Chapter Text
Their bed is a mess. They’ll have to change the sheets before they sleep. But that’s not a thought for right now. Right now, Shane is warm and sticky and holding his Baby Girl so tight as his fucked out ass leaks spit and lube and whatever hints of cum that Ilyusha couldn’t lap out of him.
Ilyusha’s face is pressed to his chest, his arms are wrapped tight around Shane. He can feel his Princess's collar poking into his chest, but he doesn’t mind the discomfort. His Baby Girl still needs it, will need it for a little while longer at least. Shane can live with the press of the crystals into his skin for as long as Ilyusha needs.
Shane kisses the top of Ilyusha's head, smells the curls that he painstakingly twisted this morning, and feels the sweat between them, making their bodies stick together. He is content. More than content. He is at peace.
***
Ily is flying. His mind is empty. His body is empty. His cock is empty. He just is. Nothing more, nothing less. He is warm. He is wrapped in love and sweat and satisfaction. His body is sore. His ass in particular is sore. He clenches around a foreign intrusion; he knows that if he focuses on it, he’ll float back to the surface quicker.
Ily relaxes and lets himself rest. Unburdened.
Later, some time later. Daddy gently rolls him over with the strong hands that choose to be soft. They don’t always choose to be soft. Ily doesn’t want them always soft, but right now, he’s so happy to be in their care. They rub over his back and gently work the plug from his ass. They press deep into his flesh, up one leg, then the other. Palm his cheeks, move up his back in slow, deep circles. Then they pull a blanket over him. “Ilyusha, can I leave you for a few minutes?” Daddy asks.
Ily mumbles “Da,” and he must drift off because, what feels like seconds later, he is pulled from the bed. Daddy leads him to the bathroom, and Ily follows. He’ll always follow his Daddy.
He can’t help but whine, though, when Daddy unbuckles his collar and slips the tennis bracelets from his wrists. He knows they shouldn't get wet, but he doesn’t want to not feel pretty yet. He doesn’t want to be unclaimed yet. But he will be. And that's ok. It’ll be ok. He'll be ok.
“Baby, do you need the orange collar?” Daddy asks. Ily shakes his head no, but he doesn’t look at Daddy. He doesn’t say anything. “Baby Girl. It’s ok, you don’t have to come up if you’re not ready. Do you need the orange collar?” Daddy asks again.
Ily doesn’t want to think, so he presses “Da” through his lips. And Daddy is there, and Ily is claimed again. This time, with cheap orange rubber and a large D ring, instead of expensive diamonds and crystals, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still claimed. Owned. Loved.
Daddy pulls him to the large bathtub that had already been filled with water and Epsom salts. Ily steps in, and Daddy follows. Ily ends up with his arms wrapped around his Daddy, pulling him against his chest. His flaccid cock is pressed against Daddy’s ass and doesn’t stir.
Daddy relaxes against him, and Ily can feel the tension bleed out of him. Ily suddenly remembers what he did to Daddy’s ass less than an hour ago. Fuck! He should be the one taking care of Daddy, not the other way around.
Before Ily can spiral any more, Daddy says, “Stop worrying. I’m fine.”
“But—”
Shane leans his head back, over Ily’s shoulder, “no Baby Girl, I’m fine, I promise. Just give me a moment, and I’ll get you your snack.” Daddy’s eyes are closed, Ily can tell the warmth is seeping into his body. He looks around and spots an electrolyte drink, a bottle of water, some washed grapes and two cookies on a side table within reach. He reaches over and grabs a few of the grapes. He eats one and presses another to Daddy's lips. Daddy takes and then says, “Ilyusha, you don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to.” Ily looks down at his Daddy, content in his arms.
“Ok.” Daddy relents, and Ily presses a kiss to his forehead before reaching for more grapes and the water.
They eat and bask in the warmth of the water and each other, until the cookies are gone and they are pruny. Then Daddy pulls him from the tub and dries Ily off. They dress in matching sweatpants and their new oversized Stanley Cup Champions tee shirts.
Shane puts the baking dish he prepped earlier in the oven. Ilya moves to the couch and finds a dumb movie to put on the TV, and they watch it until dinner is ready. They watch while eating their chicken and veg, with an exactly measured out serving of rice.
Ilya wears his orange collar longer than he needs it. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. It holds him tight, together, owned. Just like the ring on his right hand does. Just like the matching ring on Daddy’s left hand does.
And later, when dinner is done, and they have watched Tangled and Hercules. And the house is locked up, and the kitchen is clean. Ilya takes Shane’s hand and leads him up to bed, and pushes him down.
He grabs the lube and slicks up his cock and presses in without prep because Shane’s fucked out hole is still loose. Shane comes with Ilya’s hand on his cock, and Ilya’s name on his lips.
Ilya follows close behind, while Shane’s body clenches around him. It’s slow, it's warm, it’s lovely, it’s everything.
“I love you,”
“I love you,”
“Ya tebya lyublyu,”
“Ya tebya lyublyu.”
They collapse into each other and hold each other. Ilya wonders what they’ll do tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that and the rest of their life. Together.
He drifts off with his husband in his arms until, “Ilya!” Shane pushes him awake, “We have to change the sheets before bed.” Ilya groans and twists away. “Ilya!” Shane tries again, then, “Baby Girl, please.” Shane isn’t afraid to play dirty. Especially when it comes to clean sheets.