Chapter Text
It didn't always make sense for them to do scenes at home. Especially since Shane didn't like the idea of storing furniture that clearly had no other purpose than something he'd rather no one else knew about. There weren't many explanations that would sit well with his parents regarding why he and Ilya had a St. Andrew's cross. At least not many that wouldn't invite questions Shane knew he'd never survive answering without turning five shades too red.
Besides, there was something to be said about leaving home behind. Their bedroom was familiar. Safe. It was also in the middle of every part of the rest of their lives. The reality of chores existed steps from their bed. Books left out on tables, a remote that needed batteries, dishes that needed to be washed. It was all just steps away from them anywhere they were in the house. Domestic parts that Shane was happy to even get to share with Ilya, ones he hadn't thought would ever be possible for them, but domestic all the same.
The responsibility that existed innately within the walls of their home.
Sure, they could fashion their living room into a space for the scenes they wanted to experience, but the couch went back to being the couch after Ilya was done bending Shane over the arm of it.
Ilya had found this space online and subjected it to a level of scrutiny that impressed even Shane's high standards of inspection before he even considered booking it. And beyond that, he booked it under a pseudonym. Something they were assured was perfectly common.
It was often used for parties, Ilya had told him. Which would have interested Shane far more if he thought for a second that they would ever be able to show their faces at a kink party without being outed in some way. Shane still wondered about those parties. What they might look like.
It had a private entrance, and no staff waiting for them. The only cameras were on the outside of the building for security purposes.
Of course, this promise didn't stop them from checking. Shane wasn't interested in having this part of their relationship exposed because some employee decided the scandal would be worth losing their job. Enough time was promised between rentals—also for cleaning purposes—that they wouldn't accidentally run into anyone.
Though, Ilya had booked the entire day to avoid the possibility all the same.
They also wore baseball caps and sunglasses. Just in case.
Shane felt relatively calm as he walked through the door of the building, they ditched their hats and glasses immediately. He'd been somewhat surprised to discover the space existed in such an odd area of the city. An area he'd long viewed as being a part of a more industrial area. The building itself was incredibly nondescript given the area. No signs identified it for what it was, and Shane likely would have assumed it was an empty warehouse office, and did nearly stop Ilya from going inside. It just felt wrong.
Even stepping inside initially gave nothing away. Sure, the reception area looked a little too nice for the building, but nothing else even hinted that something else might be going on.
There was a desk, presumably for greeting guests in more typical circumstances. There were doors leading off the space. Some labeled as storage. A sign toward a bathroom. Some cushioned chairs with a small table between them.
It could have been the waiting room for a therapist's office and he would have believed that.
After Ilya locked the door behind them, with the added security of an internal lock only accessible by them, they walked toward the door identified by a small black keyhole stamped into the metal.
Ilya took Shane's hand, almost as if they were about to push their way through a crowd, and pulled him through behind him. The room beyond was both exactly what Shane had been expecting, and completely outside of the realm of his imagination.
They locked this door too once they entered.
The lights were soft and low. The room did an impressive job of walking the line between intimate and severe. Shane had expected an abundance of red. Instead, the room was largely black, accented with a deep green that was nearly black itself.
There were no windows, though curtains hung on some of the walls. The wall to their right in particular was covered in mirrors. Shane flushed at the thought of seeing himself reflected in them tonight.
The room they were entering had little purpose outside of exactly what it was set up for. Everything had a purpose that felt explicit in more ways than one. The cross propped against the wall. The padded spanking bench positioned nearby. Carefully placed restraints. There was even a large bed centered against the wall furthest from where they entered. Tables to hold implements. A large wooden frame stood near the back wall, almost like a swing set stripped of its swings. Shane's brain kept returning to that comparison even though he knew it was wrong. A thick bamboo bar spanned the top.
Ilya must have noticed the quizzical look Shane gave it.
"Rope," was all Ilya said.
The only hint of domesticity to be found in the room was the small fridge, half hidden by a curtain in the corner.
Otherwise there was nothing domestic about this room. Nothing at all that could be called accidental. Nothing that made him think about a single household chore.
They spent the first several minutes as themselves. Ilya and Shane, husbands. Looking around a new area. Occasionally testing furniture for sturdiness with a press of their hands. There were drawers that looked like they belonged in a museum to hold small artifacts. When Shane opened the top one he found a variety of impact implements.
And a sign assuring that all had been sanitized between uses, but that cavicide was available for peace of mind, as well as gloves and instructions on how to use it.
He was grateful Ilya had their bag of Shane's favourites over his shoulder, he would have felt the need to wipe down every item for his own sanity. That would have greatly cut into their evening. They had what could have passed, and had in a few nearly embarrassing instances, as a hockey gear bag which actually held a variety of paddles, canes, floggers, and other odds and ends.
The St. Andrew's cross, Shane noticed, had a padded section at the centre. And metal loops on each of its four points. Attachments for restraints. Even though he he'd come here expressly to utilize this sort of furniture, Shane couldn't help the way his flush deepened even more at the thought of it all.
He was simultaneously buzzing with anticipation, and dealing with a low sense of wrongness in his gut, the kind that always came when he went to new places that preempted new experiences. Especially when he knew he was minutes from being naked in this new space.
"Shane," Ilya said, showcasing his uncanny ability to know when Shane was about to spiral. When he spoke, his voice had shifted just slightly. Shane was no longer dealing with the sometimes silly, always sweet husband. This was someone else.
"Sit," Ilya instructed, nodding toward one of the two cushioned seats that had their own area in the play space.
Something changed inside of Shane in response. It always did. His eyes lowered and he felt the excitement, the kind that didn't feel anything like anxiety, start to take over.
Shane did as he was asked.
Ilya dragged the other chair closer so Shane could feel the heat pass between their knees, and he had no chance of avoiding the sheer impact of his presence.
"Tell me."
Shane's eyes went to Ilya's face—now a mask of indifference—before dropping to where his hands were entwined in his lap. He kept cracking his knuckles. A nervous habit.
Ilya reached across wordlessly, one hand over Shane's. At the contact, Shane reflexively flattened his hands on his thighs.
He breathed out. A sense of ease wrapped itself around him.
It was a feeling he had long since known only to appear when Ilya dropped any of the joking menace persona he wore on the ice, or the doting husband he became at home, and let his face take on a mask of cold indifference. It was a facade that at one point caused Shane great distress, in the past it arrived as a wall built between them, meant to keep Shane out.
That was no longer an issue. Shane was secure in the love Ilya felt for him, and now saw this persona as being a gateway into the unique feeling of weightlessness, of nothingness, that Ilya shepherded him through.
Shane swallowed deeply before answering. "I don't want to think tonight."
There was a shift in the contact between their knees as Ilya leaned back, in his periphery, Shane could see Ilya bring his hands up to his face in a contemplative position.
"I don't want to have to do anything right," Shane continued. "Or be able to do anything wrong."
Ilya remained quiet in the way that didn't leave the air between them feeling any lighter. No. If anything, it added to the weight Shane felt settling over him and pulling him down to a place accessible only to him and Ilya in moments like these. He kept himself above water though, needing to keep his head clear while they finalized negotiations.
They both knew the general shape of the evening, this was just pulling it into focus.
"I want to hurt."
He looked up after he said it. Ilya's eyes were locked on him. Appraising. Evaluating. And yet, somehow still loving.
"I only want to feel."
They had played around with sensory deprivation to an unfortunate outcome, an experience Shane still reflected on with an ugly sense of failure, even if Ilya assured him it was fine.
Shane wanted the opposite now. Wanted to become nothing more than sensation.
The smile on Ilya's face was warm in the way that liquefied Shane's insides.
"You want marks, yes?" Ilya confirmed.
"Yes," Shane answered immediately.
He was, once again, grateful for it being summer. It was the only time they could justify doing something like this without worrying about the marks Ilya would be decorating Shane with. A quiet way to claim him that Shane would feel for many days after.
The thought warmed him.
"I am going to get a drink from the fridge and sit back down," Ilya told him, nodding toward the fridge. "You will lay out the exact implements you want. However—" he smirked, "—I think I will get to choose one too. As long as there is nothing in there that is a limit tonight."
The last part was more of a question. He raised an eyebrow at Shane.
"Um, no whip," Shane said softly.
A flash of understanding, and possibly guilt, passed across Ilya's expression.
They had attempted the whip once, after Ilya had done his due diligence and practiced—outside at the cottage gave him ample space to find the correct movement to produce the snap of its tail. By all accounts, it should have been absolutely fine.
And it had been. But one flick too hard in just the wrong way had resulted in Shane's side splitting open. A quick way to end the scene that hadn't accounted for blood.
They hadn't attempted it since. Though Ilya had spent many nights since practicing on a pillow that had no chance of breaking.
Ilya reached forward and gripped Shane's chin. The pressure just teetered into painful. His beautiful hazel eyes pierced through Shane.
"Safeword."
"Red to stop."
The grip tightened when Shane didn't continue, and he let out a soft whimper before finishing.
"Yellow to slow. Green if it's good."
"Hmm, my good boy," Ilya said, leaning away from Shane. "I will want you on the cross first, I think. When you are done, I want you naked and on your knees waiting for me. Right where you belong."
Shane nodded without speaking, suddenly finding himself without words. He got up and smiled at Ilya's hand trailing down his side as he walked past.
Ilya went to the small fridge, loaded only with non-alcoholic options, and removed a can of something. Shane assumed it was a coke. Shane turned away from Ilya. Behind him, he heard the scrape of the chair as it was repositioned and the sound of Ilya settling in it once more. He heard the hiss of the can opening. Shane instinctively preened at Ilya watching him, stupidly wanting to somehow show off even at this task.
Ilya had left the bag near the large x-shaped cross on one side of the room. Shane stopped to grab a table and carry it over, so he had somewhere to lay the implements they would use. Shane knelt next to the bag and began sorting through what he hoped to use.
They had managed to collect a good variety over the past year or so as they both got a sense of what Ilya liked using and what Shane liked experiencing. Though, Shane thought with a smile, Ilya had experienced each himself.
He hadn't wanted to use anything on Shane without knowing how it felt himself, and Shane was the lucky person who got to provide that. Ilya had a good pain tolerance from being a hockey player for most of his life, but Ilya did not care for many impact toys.
Shane laid out a few different canes, one made of a heavier material which gave it a thuddy feeling along with its snap, another was made of twisted acrylic, the ridges dug into his skin when they used it. He left the rattan cane in the bag. It had a sharp bite that wasn't Shane's favourite.
After setting out two paddles, one purpleheart and a lighter maple, he grabbed two of his favourite floggers and then looked over his work. He felt ready.
As an after thought, he placed their leather cuffs on the table, he wasn't certain if Ilya planned to restrain him, but he wanted to be ready for any possibility.
He took a deep breath, trying to reduce the way his heart had climbed into his throat. His body already anticipated the way Ilya was going to love him in the exact way he needed that night.
Once he felt a little more settled, Shane undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor. The metal of his belt made a soft sound against the cement floor, and in an out of body moment, Shane was surprised to realize the floor wasn't cold, despite being entirely cement. Though it made him happy to not need his socks.
He thoughtlessly took off his shirt, folding it and setting it on the floor next to the gear bag before folding his pants as well. He was about to open his mouth and ask Ilya if he thought the floor was heated, when he heard Ilya clear his throat. He was tired of waiting.
He paused with his hands on his underwear thinking. Yes. Ilya had said naked.
He removed them and they received the same treatment as his other clothes. His cock was only half hard between his legs, still affected by the mere presence of his husband and the excitement of being in a new place while completely naked.
Soon enough, the cement was beneath his knees. He only waited, kneeling on the warm cement, for a few moments before Ilya's shoes came into view.
"Not looking to feel a sting, solnyshko?" Ilya asked with false concern. "Too bad. I like the sounds you make with this one."
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Ilya pulled out the light, thin cane and placed it on the table with the others. The rattan.
Shane's legs tensed beneath him at the choice. Remembering the way it bit into his thighs last time.
Ilya circled Shane where he knelt, his hand trailing over Shane's shoulders before coming to rest on the back of his head. His fingers threaded through Shane's hair and tugged his head back as he leaned down, hot breath brushing Shane's cheek.
Shane's eyes fluttered, but his gaze never met Ilya's.
"You took out cuffs."
When Shane didn't answer there was a sharp tug that drew his head back further.
"Yes," Shane gasped out. He closed his eyes tightly at the sensation.
All at once, Shane felt his brain slow. His breathing did too. His body suddenly felt oddly relaxed, despite its current position.
"We do not need them," Ilya said quietly, each word warm against Shane's face. "If I want you still, you will not move."
Shane whimpered as the hand in his hair gripped tighter.
"You are too desperate for me to misbehave," Ilya purred. "You will do as I say."
Part of Shane felt like he should be a little embarrassed how quickly he got hard when Ilya was like this.
He wasn't though. Ashamed, that is. Not at all.
It only ever made him want more.
Ilya's hand left Shane's hair, and he missed the touch immediately, his body unconsciously following after Ilya, who chuckled when Shane nearly tipped over.
Shane knelt there silently, his head naturally lowered again. He waited for further instructions. His body felt no inclination to move without being given express permission.
"Colour."
"Green."