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It was late afternoon when Shane got back from the grocery store. He stumbled into the cottage with his arms full of bags, expecting a certain tall Russian to be there waiting to help him put them away, but the place was quiet besides the soft sound of Anya snoring on the living room rug.
He put the cold items in the fridge and freezer, leaving the rest on the counter as he called out, “Ilya?” And he went to look for him. “In here" a voice called from the master bedroom.
Ilya was waiting for him on their bed, a stern look on his face. “Come here, Hollander" he said, patting his knee, and the dark-haired man approached nervously, sitting gingerly down on his lap. “Is there something you want to tell me?” He asked him, and Shane shook his head. He knew full well what his partner was getting at and was quickly realizing that somehow, he had been caught red-handed.
"Hm" Ilya said, nodding like he was thinking it over. "So, you call your mother and tell her that someone rear-ended you in the parking lot, but not your husband?” “She called you?!” Shane had the audacity to sound betrayed, and Ilya was not amused in the slightest. His voice was deadly calm as he went on.
“She called to check on you; she said your call cut off, and she tried to call you back, but no answer." "My phone died," Shane tried to excuse, and Ilya’s eyes gleamed. “You go somewhere alone, with dying phone, you get in an accident that could have badly hurt you, and you don’t call ME first? Do you have any idea how scared I am when I got that call, Shane?!”
Shane smiled weakly, rubbing his husband’s chest as he prepared to try and talk himself out of trouble. “I’m sorry, babe; I promise I’m ok. I wasn’t hurt; it was just a little fender bender."
He paused, trying to look cute and innocent as he admitted, “I just didn’t want to worry you, or piss you off because, y’know, it’s your car, and there’s a dent in it." Ilya scowled as he went on, “So I thought I’d just come home in one piece and butter you up a little bit before I told you" and now the Russian was downright furious.
“I do not care about stupid fucking car, Hollander! I care about stupid fucking you! Home! Safe! I'm in my bed to sleep! You tell me FIRST when these things happen! I am not some silly boyfriend; I am husband! o chem ty dumal?!”
“Ok, ok" Shane tried to soothe, cupping his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to scare you; it’ll never happen again, ok? I’ll always call you first, even if it means getting in trouble."
“Oh, you are in trouble" Ilya assured him, resting his forehead against his own. He was still angry with him, but he had an idea brewing for how to handle that. “I think," he said, pausing and letting out a breath as he rubbed his husband’s thigh and hip. "I think you need to go over my knee for this, malysh. I think you need very hot, sore bottom to remember who you belong to, so you never forget again to be safe, hm?”
The shorter man bit his lip, a little nervous, but more than a little intrigued at the idea of his first real punishment. If it was going to get him back into his husband’s good graces, he was all for trying it; plus, it sounded hot. "Ok" he said, nodding, and Ilya said, "Ok" and slid him off his lap gently, rising to his feet.
“I am going to need a minute," he explained, “because I do not want to hurt you for real. I will take Anya for walk. When I get back I want you bent over the bed with your bare bottom up, vy ponimayete?”
“Yes, sir" Shane said, and Ilya leaned in and kissed him firmly, patting his cheek before he turned and walked out the door. The dark-haired man was left to his own scrambled thoughts as he tore off his clothes and got himself ready.
When Ilya returned, the house was deathly silent. He let Anya off her leash, giving her a bone to keep her busy before making his way to the bedroom. The fresh air had effectively calmed him. He wasn’t really angry with Shane anymore, not even as he had examined the sizable dent in his bumper, cursing in Russian under his breath. The accident hadn’t been his fault, after all. All was forgiven, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from teaching him a much-deserved lesson for trying to keep the incident from him. If a spanking was a form of communication, Shane was going to hear him loud and clear.
The sight that greeted Ilya when he reached their bedroom door practically stopped his heart. Shane was there in all his glory, naked and bent over the bed exactly as he had instructed. His lover was facing away from him, hips arched upward so that his ass was on full display.
“Hi, Solnyshko," he said, not wanting to startle the other man as he approached, but Shane’s pulse began to race in anticipation anyway as he crossed the room and sat down beside him. Ilya placed a hand on the small of his back and rubbed it down over his cheeks, humming to himself at how beautiful his husband was like this, just waiting for a firm hand to correct him.
Ilya took note of the open bottle of lube on the nightstand and couldn’t help but grin. “You prepped yourself for me?” And his lover nodded. “Yes, Papa, I wanted to be ready for you." Ilya leaned down and kissed his lips, purring, "Mmm, such a good boy. Too bad it will not save you tonight. Come here."
He patted his lap, and Shane laid himself across it, mouth dry in anticipation as Ilya rubbed a hand up his back and then down over him again, pressing the shorter man over so that his butt was angled up. “This is to remind you whose good boy you are" he said in his ear as he squeezed a cheek, “because even when you are naughty, you are mine."
He brought down his hand in emphasis on the last word, giving Shane a first, sharp smack that echoed through the bedroom, and the dark-haired man gasped at how much it stung. “I will not have you try to hide something like this from me again" Ilya said sternly. "Do you understand?” “Yes, Papa" he whimpered. "Please spank me."
And Ilya did; he was ruthless as he brought down swat after heavy swat, painting his lover’s pale skin a deep shade of pink. He stopped every now and then to give him a rough squeeze or rub, keeping them in constant contact and making sure to spread out his strokes as he worked in a circle around the blushing flesh, but he held nothing back, letting Shane know just how badly he had misbehaved.
The other man was starting to get in his head about it as the burning slaps on his backside continued, anxiety bubbling up and causing him to squirm in more pain than pleasure. “S-stop!” He finally choked it out, and Ilya’s hand left him immediately, replaced with a gentle one on the small of his back as Shane threw himself up to his knees.
“I’m sorry!” He wailed, “I’m so sorry, I deserve this, keep going, I’m bad! I’m bad!" and Ilya’s heart broke.
“Oh no, malysh" he said softly, scooping him up into his arms and hugging him tightly. “No, no, no, we are done, come here." Shane covered his face with his hands, sobbing into them, and Ilya gently moved them away again, kissing at the red splotches and the tears and shamelessly wiping away snot with his hand. “You are not bad, my baby; you are so good. The best, perfect for me, moye serdtse, you are my whole heart, moy luybov; just let me hold you, huh? Just let Papa hold you."
Shane gave up the fight, crying into Ilya’s neck as he rocked him, tears welling up in his own eyes at how distraught his lover was. They stayed like this for a long time, the dark-haired man letting his emotions flow from the safety of his husband’s lap as he praised him softly, in English and Russian, kissing his neck and very gently rubbing his sore bottom. “What do you need from me, sweetheart?” Ilya asked, “How can we make it better?” And Shane sniffed deeply, letting out a shaky breath.
“Fuck me" he whispered hoarsely, and Ilya froze. "Are you sure?” He asked, and Shane nodded, straddling his lap and whining into his neck, "Please, I need you." "Ok, moy malysh." He said, softly kissing his cheek and his jaw as he ran his hands carefully down his body, “I make love to you now, ah? You are the best boy, let me show you."
Ilya pulled off his shirt and lifted his hips to shove his pants and underwear down, kicking them off his feet. He grabbed his cock and positioned it for Shane, who sank down onto it with a hiss. Ilya cupped his ass gently, spreading it to try and keep away any sting as their skin shifted against one another.
The curly-haired man had an idea then. He placed a steady hand at the small of his back as he leaned over and grabbed the lube from the nightstand. He poured the rest of the bottle out over his husband’s butt, chucking it so he could rub the cool liquid in with both hands as he gently began to thrust his hips up into him. "Papa" Shane whimpered, resting their foreheads together, and Ilya crooned, “Papa is right here, my sweet boy; I’ve got you. You stay just like this for me, da? Let me do all the work."
He held Shane up and open as he continued to thrust up into him steadily, kissing along his neck and shoulder. The smaller man whimpered in response, pushing his knees down into the bed and leaning forward, pushing Ilya onto his back, wanting to ride him.
Ilya stroked his thigh and cupped his face in a hand, and Shane leaned into the touch, taking his thumb into his mouth and sucking on it, moaning around the digit. He braced himself with a flat palm on his lover’s chest, using the leverage to rock his hips back and forth. The curly haired man moaned back, planting his feet and thrusting up. When Shane released his thumb to gasp, he placed it against the crease just above his entrance. The Russian pressed it down and in slightly, further stimulating the tight ring of his rim.
Shane let out a high-pitched noise, his emotions rising again, and Ilya sat up again to be closer to him, pressing their foreheads together as he soothed, “What is it, detka? Tell me, what do you need?”
Shane shuddered and shook his head, words proving difficult. Instead, he climbed off of Ilya and crawled up the bed to their pillows, reaching for him, and the curly haired man came to him immediately, getting the unspoken message. He took Shane in his arms from behind, intertwining their fingers and pressing them over his lover’s heart as he slid back into him. Ilya gripped his pulsing member in the other hand, stroking him in time with the thrusts he resumed. It wasn’t rough but steady, the headboard hitting the wall in the rhythm of their lovemaking.
When Shane came, it was with a high-pitched wail, and Ilya was right behind him, filling him up. The dark-haired man began to cry again softly as the last of his adrenaline left him. Ilya moved to pull out, but he made a noise in the back of his throat and squeezed his hand, whining, "Don't leave me." Ilya’s heart dropped, and he placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, nuzzling his temple with his forehead. “I will never leave you, moy lyubov," he assured, but he did as he asked and stayed inside of him, rubbing his hip and upper thigh. “Why don’t you nap for a little while, hm?” Ilya suggested, “I’m right here, I’ll take care of you." Shane nodded and sniffed, closing his eyes and beginning to drift.
When he opened them again, the sun was fading over the cottage. Ilya wasn’t beside him, and there wasn’t a familiar stickiness on his belly or in his ass. He glanced at the nightstand where a used rag lay next to a can of ginger ale, still cold. It made him smile as he sat up and stretched.
Shane scanned himself. Besides a dull ache in his backside, he decided that he felt pretty good. He was relaxed, if not a little chilly, without his favorite human heater wrapped around him. He got out of bed and carefully pulled on some loose sweats, not bothering with underwear, and Ilya’s Boston Raiders hoodie that was hanging on the back of the bedroom door. Then he grabbed the ginger ale and chugged it as he went in search of the man he loved.
He found him sitting on the stone steps behind the cottage, smoking a cigarette as Anya chased her vibrating pig toy around the yard. He turned when he heard him approach, looking like he’d been caught. "Sorry" he said. “I’ll put it out" but Shane shook his head and murmured, "It's fine” as he crouched beside him and sat gingerly onto the ground. Ilya flinched watching him but leaned into the touch when he wrapped his arms around his bare chest and rested his chin on his shoulder.
“I made spaghetti" the curly haired man said, taking his last drag and stubbing it out on the concrete, “and I defrosted more of the sauce your dad gave us last week. Will heat it up, if you are ready for it." Shane nodded. "In a minute" he said, eyeing his lover as he asked, "Are you ok?”
“I’m fine" Ilya said with a sigh, looking out over the water, "just thinking…”
"About?" Shane asked.
“It is my fault" he said quietly. “I should have given you a safe word, or color. I should have looked it up; I am lazy, it is not ok." His voice broke as he said, “I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I did not think this would happen-"
“No!” Shane interrupted, tears threatening to form in his own eyes again as he climbed into his partner’s lap. “First of all, you didn’t hurt me." Ilya gave him an incredulous look. “You can barely sit, Hollander," he said quietly. “And I consented to that," Shane reminded him. "Would you have done it if I hadn’t?”
“Of course not" Ilya said, brow furrowing in concern as Shane pressed on. “And did you stop the minute I told you to?” "Yes" Ilya said quietly, playing with his fingers and avoiding his eyes. “And you took care of me after, didn’t you? You held me and let me cry all over you. You gave me soft sex when I asked for it and made sure I came first; you cuddled me and told me how good I was. You wiped cum out of my fucking ass, Ilya! While I slept!”
“And you did not move once" Ilya said quietly, “probably too exhausted."
"Well, it’s been a long day" Shane said, thinking of the parking lot incident that had started all of this. "Maybe I needed what you gave me." He softened again as he took his husband’s face in his hands and murmured gently, "Look at me” and the Russian man reluctantly raised his blue-green eyes to meet his husband’s soft brown ones.
“Not everything that happens to me is your fault, sweetheart. I may be your baby, but I’m not a real baby, I can hold my own. What I did today was stupid, and you had a right to be upset about it. It's not your fault that it didn’t go exactly like you thought it would, ok? Shit happens, maybe we just need some ground rules to make sure we understand each other first, huh? and you’re not lazy, you know how I hate when you say that””
Ilya chuckled bitterly, turning his face away again to try and hide a tear that streaked down his cheek, but Shane had none of it, frustrated as he turned him back to face him again. “Have you ever done this before?” He asked pointedly, and Ilya gave him a confused look. “Yes, I have always been a top, you know this."
"No" Shane said, “not just a top” He paused, voice softening just a little “A dom, have you ever been someone’s dom, like this, before?”
The curly haired man finally looked at him for a moment before softly shaking his head. “No, dominant, yes, but like us?” He paused before admitting quietly, “I have never been with anyone like I am with you."
"Ok" Shane said, nodding. "Then you’re still learning too; we’re in this together, and it’s not always going to be perfect." Ilya grinned through his tears at that, genuinely this time, and teased, "Never thought I’d hear you say that" and Shane wanted to choke him and kiss him in the same moment as he knocked their foreheads together.
“Well, I am" He huffed, “I don’t care about perfect when it comes to us. I care about real and honest. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. You can’t hide your feelings from me either, ok? Otherwise, I’m going to spank you back"
Ilya’s eyebrows touched his hairline. "Is that a promise?” He asked, and Shane couldn’t help but laugh, muttering, "Yes” Before he asked tentatively, “Would you be into that?”
He shrugged. “I think so, probably yes, I would try it, at least. Anything you let me do to you, I will let you try back, if you want to. This is fair, I think."
And Shane nodded. "Maybe that’s our first rule then. We’ll come up with a safe word, and we’ll take it as we go. I don’t ever want it to be an outside of the bedroom thing though, where I have to like, ask permission to do normal things."
“No, no" Ilya agreed. “I would not know what to do with myself if you were not sassing and nagging me. This is a problem I don’t ever want to ever go away, remember?” And Shane laughed and nodded, burying his face in Ilya’s neck and nipping him there before kissing the spot.
They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to the cicadas, before Shane’s stomach growled. “I’m hungry" he said. "Let's go" and his husband chuckled as he responded, “Yes, I can hear that."
They ate their pasta at the table before retiring to the couch, putting on old hockey highlights on low volume in the background as they settled in. Ilya propped his feet up on the coffee table, and Shane lay down on his stomach, resting his head in his lap. His husband played with his hair and rubbed his back. Anya was there too, of course, merrily chewing her bone on the far end of the sectional.
“What should our safe word be?” Shane asked, and Ilya shrugged. "It can be anything you want as long as I know what it means. Hockey word, Russian word, just needs to be something we would not say by accident while we are ah, busy” p>
Shane giggled. "Maybe a hockey word" he said. "That way I don’t get my Russian mixed up," and Ilya nodded, a dark grin crossing his features as he said, "And you will have to think about it on the ice too, which is hot."
“Fuck off, so will you" Shane said as he bit a smile, squirming, and then hissing when his sweats caught on the back of the couch and rubbed against his still-angry skin. Ilya’s brow furrowed in concern as he placed a gentle hand on his lower back, rubbing softly. “Can I look, malysh?” He asked, and Shane nodded, having already caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he was getting dressed.
Ilya pulled the sweats down carefully so that they rested just below his cheeks, where the swell of his backside met his upper thighs. His breath caught at the sight of his own handprints still etched into his lover’s skin. He was mostly just red, the skin raw and irritated, but there were a few spots where faint bruises were purpling up in the unmistakable shape of his palm and long fingers.
The Russian man soothed his fingertips over the marred skin. Tsking softly at his handiwork. “I will put lotion on you after we shower" he said softly, and Shane nodded, resting his chin on his husband’s leg before he chuckled, and Ilya asked him, "What?"
“Just wondering how we’re going to hide this kind of shit when the season starts" Shane said, and Ilya smirked, teasing, "Be a good boy, and I will not have to spank you."
His husband pouted his lip at that, trying to look innocent. “But I LIKE when you spank me," he complained, and the Russian laughed, smoothing a hand down his back. “Well, then, you will have to deal with the team seeing. If you are happy with it, then I am not ashamed. We are married, after all. They know who you belong to." He paused, grinning smugly as he added, “Who knows, maybe some of them will want a turn over my knee."
“No way!” Shane scoffed, “This is MY knee!” He grabbed Ilya’s knee in emphasis, pressing his mouth to his thigh and nipping at it, making him laugh. “Yes, Lyubimyy" he assured his lover as he brushed his knuckles gently against his cheek, stroking his temple with his thumb "All yours"
Shane leaned into his touch, nuzzling his forehead against Ilya’s hand as he pressed his mouth down more firmly to his thigh. He gazed up at him through his dark lashes, moving his hand up the inside of his leg until it smoothed up over his crotch, giving him a squeeze. The Russian man bit his lip watching him, running his hand through his hair and down his back, slipping it beneath his hoodie to press his fingertips into his bare skin.
Shane’s lips followed his hand, mouthing his way up until he was pressing his face to the material of Ilya’s sweats, breathing heavily against his cock as it grew hard in the confined space. The curly haired man reached down and took Shane by the chin, bringing his face up to his own. He kissed him once, twice, three times before he slipped two fingers between his lips.
His partner sucked on them greedily as he freed Ilya’s erection, jerking it a few times before he bent again to take it into his mouth. The other man hissed in pleasure, sliding his hand down Shane’s back again as his lover began to bob his head up and down.
He stopped at the base of his spine, still cautious of his sensitive skin, as he asked "Is ok?” Shane hummed enthusiastically around him, lifting off just briefly to push the sweatshirt over his head and toss it next to them on the couch. “Pozhaluysta” was all he said before sucking him down again.
Ilya nodded, gently smoothing his hand over his red ass. He was careful with his cheeks, not wanting to hurt him, and instead pressed his wet fingers against his entrance, circling his rim. Shane moaned around him, the vibrations sending shivers through them both, and Ilya knew this wasn’t going to last long as he pressed the digits forward, beginning to stroke the sweet spot inside of the man he loved.
Shane rolled his lips up and down his shaft, stopping briefly to suction his lips to the head, pulling off with a hard pop before he sank back down again. He cupped Ilya’s balls, massaging them with his talented fingers, and the other man hissed and let go of his ass momentarily to grip him by the hair.
Shane sped up, pursing his lips and taking him deep, and Ilya felt the familiar tightening in his groin. He grunted as he came down his husband’s throat, crying out, “Fuck, Shane! So good, moy lyubov, U tebya samyye luchshiye guby."
The dark-haired man swallowed and rose to his knees, and Ilya reached for him immediately, guiding him to straddle his lap. Shane pushed his sweats further down his thighs so that his own hard dick sprang free, and Ilya took him in his hand and began to stroke him. He gently reached back with his other hand and slipped his fingers back into him, stimulating his prostate to the same rhythm that he was jerking his cock.
Shane crashed their mouths together, his whimpers of pleasure getting lost between kisses as his lover worked him steadily to the edge. “That’s it, Solnyshko" he murmured. “Cum for Papa" and Shane did, moaning unapologetically as he painted ribbons over Ilya’s hand and against both of their chests and bellies.
He rested their foreheads together as they caught their breath, stealing little kisses between pants. The curly haired man rubbed his back, trailing his lips down his neck and shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings against his skin. They stayed this way for a while until Shane announced, "We need a shower" and Ilya nodded his agreement, gently pushing him up. "Carry me" Shane said, the words coming out soft and whiny, and the Russian beamed, carefully scooping the shorter man up into his arms and heading for their en-suite.
Once they were clean and comfortable in bed, Ilya gently rubbed lotion into Shane’s bruised skin, just as he’d promised. The dark-haired man was completely relaxed where he lay on his belly, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion as his lover doted on him. Ilya thought he was almost asleep when he said, "Backcheck"
“Hm?” he asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Backcheck" Shane repeated. "That's the safe word. To remind us that you’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. I know it’s not exactly what it means in hockey but—"
“It’s perfect." Ilya said, stroking his cheek and leaning in to give him a kiss, “I love it, and you. Now close your eyes, sweetheart; it is time for bed." Shane nodded, pressing their lips together one more time as he whispered, “I love you too" before he did just that.
Shane was asleep almost instantly, and Ilya watched him fondly for a moment, gently pushing his hair back before he leaned over and turned off the lamp. He snuggled in close then, putting his arm over him and pressing their foreheads together. “Good night, my Shane," he whispered into the darkness as he closed his own weary eyes and began to nod off to the sound of his love’s even breathing