya snorted. "Yes, me too." He didn't think Shane was thinking of the same things he was, though. It was painfully obvious to Ilya that Shane was under the assumption they would go to bed after they'd showered, though maybe not to sleep. Well, his boyfriend was about to be surprised. Ilya had made him a promise about what would happen if he tried to go running, and he planned to see it through— even if it was two in the morning. "Come, shower. Now."

Shane sighed softly but obediently padded towards the en-suite bathroom, turning on the rain shower as Ilya tossed their wet clothes in the hamper to deal with tomorrow. He stepped under the cool spray and groaned, tilting his head back. Ilya watched him for a moment, letting himself appreciate the view while his boyfriend was distracted. For a moment he felt his resolve slipping, the desire to pin Shane against the wall and fuck him overwhelming. Ilya had always prided himself on being stubborn, even when it came to Shane. Especially when it came to Shane. He swallowed down his more primal urges and crossed the room, joining Shane under the shower head. He frowned as he noticed the goosebumps prickling along Shane's skin where the water hadn't yet started to warm him up. A Russian curse slipped free under his breath as he reached for soap and washcloth.

"I can do it," Shane murmured, leaning towards him to take the cloth.

"Yes, but I am going to. I want to."

Shane blushed, the rosy shade traveling from his ears and down his neck, but he nodded. Ilya could see tiredness starting to creep into posture; it was visible in the way his spine curved just a little and his shoulders drew up towards his ears, eyes heavy and brows drawn together in a frown that suggested he was having to concentrate more on his surroundings. Ilya hummed, hands gentle with Shane even as he hurried his movements in an effort to get them into bed sooner.

He rolled his eyes when Shane's hand slid downwards in the gap between their bodies, fingers tracing a line down Ilya's abdomen with reverence. "Mm, no. Not now, Hollander. Now is time to go to bed."

Shane groaned but pulled his hand away at Ilya's expression, frowning at the tiles. "Fine, you don't have to be such an asshole…" he muttered.

Ilya ignored his attitude for a moment, though it was tempting to catch Shane's bicep and spank him here, under the water. Ilya would resist though. He wanted to get Shane into bed after his spanking, not waste time drying off. So instead he just reached out to catch Shane's jaw in his hand, tilting his face up so their eyes met. "Enough, Shane," he warned without his usual smirk. "Is late and we are tired. Be a good boy."

Shane squirmed. "Ilya," he complained.

Ilya was unfazed. "Shane." He scrutinized Shane in silence, waiting until his boyfriend broke eye contact before speaking. "You are warm enough? Hmm?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. I'm good."

"Okay." Ilya nodded and turned the water off, stretching his 6"4 frame towards the heated rail running along the wall. He grabbed two towels, wrapping one around his waist and holding the other out to Shane. "Stay here, get dry."

Shane watched warily as Ilya made his way out of the bathroom in search of, he assumed, fresh clothes. He shifted from foot to foot, hand resting loosely on the towel where he'd tied it around his waist. Somewhere in his head, alarm bells were going off. Ilya was so calm, so quiet. Shane told himself he was just tired but he was starting to question his gut. He didn't seem upset with him, but he had looked determined. A flush crept over Shane's skin, causing goosebumps to rise like tiny pinpricks over his flesh. He shivered, blinked, and tried to focus on drying himself while he waited for Ilya to reappear.

His boyfriend returned to the bathroom with towel in-hand, Shane's clothes draped over his shoulder. He smiled at Shane, nodding in approval. "Here, put this on."

Shane accepted the pile of clothes instinctively, setting them on the floor while he dressed. He had to smile at the fact Ilya had chosen clothing that was soft, the ones Shane preferred when he felt off kilter. He was often okay with most fabrics, but sometimes they'd set the underside of his skin crawling. Ilya waited for him to change, hanging the towels up to dry before turning back towards him and holding out his hand to Shane. "Poydem, lyubimyy."

His Russian was still pretty patchy, but he could manage to translate those words. He smiled a little, sliding his hand into Ilya's waiting palm. Ilya squeezed, then led him from the bathroom. When they made it to the bed Shane went to crawl under the covers, looking at Ilya in surprise when his boyfriend shook his head and tugged lightly on his hand. "Uh, Ilya…" he trailed off, brows drawing together in confusion.

"We still have to talk."

The words landed heavily and Shane felt his face flame in realization. "You-you can't..." he protested, shifting in embarrassment when he was cut off by a gentle finger to his lips.

"I don't think you are wanting to tell me what I can't do tonight, Hollander. Believe me, I can do it." Ilya's brows rose. "You are in need of a very sore backside to be able to sleep. Is okay, I will give you it."

"I'm not—" Shane trailed off, mouth opening and closing for a minute before he groaned. He knew it was a long shot but he made a show of yawning.

Ilya just raised his eyebrows. "Really, Hollander? Now you want me to believe you are too tired?"

"Do you believe it?" Shane asked innocently, watching Ilya's face for his reaction.

Ilya laughed softly. "I believe you will sleep if it means no sore backside. But no, I think you need this. Hmm?"

Shane dropped his gaze and squirmed, rubbing his palms on his sleep pants. "I couldn't sleep…" he muttered, knowing it was a weak excuse.

"And now you'll get spanking and then you will sleep. Is just math." Ilya shrugged, squeezed his hand and sat on the bed, tugging Shane towards him while Shane protested weakly.

Finding himself standing between Ilya's spread thighs had his face flushed, heart rate picking up as he watched Ilya with wide eyes. Actually, he was pretty sure they were what Ilya had nicknamed his 'angry kitten' eyes, which Shane happened to know Ilya found adorable, but he pushed that thought aside. He opened his mouth to plead his case, the words fleeing his brain as he felt Ilya's thumb in his waistband, pushing his sleep pants down his thighs. "Wait! What are you—Ilya!"

"What? Pants are not naughty, you are," Ilya explained as if it were obvious.

"Fuck off," Shane scoffed, more from instinct than anything else.

Ilya's brows rose in surprise for a moment before Shane found his world abruptly tilting on its axis. "Okay, Shane," his boyfriend murmured. "I hear you."

Shane shifted in place, squirming and trying to push himself upright. "I didn't say anything!"

"Not with words, no. With actions? Yes. My bratty boy." Shane felt Ilya's arm settle against his lower back and groaned but he didn't have time to say anything more before he felt the first swat land. It wasn't too bad, which gave him hope Ilya was just playing with him. It wouldn't be the first time one of them woke during the night and they spent the reminder of it having passionate, sweaty sex. Another swat landed, again not too hard, and Shane found himself smirking in the general direction of the floor. Oh yeah, this sounded like a great way to tire himself out. Another dozen swats landed before Ilya paused, rubbing at his heated skin and making Shane's eyes close so he could focus on the sensations.

Then Ilya’s hand molded to his ass, cupping and squeezing roughly for a moment, the touch harsh enough to leave fingerprints on his skin. Shane’s head rose, cheeks flushed as he moaned softly without thinking about it, and shifted against Ilya’s thigh. Another handful of smacks landed before Ilya's fingers traced over the fingerprints in the otherwise silent bedroom.

This time Shane rolled his hips, pressing himself into Ilya subtly. At least, he meant to be subtle. Instead he sort of ended up rutting like a bitch in heat. “Ah, ah,” he heard Ilya scold, shifting his thigh so that Shane had no friction, the asshole. “This is not for fun, Hollander. When you’re naughty, you are spanked like you are naughty.” 

“I’m not—”

“Hollander, I have just chased you through woods in slippers and rain. Right now, you are naughty.” As if in demonstration, Ilya shifted and for a moment Shane was confused before he felt something solid tap against his exposed cheek. “Ilya, what…” he twisted as much as he could in his current position to turn and look but a sharp thwack cut through the air. The sound had him stilling in surprise. A moment later the sting blossomed low on his right cheek, much sharper than Ilya's hand had been. “Fuck! Ilya!” 

“Yes, Hollander?” 

“What the hell?” Shane could feel how hard he was blushing as his brain registered another of those stinging slaps low across his ass. He briefly wondered if he’d combust. Could someone actually go on fire if they blushed hard enough? Was it scientifically possible? Shane wasn't sure, but he was worried he'd be the first. The smacks were landing over his silky boxer briefs, which was the only saving grace in the whole sordid situation. The material wasn't exactly good protection, but it was better than nothing.

“I told you, Shane. You can come to bed for cuddle or you can come to bed with sore ass. You wanted sore ass, so now I am giving you,” Ilya explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his free hand settling between Shane’s shoulder blades to keep him in position with his upper body facing towards the floor and his butt pushed up high. Shane didn't miss the way his boyfriend’s accent thickened as he scolded, a heady mix of Ilya's lingering sleepiness and his comfort around Shane. He knew Ilya didn't feel the need to speak so properly around him, instead dropping the articles he found unnecessary and boring when it was just them. Shane found it really hot, not least because it reminded him that to both of them, the other was home. The world didn't know it, but they did.

That didn’t help with making the swats sting any less though. He groaned. “Ilya, come on…” he tried to twist again, whole body flushing when he felt Ilya tug the material of his underwear upwards to sit between his cheeks a few seconds later. “Ilya…” he protested in a half-whine. “What are you—oww! Fuck…”

Ilya held up his slider in demonstration —shifting to lean forward so Shane could see the cause of his discomfort— and he squirmed in embarrassment. “Is slipper. Effective, yes?” Before Shane could answer, Ilya brought it down again sharply. “Makes your bottom glow so pretty. Is so pink already, Hollander. It will be very, very red when I am finished.”

Shane hung his head at that, heart thumping wildly in his chest. His face was hot, his ears burned, and he could feel the tremor in his arms as he braced against the floor. Ilya was quiet, apparently satisfied that he'd gotten Shane's attention. He wasn't much of a scolder, probably because it took more effort to scold him while warming his ass for him, but he usually said enough to make it memorable. Still, Shane was glad he seemed to be content to be quiet tonight.

Until he wasn't.

As if he sensed Shane's thoughts, Ilya spoke again. "Yes, is very pink. It will be so hot and red pressed against me to sleep," he announced conversationally. "You always sleep so good with sore ass, maybe I should spank you every day to help you? Yes?"

"Oh my God, no. That is a terrible idea."

"Maybe." Ilya sounded thoughtful. "Maybe we will see if it helps now. You have been pushing me, Shane. For days. Is okay, no problem. I don't mind. But I think it means you need good, hard spanking now to help your brain stop thinking so loud. You are stressing, about the play offs, about the cup, about hockey camps. Is not only running to sleep, is running from thinking."

"Of course it is, dumb ass…" Shane muttered, rolling his eyes. Ilya hummed somewhere above him before the slider thwapped down against his ass again. "Fuck. Ow!"

"Maybe do not be cheeky over my knee, hmm?" Ilya suggested casually, although the swats raining down against bare skin with that fucking slider felt anything but casual. The building heat sucked—it was cumulatively like a furnace back there and Shane had to conceded that yeah, Ilya was right. This wasn't the fun kind of spanking he preferred.

Shane's foot kicked up instinctively to stop the swats. He grimaced when Ilya shifted, seconds before his leg settled over Shane's calves. He shook his head in protest. "Ilya, wait… Don't."

"No? What else shall I do, when you kick like brat?" Ilya asked, but the fondness in his tone belied the blunt question. "We are not finished yet, Hollander, your bottom is not close to red enough. Is not hot enough either."

Shane huffed, bucking upwards. "It feels hot enough to me! Maybe you can ease up a little."

"Is okay, you are tired. Maybe you do not know best just now, hmm?" Ilya murmured, shifting them a little and raising his knee before starting up again. These swats were concentrated against the sensitive undercurve where his ass met his thighs, a development Shane found he didn't appreciate at all.

He lapsed into stubborn silence, keeping his focus on the floor and trying to tough it out, but his ass hurt and he wanted to curl up in Ilya's arms now. Ilya seemed to sense the shift in him from indignant to pouty—or maybe he heard Shane's sniffle at a particularly firm smack to the top of his thigh— and spoke in a low voice that somehow made Shane's stomach drop and warmed his chest all at once. "I think now maybe you are ready to listen, yes? Now that your bottom is red as apple and so hot to touch." Shane heard the slider clatter to the floor and felt himself melt a little, a few tears sliding free.

Ilya's hand settled against his heated skin, rubbing lightly for a few moments. "I know you are stressing. You put so much pressure on yourself, all the time you are worrying about hockey, and family, and Foundation. Shane, is okay. You are okay, you do not have to be—" Ilya paused, searching for the right word. "Superman. You are important. Taking care of you is important. That means eating good food, even if is boring. It means sleep. Not running at two in morning. This is not good for athletes. Cardio at two in morning is bad."

"That's not what you said last ni—ow!"

"Is not point right now, Hollander," Ilya told him firmly, starting to spank again with his hand. "Maybe we were not finished with slipper."

Shane winced, squirming. "No, we were. Really."

"Then be good boy, yes?" Ilya prompted, still laying down smack after smack. Shane didn't remember his hands being this big. He knew they were this big, but he didn't tend to notice it so keenly when they were being used to drive him wild. Ilya was really fucking good with his hands.

Shane belatedly registered Ilya's words and nodded, wiping at his eyes to get rid of the evidence of tears threatening to fall. "Good choice. Now, when we finish, we are going to get into bed, maybe with you on stomach." More smacks landed, making him whimper. The first tears spilled over, followed quickly by more. And more. "No talking, no sex, no phone games, understand? We are going to sleep. No alarms in morning. You are very tired, I can tell. If you want to run when we wake up, is okay, but not before 9o'clock or another spanking. Yes?"

"Ilya…" Shane pouted but relented after a moment, sighing. His ass was on fire, he really didn't want to drag this out more than he needed to.

Ilya hummed, slowing his swats down until he drew the spanking to a close. The hand that had been spanking wandered, the heat from his palm mixing with the inferno in Shane's ass. Shane sniffed and sucked in ragged breaths, using the hand not held by Ilya to rub at his eyes in an effort to stop the tears spilling over. "Sorry… Ilya, I'm sorry."

"Shh, I know. Is all forgiven now, da? You have sore, hot bottom and now all is forgiven and we go to sleep." His palm was squeezed and released and then strong hands were on Shane's hips, hauling him back up to his feet with ease. Shane grunted, swaying a little as he was moved, but then he was being pulled down to straddle Ilya's lap. He pressed his face into Ilya's collarbone, crying quietly for a few minutes. "I know, moy lyubimyy. I know. All done."

They stayed that way for a few minutes, although Shane lost track of time as he curled into the warmth and safety his boyfriend provided. He tears tapered off until he was breathing evenly, body pliant and eyes closed. He felt Ilya shift and whined softly, tightening his hold on Ilya's shirt to stop him moving. Ilya chuckled, pressing tight kissed to his forehead, then his freckles, then the tender skin just below his earlobe. "Relax," he murmured. "I am only moving us to bed. Is late, we need to sleep."

"Don't wanna move. Can sleep here," Shane murmured with a pout, making no effort to move. He made a surprised sound as Ilya stood with him as if it were nothing.

"Yes, you maybe. Is not so easy to sleep sitting up. Come on, into bed."

Shane made a sound of protest as Ilya settled him on the bed on his side, but he didn't have time to voice any true protest before his boyfriend slid into the King size bed behind him and pulled him in close having flicked the switch on the lamp by the bed to cast the room into darkness again. He groaned and shifted his hips, squirming against Ilya—true to Ilya's word, he could feel the heat trapped between them and pouted.

"Yes, I know. I am most mean boyfriend in world." Ilya leaned over to kiss him lightly, expression soft as he pulled the covers into place over them. Next he swung his leg over the top of Shane's, tangling their limbs together.

Shane felt himself relaxing into the mattress with a sigh. "You are mean," he agreed, halfway to sleep already. He felt another kiss pressed to the crown of his head and smiled despite his sore ass. "A total asshole."

"Hm, yes, I know," Ilya agreed in amusement. "And I will be asshole when I wake you in morning to go for run you wanted so bad. So you should sleep now, Hollander. Maybe when we are sweaty after running, I will fuck you in shower. If you are good boy."

That drew a hopeful moan from Shane but his body, traitor that it was, settled further into the mattress. He yawned, brain growing fuzzy as he shifted further back towards his boyfriend, rewarded when Ilya's arms tightened around his waist, one hand carding through his hair. "Lyublyu tebya…" he heard Ilya whisper into the darkness.

He didn't speak Russian, not yet, but he had a good idea what that meant. "I love you too, Asshole. Now, shh. Go to sleep."