Archive of Our Own

Shane has always enjoyed the warmth of the Drover house. He didn’t start going to their Sunday family dinners until recently; he had always denied them because he didn’t want to be too much of a burden to Harris and his family. Truthfully, he had always felt like Harris was more of Ilya’s friend than he was Shane’s. But, after enough of Ilya’s (and Troy’s…and Harris’s) badgering and pestering, Shane eventually made his way to the 40-acre apple farm and immediately fell in love with it. He almost wished he hadn’t spent so much time fighting Ilya on attending because the farm quickly came to be a second home in Ottawa (third, if you counted Boodram’s gorgeous two story home that they often barbecued in).

Now, another wonderful Sunday dinner has come and gone, and Shane sits, belly full and content. His feet knock against Ilya’s under the table. Across from them are Harris and Troy, as well as a couple of the other Centaurs. Drover family dinner really has evolved into the Centaur-Drover family dinner, but Harris’s parents don’t seem to mind. In fact, it seems like they even appreciate the company, always saying something about how the animals always appreciate the extra attention.

That’s the other thing that Shane loves about Harris’s house–all the pets. His mom had never been the fondest of dogs; she had always said they were more trouble than they were worth, which Shane supposed was true of their lifestyle growing up. They were always moving around, traveling for tournaments or hockey camps. A dog just didn’t make sense. But, Ilya loves dogs and Anya has been an utter blessing in their lives, even if she’s a little sassy and untrained because Ilya spoils her.

“Oh, Ilya! Did I show you Sadie’s new tricks yet?” Harris asked excitedly, standing up from the table and reaching over to a nearby sidetable to grab something. It’s small and plastic with a black stretchy band he puts around his wrist.

Ilya’s eyes immediately light up, and Shane can’t help the fond smile that grows on his face. “What are these tricks, Harris? I must see!”

Sadie is the Drovers’ newest rescue, a pitbull with faint black spots and thin wiry white hair. When Harris calls her name, she bounds over excitedly, accidentally tumbling straight into Harris’s legs, like she’s unable to contain the enthusiasm in her body. Ilya lets out a startled chuckle at the dog’s clumsiness. She quickly corrects herself, though, sitting dutifully in front of Harris’s feet, tail wagging back and forth comically fast. 

“Okay and…paw!” Harris commands, holding his hand out for the dog. Sadie eagerly places her left paw on Harris’s open palm, and Shane hears a sharp click-click ring through the air, followed by Harris’s coos of praise. “Good girl, Sadie! Such a good girl, good doggie!”

“What was that noise?” Shane asks. 

“Oh!” Harris says, holding up his hand and showing off the plastic device from earlier—it’s a black oval shape with a bright yellow, raised circular button in the center. “This is a clicker. It’s used for training for dogs. When Sadie does something good, you click and then give her a treat or praise. It’s to indicate she did something good! Positive reinforcement and all that jazz.”

“And if the dog is bad, then what?” Shane asks before he can stop himself. Ilya shoots him a curious look, one that asks why do you care? And it’s a fair question–it’s not like they’re planning to discipline Anya in any way. But Shane honestly doesn’t know why he’s so intrigued; he just is. 

Harris scratches the back of his head. “Really, it varies. We don’t really do anything to discourage bad behavior, but I know some folks like the shock collars?”

Ilya’s eyebrows furrow. “Doesn’t that hurt the dog?” 

“I think so. I’m not a fan, but I know people say it whips their dog into shape pretty quickly. There’s different levels for the pain and stuff, so people say the lower levels are fine. Apparently you can try it on yourself just to see what it feels like. It’s like a low buzz? Like an annoyance? It’s all remote-controlled and you just hold the button down to buzz at the dog until it, like, stops doing whatever it is you don’t want it to do,” Harris explains. Shane ponders it for a moment, imagining the collar. He wonders how much it hurts. He wouldn’t want that kind of thing on Anya. Plus, it probably wouldn’t do her any good. She was already kind of a lost cause. But Shane thinks it’s a relatively decent system; punishment for bad behavior, rewards for good behavior. It’s straightforward and effective.

He must get too lost in thought, though, because Ilya’s foot nudges him under the table and he’s looking at Shane with a question in his eyes. He shrugs, still not knowing how to answer. He’s just thinking it all over.

They linger and chatter among themselves for the next hour or so before Shane makes his way out to the car. Ilya trails behind a little, grabbing something from Harris before following Shane.

“Nice dinner?” Shane asks, climbing into the passenger seat. He usually likes driving, but he indulged in a rare glass of wine to pair with the cod and Shane feels the need to prioritize responsible driving practices, even if it was just one glass from an hour and a half ago.

“Mm, yes. Always nice with the Drovers. Also nice to see the dogs,” Ilya hums. Shane grins at him.

“We literally have a dog at home, Ilya.”

“Ah, yes, but never can have enough, but someone won’t let us get another dog,” Ilya says pointedly, quirking an eyebrow at Shane as he backs out of the farm driveway.

Shane rolls his eyes. “Anya’s already enough of a handful. Do you really think you can handle more than one dog? That’s like double the work, double the training, double the discipline…”

“I do a good enough job disciplining you, no?” 

Shane’s breath hitched. He laughs, fast and high-pitched and nervous, “Shut up, oh my God. What are you even talking about?” 

Ilya shrugs, smirking a little, his gaze fixed on the road. “Is true, Hollander. I have trained you well. I point at my dick, you drop to your knees. I say ‘gimme kiss’ and you lean in. You are so eager to be good, eager to please.” Shane blushes at the bluntness of Ilya’s words, at the way Ilya makes him sound so needy for it. Like he’s so easily pushed around, just at Ilya’s beck and call. Like… like— “Like a dog. My well trained dog.” Ilya coos, taking the words straight from Shane’s brain and laying them out in the open. 

Shane’s face burns with embarrassment and he shakes his head because he can’t–it’s not right. The comparison is crude and crass and gross. They own a dog, for fuck’s sake. Shane shifts uncomfortably, pointedly ignoring the fact that his dick has chubbed up slightly. It’s not from the dog comment, not at all. It’s just because Ilya mentioned him sucking him off and him being good. And how could Shane not get hard at that? He loves the praise. Not in the same way that a dog does—he just likes the validation. That’s all. 

“Shane?” Ilya questions, his smile full and bright like he can read his thoughts.

“I’m not entertaining this conversation. Just drive, Rozanov,” Shane says, voice clipped.

***

Shane feels like he’s going crazy. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Ilya’s dog comment for days now, and he’s yet to admit it to Ilya. He doesn’t want to give his husband the smug satisfaction. So, instead, he wallows uncomfortably, deciding it’s better to sit in silence than talk about it. Ilya seems to notice the change in his mood–the stiffness in his posture and stiltedness in their conversation–but doesn’t call Shane out on it, thankfully. Shane figures it’s better to will the thought away; it’ll probably fade with time.

But on the fifth day of ignoring the problem, Shane still thinks about it. My well trained dog. Shane fights back a shiver. Thankfully, with the season being over, he’s back to doing normal, mundane things. The chores and the monotony of the routine will help clear his head. As he bids Ilya goodbye and places a quick peck on his lips, he swears he can hear a muffled click-click echo faintly throughout the room. He isn’t sure, though, because at the same moment, Ilya turns the kiss dirtier, tongue licking along the seam of Shane’s lips. Shane lets himself get lost in the kiss, meeting Ilya’s fervor with his own, before he starts thinking about it. The click.

“Did you hear that noise?” Shane asks, breaking the kiss and twisting the door knob.

Ilya tilts his head in confusion. “Hear what?”

“The…nothing, nevermind,” Shane says quickly, embarrassed. He can’t believe he’s so stuck on the dog thing of it all that he’s imagining clicker noises. He doesn’t know what exactly about it is appealing, but then again, he’s never really understood the psychological motivations behind any of his… sexual interests, for lack of a better word. He supposed he just liked what he liked, but this one carries more than the others–sharper and pointier than any of the other ones that Ilya and he had explored. Maybe it was the shame that grumbled at his core at the thought, the taboo of it all. He pushes the thought aside, realizing how ridiculous it all is. 

It happens again, though, during their movie night. They’re watching some corny romcom that Ilya swears by (“It’s Notting Hill, Shane! How can you not have seen it? It is famous! Big movie!”) when he decides he needs to be cozier and he nuzzles his way closer to Ilya, resting his head in his lap. As soon as his head touches Ilya’s thigh, there’s an emphatic click-click and then hands are in his hair, threading through the strands and scratching at his scalp. A delicious tingling sensation drips atop Shane’s head, like yolk running from an egg, it has Shane fighting back a groan. But then he remembers–the noise.

“You heard it this time right?” he asks. “The—” 

“Shh, movie’s on. Is important part, Shane, the big scene,” Ilya scolds, continuing to play with his hair, and yes, God, the head scratches feel so satisfying that he decides it’s not worth the turmoil. Maybe it really is nothing at all. 

***

The thing about Shane, though, is that he has a hard time letting things go. His tenacity, as his mother likes to call it, is the whole reason he is the way he is. Attention to detail, an unbreakable determination, and an inability to let things go–these were the perfect ingredients that made Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander, and the dog thing most definitely is something. The noise haunts Shane, chases him everywhere he goes. He hears it at practice, when Ilya claps him on the back after a particularly effective pass and whispers “good job” in his ear. He hears it in the car, when Ilya asks him to route them to the nearest McDonalds before they head home. One time, he swears he hears the telltale click-click at Catan night with Troy, Harris, and Ilya when Shane builds one last road to snatch his last needed victory point, and Ilya happily announces to the table “My Shane is so clever!” 

There’s a small, paranoid part of him that considers going to a psychiatrist and asking about auditory hallucinations, but Shane would rather die than tell his doctor that he’s hearing dog clicking noises. He can already see the tabloids: “NHL Superstar Shane Hollander Thinks He’s A Dog?!” Yeah, no. He can’t do that to himself. 

He thinks maybe he could bring it up to Ilya again, but every time he’s even vaguely alluded to it, Ilya just shrugs, claiming he doesn’t hear anything. Even Harris and Troy hadn’t mentioned the noise, they had just begun cleaning up the Catan board and headed on their merry way. 

Shane wishes so badly to ignore it like everyone else, but he can’t. So he tries his best to understand it, that maybe some intel or knowledge on it will make way for insight on how to stop it once and for all. He starts by attempting to catalogue everything he knows about it, jotting down quick notes on a scratch pad that he makes a mental note to destroy later. 

It reads:

The Clicking Noise

What is it? 

• Clicking noise like clicker training.

Does anyone else hear it? 

• NO. 
• Maybe it’s just in your head. See psychiatrist? NO.

When does it happen? Triggered by:

• Goodbye kiss?

• Movie

• Practice

• McDonalds
• Catan

Common thread: ???????????

What happens when it clicks?

• I feel…good?

He stares at his scribbled notes on the paper, twiddling with the pen in discomfort as the truth bores right back into him, fat and obvious on the paper. He doesn’t know when that part of this all happened—when the clicks and the good feelings that washed over him became intertwined. He’s caught himself a few times over the past couple of days walking around and holding his breath, his stomach tight and ears straining for the familiar, satisfying clicks to punch through the air. He doesn’t know when he started waiting for them. Anticipating them.

He tears the paper up and crumples it, throwing it hastily into the wastebin next to his desk. He almost wants to laugh–this is crazy, he feels fucking crazy. He’s here spiraling and theorizing over hypothetical noises that make him feel good? This is–

Shane jolts at the featherlight brush of fingers to his arm and turns to the source of the touch. Ilya looks at him with curious eyes. 

“Sorry,” Shane apologizes automatically, standing up suddenly from the desk. No more clicker thoughts tonight, clearly. “We can go to bed now.” 

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya says, eyebrows furrowed. “You’ve been so jumpy, lately.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Shane.”

“No, really, it’s nothing,” he lies. He can’t talk about this with Ilya, not now. He doesn’t know how. He needs to sit on it longer, figure out how to bring up the subject in a way that doesn’t make him feel sick and embarrassed. Shane slides into bed, pulling the duvet over himself self-consciously.

Ilya sighs, sitting on his side of the bed and turning his back to Shane to shut off the bedside lamp. “Fine, but you will tell me tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane grumbles begrudgingly. He hates feeling babied, like Ilya is being delicate with him and his emotions.

“Good.” Click-click. “Good night, Shane.”

It takes Shane an hour before he can calm down enough to sleep.

***

He’s kneeling in front of Ilya, his face nuzzled into Ilya’s crotch. He rubs his face into his clothed cock, inhaling the scent. It’s so distinctly Ilya, the heady aroma of sweat and skin that his body now craves so desperately, and his mouth practically waters as he pulls in another deep breath. He drags a desperate tongue over the fabric, moaning as he feels the hardness under his tongue, and sucks gently at the bulge. He starts to feel his head go fuzzy, the nice, cottony way it always did when his mouth was occupied, but just as he’s about to sink into that static space, he hears it. Click-click. 

“Good boy,” Ilya rumbles from above him, petting at Shane’s head and urging him on.

Shane pauses, halfway between there and not, and struggles to find language. “Wh–”

Ilya’s fingers tighten in Shane’s hair, yanking Shane’s head back. The sudden movement cuts off his words and Shane lets out a loud yelp. Ilya uses the moment to pull down his own waistband, and the slap of Ilya’s thick, hard cock against his stomach silences any question on Shane’s tongue. Ilya drags the wet head of his cock across Shane’s mouth, smearing the thick drop of pre-cum over his lips. Instinctively, Shane’s tongue darts out to taste it, already anticipating the tangy bitterness that is Ilya. Click-click.

“So good for me, Shane,” Ilya murmurs. Another click-click. “Such a pretty mouth.”

Shane whimpers, unsure if it’s from the clicks or Ilya’s praise; the two are now near synonymous. Ilya feeds his cock into Shane’s mouth, and Shane groans out, grateful for the weight on the tongue. He loves the way Ilya fills his mouth. His head always feels so wonderfully buzzy like this, with his lips wrapped around Ilya’s dick. 

The room is filled with the filthy noises of Shane slurping around Ilya. He moves eagerly up and down his length almost methodically. He presses his tongue flat against the underside of Ilya’s cock, tracing the vein there. He hollows his cheek with every bob of his head, sucking gently and licking at the length. He can feel the spit dripping down his chin, rolling down his neck in a way that makes him feel claimed and dirty and wrecked. He looks up at Ilya through hazy, lidded eyes, tears pricking at the corners, and Ilya stares back at him, mouth dropped and gaze reverent.

But then, Ilya orders him to touch himself, and Shane falters for a split second, losing his rhythm for just half of a beat. It’s just too early, that’s all. Usually, he makes Shane wait until tears coat his face and his voice is hoarse from begging. Ilya doesn’t take the hesitation well, though, and his voice grows colder. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Hollander. Touch yourself.”

The hardness in his tone pulls Shane out of his cock-drunk daze, and he clumsily reaches down for his own cock, wrapping a fist around himself with a few tentative pumps. 

“I won’t fuck you tonight,” Ilya continues, fingers growing tight in Shane’s hair as he cants his hips forward in time with Shane. “Gonna make you wait for it. Work for it.” Shane doesn’t even have time to react to Ilya’s words; he’s too focused on Ilya pushing hungrily into his throat. His eyes roll back as he revels in the feeling of the harsh intrusion, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat. Ilya holds him there, as Shane’s throat tightens around him and his mouth pools with spit. When he finally pulls out, Shane is left sputtering and coughing. It feels like heaven, being used like this.

Ilya fucks his face like that, maintaining a steady pace that Shane loses himself in—the slick, addictive slide of Ilya’s length drawing in and out over the wetness of his tongue. His moans come out broken and whinier, growing more hoarse with each fuck of Ilya’s hips. 

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Click-click. “Take my fucking cock.” Click-click. “Feel so fucking good.” Click-click. “My perfect little hole.” Click-click.

Shane’s hand works faster over his dick, as he mewls at the praise, at the noises. It’s indescribably overwhelming—hearing the filthy words punctuated by the sharp clicks—and Shane can feel his orgasm build in his core, the heat of the flames licking there. 

Ilya doesn’t relent; he keeps up the same vicious pace as he fucks into Shane’s mouth with a satisfying squelch each time he makes Shane take him down to the hilt. He has Shane’s hair in a vice grip–one that makes his eyes well up with tears and drool dribble down his chin. 

“You gonna cum for me?” Click-click. “Gonna get all messy for me, shlyukha?” Slut. Click-click.

Shane’s eyes roll back with pleasure and he groans out a reply, but the words are unformed and incoherent around Ilya’s cock. It feels as though every click is just another reinforcement of Ilya’s praise, another way to say good boy. 

He’s impossibly hard, so lost in the feeling of Ilya in him that he barrels closer to his orgasm faster than he expects. Shane sobs out a muffled, warning cry, tears falling from his eyes now: Please let me cum. 

Ilya must be able to sense his panic because he chuckles and slows down his pace. “You love sucking me that much you were about to cum without permission?” Click-click. “My pretty slut, what will I do with you?” Click-click. 

It’s all too much. Tears keep falling down Shane’s cheeks as he looks up at Ilya, giving him the most pleading, pathetic eyes possible. He needs to cum—he’s too fucking close and he wants to be so good but if Ilya draws this out any longer he’ll—

Ilya draws his cock out from Shane’s lips. “Beg for it.”

The words spill from him instantly. “Please let me cum, please let me cum, please let me cum, Ilya I’m so—fuck—I’n so close, plea—“

Ilya roughly shoves his cock back in Shane’s open mouth, shutting him up and grunting out, “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good boy and cum.” 

Shane squeezes his eyes shut and sees searing, bright stars behind his eyelids, as he finally snaps under Ilya’s words. He lets out a loud whiny moan, a muffled thank you, as he cums in thick, white stripes into his hand. In the split-second before his hearing goes fuzzy and he sinks into his haze, he hears it: Click-click.

The noise triggers something inside of him, as if commanding his body to give more than it already has. Just when he thought he was done, his cock continues to pulse and twitch in his hand, spurting out pathetic squirts, and fuck, Shane can’t believe he’s still going.

He rides out his orgasm, rocking his hips into his hand subconsciously and milking out the last couple drops. He faintly registers Ilya’s babbling above him. “Such a good boy, fuck, like that, Hollander. Shit, I’m gonna–” 

Ilya jackhammers into his mouth wildly, reaching out his other hand to grab at Shane’s head for better leverage. Though the movement is quick, Shane notices that Ilya’s wearing some sort of bracelet, which is strange since Ilya’s never been one for bracelets. But then Ilya’s pushing his head down to the base of his cock, cumming hot and heavy down his throat, and Shane immediately forgets his train of thought. In this moment, he is Ilya’s.

Ilya’s grip on his head relaxes as Shane swallows the last drops, pulling off to lick an errant bead from his slit. Ilya hisses at the contact, clearly overstimulated.

Shane rests his forehead against Ilya’s thigh. His throat is used and properly fucked, and the taste of Ilya is still in his mouth. He feels disgusting. He feels perfect.

Ilya reaches down, gently pushing his chin up so that Shane’s looking up at Ilya, and he presses his lips to Shane’s forehead.

“Always so good for me, my Shane,” he whispers. Shane preens under the words, the attention.

“You didn’t fuck me,” Shane mumbles, still coming down from his sex high. He loves this–the afterglow–where his brain is foggy and floaty, and he’s molten and liquid.

Ilya smiles sweetly at him. “No, no I didn’t,” he says sincerely. “But I promise the next time it will be worth it.”

Shane frowns. “The next time? Will it be a while?”

Ilya shrugs. “That part is up to you, kotik.” 

***

The next day, Shane upgrades his findings documentation, storing them in a haphazardly typed out page in his Notes app. 

His data is now properly updated, including all of the incidents from last night. He repeatedly pores over the words where he meticulously documents the moments he’s heard the clicks, fighting off his blush that rises to his cheeks. Nuzzling Ilya’s crotch, he reads, Ilya praising me x26, Cumming. 

Heat gathers low in his belly as he recounts the events of last night: the throatfucking. The dirty talk. And of course, the clicks. God, the fucking clicks. 

He wills himself to stay focused, but he feels his cock fatten up at even the mere thought of the clicker.  

He stares at the Common thread line followed by several question marks, deleting the question marks and instead typing Sexual?

The most recent entries in the list would certainly agree, but then he looks at the first ones—the movie and the kiss—and he deletes it and writes out Physical touch? This somehow feels closer. A lot of these do involve touching Ilya, and maybe it’s his body’s way of rewarding himself when he touches his husband. 

The McDonalds bullet point sticks out like a sore thumb, though, and Shane wrinkles his nose. Yeah, no, there was nothing sexual or physical or even really appealing about the fast food company, but he pushes his biases aside to really rack his brain and think. He remembers Ilya’s excitement and the babblings of praise: “Oh my Shane, so good to his husband. Thank you, moya lyubov.” It had been so silly back then, so innocuous, but it feels like the final piece of the puzzle slotting right into place. And if Shane stands back and reveals it all, it stares back at him, loud and blatant. 

Shane’s stomach swoops and his cock feels achingly hard as he comes to his realization: there is no big conspiracy, no complicated or difficult pattern. The clicks simply come when he is being good.

It’s only then does he remember Harris’s words from that night he learned of the clickers. When Sadie does something good, you click and then give her a treat or praise, Harris had said. It’s to indicate she did something good!

Fuck. He’s being trained like a fucking dog. It shouldn’t be so hot to him, but it is. Shane grips at his hard-on over his shorts, sucking in air through his teeth. He whimpers at the contact, willing his hips to stay still because no, he can’t get lost in this just yet. He’s so close to solving this, now that he knows there is a pattern. 

He types, one-handed, Where does it come from? and he reads back all of the bullet points, seeing something glaringly obvious, even more so than his most recent revelations. A constant presence that he failed to account for, but in hindsight should’ve been his first guess: Ilya is present for every. Single. One of these. 

He maybe was suspicious of Ilya in the first place, but then the game night happened, and Troy and Harris hadn’t heard it either. But still, that didn’t necessarily contradict his evidence altogether—Ilya still had been present, and perhaps that was enough.

***

Shane decides to carefully observe his day to test his theories. Shane and Ilya bump elbows as they cook, Shane prepping the toppings for the okonomiyaki Ilya tends to on the stovetop. 

“Chives, please, Shane,” Ilya requests. Shane turns, scraping the chopped bits into the pan with the back of his knife. Click-click. Shane falters slightly, squeezing the knife handle extra tight so as not to drop it. He hadn’t heard it all day, not since last night with Ilya, but Ilya had been out today with Svetlana, only returning just an hour ago to help make dinner. 

“Good, thank you, Shane!” Ilya says cheerily, plopping a quick kiss to his cheek. “Looks delicious, no?” He glides through the kitchen easily, not waiting for a response.

“Come, sit. It’s dinner time,” he insists, preparing both of their plates and bringing them to the table. Shane still doesn’t say a word. He moves like his limbs are jello, and heat pools in his lower stomach as he thinks over and over again of the clicks. The noise. The sex. The dog thing. The theory. As he sits at the table, he waits, expecting to hear the noise he’s grown so accustomed to over these days because he was good and he listened and he sat at the table just as Ilya asked but—nothing comes. A strange panic flutters in his stomach. Alarm bells ring in his head, and he feels almost dizzy. Where are they? Where did they go? 

“Something wrong, solnyshko?” Ilya looks at him with concern, but there’s something deeper there that Shane can’t quite place—not now, at least, in his fog.

“No,” he breathes out, trying his best to steady his breath. “Sorry, I just thought—I don’t know. I was expecting something.”

“Expecting something?” Ilya repeats. 

Shane just shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it.” He can’t say anything, not yet. He needs to test it again. 

Ilya arches an eyebrow. “You worry me, but I will leave it. Eat, Shane.”

And Shane follows Ilya’s command, eating a generous mouthful of the omelette while ignoring the sickness in his stomach. As he chews, he waits again. But still, nothing. 

“It’s good, no?” Ilya prompts, obliviously, cutting into his food. “Come on, Shane. Eat more.”

“Sorry, I just—I feel—I need to go upstairs, I think the ‘being forced to wait for sex thing’ right now is really getting to me,” he lies, needing time to rethink everything over. It’s the easiest excuse that comes to him right now, one that he knows Ilya won’t push back too heavily on. “I just need a moment.”

Ilya smiles at him, amused. “You can’t go even a week without fucking without getting sick? Moya lyubov, you’re more of a slut than I thought.”

If Ilya thinks this is slutty, he wonders how he’d react if he knew that Shane was so ill over a fucking dog clicker. “Shut up, you're having a hard time too, don’t lie.”

“Is true, but I promise it’ll be very worth it, Hollander,” Ilya concedes, a mischievous glint in his eyes that sends shivers down Shane’s spine. “It’s very fun, the game we are playing right now.”

***

The clicks, much to Shane’s chagrin, have disappeared completely. It’s been five fucking days and he has tested his theories a million different ways—opening the car door for Ilya, doing the laundry, buying him fucking McDonalds again of all things—and he hasn’t heard a single click whatsoever. Shane figures he should be grateful; now he can move on with his day to day without feeling like some trained animal. But…But Shane misses it. He wants to hear it, wants to be good and those clicks were the clearest indication of his goodness.  

Shane begins to wonder if maybe all of the clicking was simply a side effect of some pent up frustration. He and Ilya haven’t had proper sex since the day they had dinner with the Drovers, which is their longest dry spell probably ever since moving in together. While Ilya has tried to placate him with blowjobs and handjobs, it isn’t enough. Every time he tries to initiate something more, Ilya always stops him, grabbing his hands and smiling that patient, smug smile, and tells Shane, “Not tonight.”

Shane likes when they play like this, when Ilya gives him a challenge, a Rubik’s cube of a situation that Shane has to tease out and twist for things to click into place. But he hasn’t been able to focus on playing this game with Ilya because of all the damned clicking. 

So Shane figures that maybe he just needs to get it out of his system, that this sex embargo Ilya has in place is making him needier than normal, and an orgasm or two can fix it. Can make all his problems disappear. 

He steps into the shower, the heat of the water near scalding, but he zeroes in on the burning sensation, the feel of it on his skin. He trails a hand to his fattening cock, the other reaching behind him to ghost over his hole, as he thinks of Ilya. 

The touch is fleeting, light enough to just tease and make his hole flutter, as he wraps his hand around himself. 

He thinks of Ilya’s fingers. His fingers in his mouth. His fingers wrapped around his cock. His fingers in him, stretching him, opening him, prepping him. Shane lets out a stuttered gasp, his forehead dropping to press against the tile as his hand moves quicker over himself. The water is a shit lubricant, but Shane can’t bring himself to care. This is exactly what he needed, something to take the edge off. This is why he’s been so jumpy, so paranoid; he just needed to jerk off. 

He pushes a teasing finger into his hole, just up to the first knuckle, as his hand works over himself. He can’t stop the little keening noises that escape his mouth. He wants to push in more, maybe finger himself properly, but he knows he can’t; it would break the rules of the game. No fucking, even on his fingers. He has to wait for Ilya. 

So he tries his best to feel good with what he has, imagining Ilya all over him and breathing hot and heavy in his ear. But then, his mind begins to drift and he thinks of that moment in the car. 

So eager to be good. Shane grips himself a little tighter, hand moving a little faster. 

So eager to please. He crooks his wrist, swiping over the head in the way that makes his toes curl. 

My good boy. He pants loud and hard, feeling himself teeter closer to the edge as tingles ricochet through his entire body. He is like a drawn bow, ready to snap. 

Like a dog. He whimpers loudly, feeling dirty for even thinking about it, but he can’t stop because it makes him feel so good. His hand works over himself faster and faster, knowing he’s tumbling to the edge so fast. Pleasure echoes through his whole body, thrums under his skin. He screws his eyes shut, preparing for his orgasm to hit him, like it always does when he gets this desperate and needy. He’s so close, he can taste it, he knows it’s just right there and—

It never comes. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. But most of all, he wants to cum. He slows his hand and looks down, his painful erection glaring back at him. It’s like his body is waiting for something—something to grant him permission. 

Then the horrible realization finally dawns on him: he is waiting for the clicker. 

***

Ilya is unusually excited to show Shane something. He had taken Shane by surprise, Ilya asking Shane to come to the living room after his secret failed jerk off session in the shower. Shane had only nodded hollowly, feeling bad that his mind was very much elsewhere. 

“What are we doing?” Shane asks, still foggy from earlier. He’s splayed out on the couch in comfy joggers and a black t-shirt. He really isn’t in the mood to do much, let alone dress super presentable. 

“You’ll see,” Ilya singsongs. His husband is clearly very giddy to show him something, and Shane begs his brain to stay focused, but all he can think about is how he hasn’t been able to cum in days. “Anya!”

“Ilya, you know she doesn’t really list—“

Shane hears the familiar pitterpatter of Anya’s paws down the stairs as she dutifully arrives at Ilya’s feet and sits. 

He’s about to exclaim in delight, because Anya has never really displayed any kind of true obedience being the spoiled princess that she is, but right as the words are about to leave his mouth—

Click-click. “Such a good girl, Anya! So good!” Ilya praises. 

Shane goes rigid, his eyes immediately jumping to Ilya’s hand to find the bane of his existence, the source of all his turmoil, the root of all his afflictions: a small, black clicker device. He’s hard, too, and it’s laughable, really, how instantaneous it is. How his body is so well attuned to the clicker that just with one simple click his blood flows southward.  Shane looks back up to Ilya, who holds his gaze steadily; he even looks like he’s fighting back a smile. 

Shane doesn’t know what to feel. He feels everything. Confusion, because what the fuck. Relief, because thank God, he’s not crazy, he’s not insane, it's real. All of it was real. But then there’s anger, hot and insistent at his throat because he’s spent days agonizing over these incessant clicks and Ilya had lied to him. He had asked him so many times, given him so many opportunities, and yet Ilya had let him go on believing he didn’t know. But perhaps most baffling of all, there is lust—hot and unbridled and dizzying because fuck, they were real and they weren’t gone forever. He could have it all back, and he could feel good again. 

“It’s a good trick, yes?” Ilya purrs out, his voice dropping an octave. It is clear they are not talking about Anya anymore. 

“Yes, it is,” Shane says, his voice scarily steady despite the swirl of emotions that storms within him. “When did you have the time for this?” 

“Oh you know, over the past week and a half or so,” Ilya replies, shrugging. “We took a little training break for a couple of days, though. It makes them crave obedience even more.” Ilya’s eyes are dark and hungry now and Shane almost forgets how upset he is. 

“Is that so.”

“Yes. I remember you were interested, so I wanted to demo it for you. You were interested, no?”

“I was,” Shane says, his breath now coming a little bit faster. The tent in his shorts is obvious, but neither of them acknowledge it. 

“Was?” Ilya prompts. 

“Am,” he amends, maybe a little too quickly. “I still am.” He hates how obvious he feels, how already off-kilter he is and they haven’t even started. Ilya only grins back.

“Upstairs, now.”

***

Shane scrambles up to the bedroom, sitting expectantly on the bed as he waits for Ilya to come. His mind is reeling and there’s a part of him that wants to tell him off and ask a million questions, but he hasn’t cum in so fucking long that he figures he can wait. 

Finally, Ilya walks in, smirking at Shane’s wide-eyed expression, practically oozing eagerness. “Clothes off.” 

Shane is quick to follow instructions, shedding his clothes and folding them neatly before placing them on the bedside table. He’s leaking, he knows he is, but he ignores it, sitting back on the edge of the bed dutifully and resting his hands on his thighs. Ilya walks forward, fitting himself in the gap between Shane’s legs as his hand comes up to thumb at Shane’s bottom lip. Ilya’s gaze is so intense, practically burning holes through him, but Shane can’t look away. He loves having Ilya’s undivided attention like this. “You want to be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, Ilya, I—“

“Shh, sweetheart, dogs don’t speak.”

Shane freezes, his mouth dropping open, as Ilya just smirks above him, clearly pleased. 

“You gonna say something, puppy?” Ilya pushes his thumb past his plush, pouty lips before he can even reply. Shane wraps his mouth around it, drags his tongue along the underside of it. “You gonna tell me to stop?”

Shane should tell Ilya to stop. He should safeword out of this and push him away. Say he’s disgusted. That Ilya can’t say shit like that anymore because it’s gross and off-limits. He should be doing all of those things. 

But instead, they’re far past that already. They both know what will happen here tonight. Shane preens at the words, at the pet name, groaning so loud and needy it feels almost foreign to his ears. Shane’s cock gives a weak twitch as it spurts out another fat bead of pre-cum.

Ilya chuckles dark and low. “I knew you’d like it, my good, good puppy.” Ilya’s other hand comes to the back of Shane’s head, scratching at his scalp and Shane closes his eyes, focusing on the sensation. 

Ilya pulls his thumb out and Shane chases after it, but Ilya tuts, grabbing at his chin and forcing him to look up. “Get on all fours for me,” Ilya whispers. 

Shane nods, mouth still dropped open, as he turns over, getting on his hands and knees. He feels like he’s about to burst at any moment. It’s been so fucking long since he’s cum, even longer since he’s been fucked, and he needs Ilya in him so badly he could cry. 

His need is so bad, apparently, that he doesn’t even notice the small, anticipatory whimpers that escape his mouth as he waits for Ilya. 

“Needy baby,” Ilya murmurs from behind him, one of his big, rough hands caressing the curve of Shane’s ass. “Pretty little puppy hasn’t been fucked in so long, huh?”

Shane whines again, arching his back to show off his ass, a weak attempt to speed things up. To remind Ilya that he hasn’t fucked Shane in so long, too. 

“I know, baby, I know. But I’ll take care of you.” Ilya presses a kiss into the meat of Shane’s ass, giving a playful bite there, before Shane feels a wet finger prod at his entrance. 

“Oh fu—nngh ,” Shane groans out, catching himself before a word escapes his mouth. Dogs don’t speak.

“So eager,” Ilya observes, pushing his pointer finger in entirely. It’s not enough, of course it isn’t, but it’s the first thing Shane’s had inside of him for so long that Shane nearly sobs in relief. He keeps his hips still, though, knowing he hasn’t been given permission to move yet. He has to be good. 

When Ilya is satisfied, he nudges another finger next to his first one and Shane hisses at the stretch. It stings in the way that Shane has been craving all week. Ilya pushes the fingers in and out of him steadily, hard enough that Shane rocks steadily with the rhythm, his cock wetly slapping against his stomach with every push. Ilya’s whispering quiet words of encouragement, and it feels so fucking good that Shane’s mouth hangs open, his eyes scrunched closed in pleasure, as his body greedily takes Ilya’s fingers. After some time, Ilya pushes in a third and he drops his mouth open even more in a silent scream, drowning in the pressure and pleasure of it all. He gets so lost in it that he only notices because Ilya does. 

“Blyat,” Ilya curses out. “Shane, are you drooling? You feel so good you’re drooling, my good boy?”

Shane blinks his eyes open in a dazed confusion. He licks around his mouth and feels the wet dribble trailing down his chin, looks down to see it dripping down onto the bedsheets. He slurps up the spit instinctively, turning back to look at Ilya behind lidded, pleading eyes, and he whimpers, nodding in confirmation.

Ilya looks at him, wild and crazed, pulling his fingers out and lining up his cock with Shane’s empty hole. “So fucking good for me, Shane, my good boy, taking it so good. You want me to fuck you, pup?”

Shane nods again, so fast he loses focus of Ilya’s face. He can’t think straight, just needs something in him. 

There is nothing teasing in Ilya’s movements—he pushes in with one swift motion, punching out a choked breath from Shane. 

Ilya’s fingers dig into his hips as he pulls him back before snapping hard into Shane, and he lets out another high pitched, whiny moan. He’s grateful he doesn’t have to speak, actually. He’s not sure he could even find the proper words for it, if he had to. He feels stretched and used and fucking slutty, his only purpose to get fucked by Ilya, to make Ilya feel good. He knows he’s being loud right now; he can’t help the high pitched keens and broken moans that escape his lips but God it’s just been so fucking long and he loves this feeling. He loves getting fucked. He loves Ilya slamming into him like this and using him and—

“My dirty fucking mutt,” Ilya grunts out, speeding up his thrusts, and Shane’s arms almost give out from underneath him because he swears his vision blacks out for a second, so disgustingly turned on by Ilya’s words. 

“You like that? You like being a mutt for me Shane? You like getting fucked like this, baby?”

He can’t respond because dogs don’t speak, because good dogs listen, because Shane is good, and so he continues to whine and whimper and moan, and he is so impossibly close he feels like he might die.

But he knows the game they’re playing, and Shane is hurtling towards his orgasm but he won’t because he knows this isn’t how the game is won.

“You gonna cum for me, puppy?” Ilya teases breathlessly, fucking into him faster, and Shane shakes his head. “You can tell me, Shane. Speak.”

“I can’t—“ he cuts himself off. He’s too humiliated to keep speaking. He knows what Ilya wants, but the words get stuck in his throat. 

“You can’t what, sweetheart?” Ilya purrs, squeezing the base of Shane’s cock so hard he yelps out in pain. “Tell me why you can’t cum yet, darling.”

Embarrassment burns hot across his face and he just can’t say it, but then harsh fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head back. “Say it.”

Ilya’s slamming into him relentlessly and Shane knows he’s going to feel so sore in the morning. 

“I can’t cum without the clicker,” he finally bites out. It’s the first time it’s said out loud, the first time either of them really acknowledge what’s been happening, what all of this has been building to. 

Ilya pulls out of him suddenly and Shane cries at the loss, but Ilya’s hands are all over him, turning him over so that he’s on his back. Ilya pulls him back to the edge of the bed.

He guides his cock back into Shane’s hole with one hand and he holds the other hand up to reveal—

Shane lets out a shaky gasp as he eyes the device, the small piece of plastic that carries so much power behind it, held so delicately in Ilya’s palm.

“You need this, puppy?” Ilya coos, his hips beginning to move again. Shane bounces up on the bed with every harsh thrust and he fights to keep his eyes open as Ilya slams against his prostate. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Shane hisses out desperately, unable to take his eyes off of the clicker. Off of Ilya. “Yes, please, yes.”

“Beg me like a good boy.”

“Ilya, please let me cum, please let me cum, Ilya, fuck—“ Shane’s begging is suddenly cut off when Ilya pinches at one of his nipples harshly. He throws his head back, feeling a strange mix of agony and pleasure that makes his stomach dive. 

He feels his orgasm just resting underneath the surface, threatening to burst at any time. 

“You’re not going to cum, though, aren’t you, puppy? Not until you hear the clicker,” Ilya muses, snapping his hips harder and harder into Shane. “So I can fuck you for as long as I want.”

Shane shakes his head, his whole body vibrating from trying so hard to stave off his orgasm. “Pl—Ilya, no, I can’t for much longer, I need—“

“You can’t be good for me, Shane?” he asks, voice condescending and mean. “But I thought you wanted to be my good boy?”

“Ilya, please, I need to cum,” Shane sobs out, and he can feel the tears stream down his face but he can’t find it within himself to care when Ilya’s cock is pressing so insistently against his prostate. He’s crying, really crying now, coughing out choked sobs and breaths as every nerve is his body aches for release. 

Ilya watches him with delighted eyes, gleeful and wide as they take in his wrecked form. He must be satisfied because only then does he breathe out a “Good boy”, and then his thumb presses down on the clicker. 

Click-click.

Shane arches so far off the bed it feels like he’s being folded in half as his orgasm ricochets through his body. He can feel splatters of his own cum hit his chest and chin as Ilya fucks him through it, the room full of the sounds of their skin slapping against each other and loud moans. Ilya wraps a hand around him and pumps him as he cums, and Shane twitches and spasms because it’s too fucking much but it’s so fucking good. Only seconds later does he feel Ilya’s own cock start to pulse inside of him, his husband cumming with a sharp cry, before collapsing on top of him. 

They both lie there, tired and spent and panting, as they catch their breath.

***

They wash up in a tender silence, simply enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company. Ilya gently wipes the wet washcloth over Shane’s skin, cleaning up the sweat and dried cum. He presses a light kiss to Shane’s forehead, dragging the cloth up his neck, down his back, and between his cheeks. 

They crawl into bed afterwards, clean and satiated and satisfied. 

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you about the clicker,” Ilya begins. 

Shane quirks an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Ilya grimaces. “Okay, maybe not. It was hot. I liked seeing you all confused. It was so sexy seeing you try and hide it from me.”

Shane shakes his head. “I felt like I was going fucking insane. I really thought it was you, but then at Catan…”

“Troy and Harris knew and promised me they wouldn’t say anything.”

Shane gasps. “Those fucking bastards.”

“It’s not all that bad, Hollander. They said they’d let me borrow the e-collar,” Ilya purred out. 

Shane’s eyes widen, his mouth going dry. “Oh they did, did they?” He ignores the way his voice went high and breathy, already thinking of all the different ways Ilya could use it on him. 

“Yes,” Ilya comments casually. “I think even good dogs misbehave sometimes.”