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Ilya stares down at the box in his hands.
Inside the small black box lies a pair of nipple clamps. Shane had painstakingly researched the best pair and settled on these: a small set of tweezer-style clamps with an attachable chain and a small screw for adjusting pressure. Each clamp has little bells dangling on the end that add just a tiny bit of weight and will make a pretty noise when Ilya moves.
There had been so many options that Shane was overwhelmed at first — some of them even vibrate! — but these ones are well-reviewed and recommended for beginners.
Shane hovers nervously around Ilya, waiting for him to say something, anything. Does he like them? Is he scared? Is he not as into this idea as Shane?
Finally, Ilya lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “You weren’t kidding about clamps.”
Shane can’t tell from his tone if he’s into this or not, so he scrambles to cover his bases. Nervously, he begins to ramble. “Yeah, I wasn’t kidding, but you don’t have to — I just wanted to try them — I can still return them —“
Ilya brings the box closer to himself, as if trying to defend them from Shane. “No, no, don’t return them.”
“So you want to try them?” Shane asks, trying not to let too much hope bleed into his voice. He doesn’t want Ilya to think he’d be upset if he says no.
Ilya nods, a confident set to his jaw and determination in his eyes. “Yes. Right now.”
Shane’s eyes widen a little. “R-Right now? Okay, cool.” He hadn’t quite expected Ilya to be so eager, but now he’s getting hard just from the look in Ilya’s eye.
He tries to summon the headspace he was in when they’d last met and Shane had discovered Ilya’s sensitivity. He tried to remember the way he’d felt the first time he’d spanked Ilya, and especially the second time, when he’d been comfortably in control and let himself revel in the feeling. It was unspoken that Shane would be in charge tonight, and he’d done all the research he could do to prepare himself for it. Now he just needed to execute his plan.
He clears his throat and banishes the nervousness from his voice.
“Strip, then lay down on the bed,” he orders. He’s a little proud that his voice doesn’t even waver as he says it.
And to his surprise, Ilya hands him the box and begins to take his clothes off without any snarky comments, just a cocky smile as he strips. Well, actually, Shane is only a little bit surprised. Ilya could be obedient; he’d shown before that he’s willing to follow orders. Just usually not without some fight —
And then Ilya shucks his clothes and throws them haphazardly in the corner of the room, rather than folding them like Shane preferred. He smiles beatifically at Shane and goes to lay down on the bed, completely ignoring the mess he’d made, knowing that Shane would get annoyed but still clean it up for him later.
Ah, there’s the brattiness that Shane’s used to.
It makes it easier for Shane to start slipping into the mindset he has for dominating Ilya, the side of himself that wants to be mean to Ilya because he knows how much they both enjoy it.
He quirks a brow but can’t help his fond smile.
“Are you trying to get punished?” He teases.
Ilya smiles back at him from the bed.
“Maybe,” he practically purrs, stretching to get himself comfortable. He looks gorgeous as usual, all golden curls and golden skin. Maybe it’s okay to finally admit it to himself: Shane wants to make a mess of this man.
He positions himself next to Ilya and gets to work.
Using the barest amount of pressure, Shane lightly circles his areolas. For how gentle he’s being, it’s amazing how quickly Ilya’s nipples harden to stiff peaks just from light teasing. Ilya squirms and makes impatient noises beneath him, but Shane pays him no mind.
“When are you going to put the clamps on?” Ilya asks, though he sounds more curious than frustrated. Perhaps he imagined that Shane would just clip the clamps on right away and that would be that.
“Be patient,” Shane gently chides him, smiling when Ilya scowls at him but doesn’t say anything else. He just lets Shane continue his soft ministrations, teasing him with just enough stimulation to get him hard.
After another minute Shane lightly pinches the buds of both nipples and rolls them between his fingers for a few moments. They’re erect and pink and perfect. Ilya moans and rocks his hips upwards, then whines when Shane takes his fingers off.
“I think you’re ready for the clamps,” Shane announces, grabbing the little black box off the nightstand.
The clamps’ bells jingle delightfully as he carefully picks them up out of the box. Ilya eyes them with a mix of desire and apprehension. He is very sensitive, after all, much more so than Shane. And while Shane had tried them himself, both on his earlobe as suggested online and on his own nipple just to test them out, he knew the experience would be much more intense for Ilya.
“Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll take them off,” Shane gently instructs.
Ilya scoffs and tries to deflect. “I’m not going to —“
“Ilya,” Shane cuts him off. “I’m serious.”
Ilya pouts (though Shane would never call it a pout out loud, for his own safety) but settles back against the pillows, still eyeing the little black clamps, as if both turned on by the sight of them and yet a little wary.
“Fine,” he eventually says. “I’m ready.”
Shane nods and decides to take Ilya at his word. He leans down and gently pinches the bud of Ilya’s nipple, earning him a gasp, and carefully places the clamp exactly how he’d been instructed on the internet — not directly on the sensitive tip, but rather at the base where the bud meets the areola. Ilya moans lightly at the increased pressure, though the clamps are on the loosest setting. Still, Shane has to check in with him again.
“How does that feel?” He asks cautiously. “Is it too much, or do you want the other one?”
“Feels…feels good. Hurts, but in a good way,” Ilya says, reassuring Shane. His pupils are dilated enough that Shane can tell he’s not the only one enjoying himself. “Put the other one on.”
Again, Shane pinches the bud of his right nipple this time and carefully attaches the clamp. The little bells on the ends jingle lightly as Ilya squirms, panting as he adjusts to the feeling.
Shane quickly takes a look at the clock on his bedside table. The internet had recommended that the clamps be on for no more than half an hour, but Shane isn’t going to risk nerve damage or any of the other dangers of restricted blood flow. He would give himself twenty minutes to play with Ilya. Twenty minutes should be enough time to break the Russian down to a whimpering mess. At least, that’s the goal.
Determined to wreck the man below him, Shane reaches down to whisper in Ilya’s ear. “Do you still want to be punished?”
Ilya shivers and after a moment, he jerks his head in a nod. Some part of Shane is surprised that he admitted it, though he hadn’t forced Ilya to verbalize it. Maybe saying it out loud would have been too much, but this freely-given permission is just as satisfying.
Shane smiles and presses his lips to Ilya’s, soaking in the way he melts into his kiss. Ilya is already becoming a little more malleable, ready to be played with. It makes Shane feel warm inside and out, to be trusted like this. He loses himself in Ilya’s mouth for a minute, until a spark of mischief leads him to tug on the left clamp while Ilya’s distracted.
The squeak Ilya makes into his mouth is simultaneously hot and adorable and really funny. Shane breaks the kiss to giggle while Ilya scowls and slaps lightly at his bicep.
“Mean,” he says accusingly, but by now Shane knows he’s just playing around.
“I could be a whole lot meaner,” Shane says teasingly, lightly fiddling with the clamps to make Ilya squirm. It’s true, and it’s also an invitation — does Ilya want Shane to be meaner?
“Are you going to punish me any time this century?” Ilya retorts mockingly. That cocky grin is back on his face, though a little wobbly with effort not to moan at Shane’s fingers gently toying with the clamps.
Well. That answers Shane’s question pretty decisively.
With the ease of a professional athlete, Shane grips Ilya’s hips and promptly flips him over. Then he guides Ilya’s hips to raise until he’s on his knees, his chest pressed down against the sheets and his ass raised high in the air. Finally, Shane nudges Ilya’s thighs wider open, and he obediently spreads his legs, leaving him thoroughly exposed for Shane’s viewing pleasure. All of this happens within a few seconds, and Shane can see the flush crawling down Ilya’s neck.
He palms a handful of Ilya’s plush ass and leans down to murmur teasingly in his ear. “You really wanna get spanked again that badly?”
He’s close enough to feel the way Ilya shudders at his words. That’s enough of an answer for Shane. He knows he won’t get a verbal “yes,” but Ilya’s body language speaks loud and clear.
Instead of giving Ilya a chance to reply with something snarky or defensive, Shane simply starts spanking him in earnest, ripping a moan from Ilya’s chest.
“Ah! Fuck!”
Each smack drives Ilya’s hips forward, and with each resounding clap the little bells hanging from the clamps jingle delicately. The contrast between the violent-sounding spanks and the tinkling sound of the bells is addictive to Shane, so much so that he adds a little more force to his next spank right along the generous curve of Ilya’s ass. Ilya responds beautifully, his cry mixing with the jingle of the bells into a sound Shane would definitely be jerking off to later.
Ilya’s skin is quickly turning pink, on its way to becoming a beautiful ruby red. He’s squirming and his legs are trembling with effort not to break position, letting out curses in both English and Russian whenever Shane targets his sit spots. Meanwhile, Shane keeps a careful eye on the clock. He has to make sure he doesn’t lose himself in the rhythmic smack-jingle-cry of the spanking, because he has a quite limited amount of time and a plan to execute.
With the clock ticking in the back of his mind, Shane leans down again to taunt Ilya. “Is this what you wanted?”
Ilya whimpers but otherwise doesn’t respond, so Shane leans back and smacks him again, making sure to cover both cheeks with the slap. Ilya cries out again and jerks forward, the bells tinkling as he does.
“Is this what you wanted?” Shane repeats. He’s teasing, yes, but having the confirmation doesn’t hurt. Getting Ilya to admit to anything is usually like pulling teeth, but in these circumstances all he usually needs is a little…encouragement. Like another spank, carefully aiming to catch the exposed inner curve of his thigh. This makes Ilya yowl into the sheets, choking on a sob.
“Don’t make me ask again,” Shane says, because he’s really sinking deep into his role as the dominant. And, he suspects, Ilya is sinking beautifully into his role as the submissive.
Ilya cranes his head to meet Shane’s eyes. His eyes are teary but his gaze is fiery and focused on Shane. He looks like he’s losing himself and using Shane’s presence to keep him grounded.
“Yes, sir,” is what he finally croaks out.
Shane’s breath hitches. Sir.
Ilya seems too far gone to be embarrassed about calling him Sir. Or maybe the flush on his face betrays how embarrassed he is, and yet he said it anyway. Either way, it simultaneously makes Shane’s cock harder and heart softer for Ilya.
“Good boy,” Shane replies hoarsely, because he remembers how Ilya had reacted the first time he’d called him that, clenching around Shane’s cock as he came.
And the reaction this time seems to confirm how much the term affects Ilya, who shudders and has to look away from Shane. At the same time, he pushes his ass back into Shane’s hands, signalling what he wants.
Ilya really has been a good boy tonight, taking his “punishment” so well. So Shane gives him what he wants and continues spanking him, savoring the way his ass bounces with every smack.
Ilya makes for a pretty picture. He’s got his perfect ass raised high in the air, red from Shane’s handprints marking the surface of his soft skin. His leaking cock hangs heavy and neglected between his legs, and his tear-stained face is pressed into the pillows to hide his moans. Shane never knew that Ilya cried so easily, but all it takes is a good spanking and a pair of clamps. Maybe even less. Ilya had teared up just from getting his nipples played with too much last time.
He’s just so, so sensitive.
It’s possible that no one has ever been as sexy as Ilya Rozanov. At least in Shane’s humble opinion.
He eyes the clock. Ten minutes left. Ilya’s ass and the tops of his thighs are evenly coated in red, so Shane considers it a job well done and moves on to the next phase of his plan.
He flips Ilya over again with ease and straddles him, briefly grinding down against his hard cock to hear him groan. Shane wonders to himself at how much Ilya seems to enjoy being manhandled. Shane knows the feeling. Ilya has been remarkably pliant, letting himself be maneuvered and positioned exactly as Shane wants him, though he winces when his sore ass touches the mattress. Shane looks into his eyes and finds them red-rimmed, pupils dilated, slightly glazed over.
“You’ve been so good for me,” Shane murmurs, running his hands through Ilya’s curls. Ilya pushes his head into Shane’s hand, as though seeking more of the comfort or the praise. “Do the clamps still feel good?”
Ilya bites his lower lip and nods. “Would feel better if you touched them,” he says with a smile.
Shane laughs. “Can you handle that?”
Ilya nods again, looking determined. “I can handle whatever you give me.”
He says it so earnestly and seriously that Shane can’t help but believe him. Maybe it’s Ilya’s pride or his natural competitiveness speaking, but Shane knows he’s strong-willed. He can take whatever Shane gives him, and if not, they have a word to end things.
So Shane smiles and leans down to tug on a clamp, not lightly at all. Ilya curses and lifts his chest up into Shane’s touch, possibly trying to relieve the pressure, possibly asking for more. Shane lets go for a second to give Ilya a moment to breathe, then uses his other hand to tug on both at the same time. Again, Ilya’s chest arches up as he writhes, giving a high-pitched whine.
Shane almost wants to keep asking if it feels good, because in the back of his mind he’ll always be worried about whether or not Ilya is having a good time, but he can read Ilya’s body language well enough to know he’s enjoying himself. His cock is still rock hard beneath Shane’s ass, and his hands are fisting the sheets in an effort to control himself, or maybe just to give his hands something to do. He’s trusting Shane to give him what he needs.
Shane flicks one of the clamps to hear the bell ring and Ilya whimpers pathetically. It’s a beautiful sound that Shane wishes he could record and listen to later. But he’d much rather be here in the present, with Ilya below him, making pretty sounds with every touch of Shane’s hands.
Ilya is rutting up into the air again, fucking against nothing, like he can’t help himself but move. Unspoken, he knows better than to touch himself without permission, but he can’t seem to control his hips.
If Shane were any crueler, he might tell Ilya to stay still, and in this state, he thinks Ilya might even obey. But it’s so hot seeing Ilya’s desperation for any kind of relief that Shane would rather just see him shamelessly hump the air.
Still, he should probably remind Ilya who has control tonight. He gently grabs Ilya’s chin to get him to focus his glassy eyes on Shane.
“You’re not allowed to cum until I give you permission,” Shane orders. He’s finding that he quite likes to give orders to Ilya. It’s also important because Ilya has proven he can finish just from getting his nipples played with, and Shane doesn’t want this to end early.
Maybe it’s a sign of how far gone Ilya is that he doesn’t even protest or ask questions, he just nods and sucks Shane’s thumb into his mouth.
Shane’s mouth goes dry.
As usual, he’d had a plan going into this. The plan was to focus entirely on Ilya, with that deeply analytical, intense, single-minded focus that tends to intimidate his competitors on the ice.
But the way Ilya is sucking Shane’s thumb and swirling his tongue around it tells Shane that Ilya wants something different. Ilya is anything but a selfish lover, after all, and Shane knows he genuinely loves sucking his dick.
Well, this wasn’t part of the plan, but Shane can make an adjustment.
He eyes the clock. Eight minutes left.
Refocusing on Ilya, Shane strokes the side of his face as Ilya sucks on his thumb. “Would you rather have my cock instead, baby? Is that what you want?”
Ilya nods enthusiastically and speaks around Shane’s thumb. “Yes sir. Please.”
And when he’s asking so sweetly with that desperate expression on his face, how could Shane deny him anything?
So he slides his thumb out of Ilya’s mouth and carefully maneuvers to switch places with Ilya, so that Shane is laying against the pillows and Ilya can lay between his legs. It gives Shane a perfect view of Ilya’s red ass, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on that. As soon as Ilya is between his legs, he takes Shane’s cock in hand with the attitude of a man starving.
In one practiced movement, Ilya opens his mouth and sucks Shane down nearly to the root. Shane moans as his cock hits Ilya’s palate and then the back of his throat. Fuck, Ilya’s always been so good at giving head, but now he seems especially eager to please. He keeps looking up at Shane with those teary eyes, looking for — for signs of approval, maybe, or for reassurance. Something Shane can’t put a name on. Whatever it is, Shane wants desperately to give it to him.
“God, Ilya, you’re so good at this,” Shane murmurs appreciatively, admiring the way Ilya looks up at him through his stupidly long eyelashes. Ilya’s eyes flutter shut as he moans around his cock and it makes Shane groan in turn.
He fists his hand in Ilya’s curls and gently guides his mouth up and down his cock. The bells on the clamps jingle with every bob of his head.
“Fuck, you’re so hot, so good for me,” Shane moans, slowly losing the careful rhythm he’d been setting. Ilya obediently allows himself to be used as Shane gradually lets go of his tightly-held control. More tears spill over Ilya’s lashes as his cock hits the back of his throat relentlessly, but he doesn’t tap out or complain, and in fact he looks incredibly satisfied when Shane finally cums down his throat. He keeps suckling until Shane’s nearly too overstimulated and has to pull Ilya off.
He’s gazing up at Shane with the most beautiful look on his face, so he takes some time to just revel in Ilya’s expression. He looks so content. He looks like he’s seconds from floating away.
Shane wonders if this is how he looks when he embraces submission. Probably. He’s definitely felt that way before.
Ilya’s never made fun of him for it, though. Just like Shane would never make fun of how submissive Ilya is being for him, not when it’s a sign of such absolute trust — to float away and trust that Shane would bring him back down to Earth.
He brings his hand up to cradle Ilya’s face, and he nuzzles against his palm.
“You’ve been so, so good for me,” Shane says tenderly. “Are you ready for your reward?”
Ilya nods, and the look in his eyes is dreamy. He’s looking at Shane with such devotion that for a moment, Shane almost feels overwhelmed. What did he do to deserve a man like Ilya Rozanov looking at him like this? Like he’d do anything, obey any order, to be good for Shane? It makes his breath hitch and his eyes sting with the beginning of tears, but there’s no time for that. He still has a plan to execute, after all.
He switches positions with Ilya again, gently laying him against the pillows and settling himself back atop Ilya’s lap. He checks the clock again, and he’s got one minute left before the clamps are coming off.
He leans down to give Ilya a quick kiss, only Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s shoulders and pulls him in deeper. Shane allows himself to sink into the kiss for approximately thirty seconds, and then he breaks for air. Ilya looks breathless and kiss-drunk beneath him; it’s a beautiful look on him.
Shane locks eyes with Ilya and brings his hands up to both clamps, then twists them both cruelly. Ilya practically squeals, arching his back and digging his fingers into the meat of Shane’s shoulders hard enough to bruise.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He hisses, crying out again as Shane twists in the opposite direction. “I’m gonna —“
“No you’re not,” Shane cuts him off ruthlessly. “You’re not gonna cum without permission.”
Ilya sobs loudly but nods, still writhing beneath Shane and holding onto him for dear life.
The timer in the back of Shane’s head goes off. It’s finally time for the clamps to come off. Shane could be nice and simply undo them, then soothe Ilya’s poor, abused nipples. Or Shane could be mean about it.
He decides to be mean about it.
The clamps are on the loosest setting, after all, so Shane grabs them both and pulls them off. Ilya wails as his nipples are pulled and stretched with the clamps until finally, finally, the clamps slide off. Ilya moans as the blood begins to rush back to his nipples.
His nipples are red and swollen from the harsh treatment. Shane’s mouth waters a little at the sight. He wants nothing more than to suck one into his mouth and soothe away the sting with his tongue. But first he needs to give Ilya a second to adjust.
“Please,” is what Ilya finally whimpers out. He’s looking up at Shane with teary puppy-dog eyes that Shane could never hope to deny. Except — he’s still going to make Ilya beg for it first.
“Please what?” Shane asks sweetly, knowing he’s being mean and having a great time.
Ilya whines and shamelessly pushes his chest up into Shane’s hands, apparently in a bid to encourage Shane to touch him more.
“Please,” Ilya repeats desperately. He’s blushing a rosy red all the way down to his heaving chest, but his embarrassment is buried beneath his apparent neediness. “Please touch me.”
“Touch you where? Here?” Shane says, circling the areola of his nipple with his pointer finger. He’s expecting Ilya to say he wants Shane to finally touch his neglected cock, but instead Ilya whines and nods frantically.
“I’ve been good,” Ilya says pleadingly. “Please.”
“You have been very good for me,” Shane concedes, pretending to think about it as his finger circles closer and closer to the swollen bud of his nipple. He can’t help but grin at the way Ilya responds to his teasing.
“Very good,” Ilya agrees, panting. His arms are still wrapped around Shane’s shoulders, not-so-subtly trying to pull him in closer. “The best. Please touch me.”
Shane smiles, charmed. Self-indulgently, he takes handfuls of Ilya’s generous pecs and squeezes, making him groan, before he finally puts his hands where Ilya wants them. He drags the flat of his thumbs in circles along the overly-sensitive tips, gradually increasing the pressure, and Ilya moans loudly, wantonly. He’s far beyond caring about what he sounds like, too absorbed in how he feels, and that’s exactly how Shane wants him.
Shane thinks he’s addicted to making Ilya moan. He’s addicted to the way Ilya whimpers and writhes when he rolls the buds of his nipples between his fingers. He’s addicted to the way Ilya begs so prettily for more.
“Tell me what you want,” Shane says, because he would give Ilya the world if he asked for it, though he suspects Ilya will ask to cum. Instead, what he gets is —
“Wanna be good for you,” Ilya responds brokenly, honestly, staring Shane right in the eye with a desperate look that goes straight to Shane’s dick.
At this moment, Shane has no choice but to kiss Ilya hard enough to bruise. It suddenly feels like an inadequate means of expressing his affection for the man below him, but he tries to convey that feeling anyways through his lips. When that doesn’t feel like enough, he murmurs praise as he kisses down the side of his neck, down his pecs, and finally to his sore nipples.
“You’re already so good for me,” Shane says reverently, placing feather-light kisses on the tips of his nipples, earning a mewling sound he almost can’t believe came from Ilya. “So sensitive, too. Doesn’t it feel better now that the clamps are off?”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead he finally gives into his desire and sucks one of the pert pink nipples into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make Ilya buck his hips and thread his fingers through Shane’s hair, pulling him ever closer.
“Feels so good — fuck!” Ilya cries out as Shane lightly rolls the bud between his teeth. “Please, sir, please, I can’t —“
He’s babbling, mostly repeating the word please as Shane continues to lave both his nipples with his tongue, using his free hand to play with whichever one isn’t occupied by his mouth. He pinches the left one harshly, digging his nail in slightly, just to hear Ilya wail unabashedly again and throw his head back onto the pillows.
“If you do that, I’m gonna cum — I can’t — I wanna be good!” Ilya pleads breathlessly, and that’s what finally breaks Shane’s resolve to tease Ilya out of his mind. Ilya has been nothing but good, and he’s taken this torture so well, and anyways he sounds like he’s halfway out of his mind already — he deserves his reward for good behavior.
Shane snakes his free hand between them to grab hold of Ilya’s furiously leaking cock, still working his nipples with his mouth. Ilya’s whole body jolts at the contact and his hips fuck up into Shane’s tight grip.
“Cum for me, baby,” Shane says coaxingly against Ilya’s skin.
It only takes a few strokes and Shane’s thumb gliding over Ilya’s sensitive glans, and then Ilya is sobbing as he cums, painting his stomach with white stripes. Shane works him through it, gentler with his kisses and with his hand, until Ilya is shuddering with post-orgasm sensitivity.
“Good boy,” Shane says appreciatively, and Ilya whimpers brokenly in response, looking and sounding like he’s thousands of miles away.
Ilya’s so deep in subspace that Shane is briefly worried he won’t be able to pull him back down to Earth. So he just holds Ilya and whispers praises to him, waiting patiently for Ilya to return to him. Finally, his eyes lose that glazed-over look and some focus returns, but Ilya still doesn’t say anything, looking too blissed-out to even speak.
But Shane needs him to speak, to confirm that everything’s okay, so he finally stops praising Ilya long enough to ask, “Are you okay, baby?”
Ilya nods dreamily, his eyes finally finding Shane’s. He’s smiling in the way that crinkles the corners of his eyes and yet makes him look ten years younger. Predictably, Shane’s heart melts at the sight.
“You can’t be perfect at everything,” Ilya whines in an over-dramatic voice. “It’s not fair.”
Shane grins, pleased and proud to hear he’d been perfect. He can’t help but bask in the praise offered up by his longtime rival on the ice and in the bedroom.
Instead of retorting with something witty, Shane refocuses on the task at hand. He rummages through the side table drawer and plops a mini bag of Oreos onto Ilya’s chest.
“Are you going to feed them to me again?” Ilya asks teasingly, but it kind of sounds like he wouldn’t be opposed to being hand-fed. It also sounds like his voice is a little rough from all the sound he’s been making. Getting his throat fucked probably hadn’t helped.
“Sure,” Shane says easily, “but do you want me to make you some tea first? For your throat?”
Ilya hums and snuggles closer to Shane, popping open the packet of Oreos. “Maybe later. And only if there’s honey in it.”
Shane rolls his eyes and presses a kiss into Ilya’s hair, snuggling closer to him in turn. Ilya only likes tea when it’s been sweetened to a degree that he tastes sugar more than the flavor of the tea.
“You really feel okay?” Shane asks quietly, stroking his fingers through Ilya’s curls. “Were the clamps fun?”
Ilya turns pink again but answers confidently. “Yes, they were fun. I didn’t know they’d make me more sensitive.”
Shane grins. “That’s probably the best part about them.”
Ilya chomps on an Oreo but seems to agree. Then he grumbles, “But I definitely won’t be wearing a shirt tomorrow.”
Oh, right. Shane had anticipated that Ilya would be too sensitive to wear a shirt afterwards. That’s when he remembers the other things he had stored in the bedside drawer.
He pulls out the bottle of arnica lotion and sets it down on the nightstand for later. Right now is for cuddling, later will be for lotion. But the new thing in his bedside drawer is the little box of plain bandages. He holds them up to show Ilya.
“I think I figured out the shirt problem,” Shane says proudly. “You can cover them up with these, and then it won’t be so bad when they rub against your shirt.”
Ilya stares at the box, then stares at Shane, then starts chuckling. “Very clever, Hollander. Now feed me my Oreos so I can recover from your cruel torture.”
Shane laughs and obeys, setting down the box on the nightstand and bringing an Oreo to Ilya’s mouth.