Chapter Text
Ilya wakes up on a Sunday morning, and he instantly knows what he needs that day. It’s been a stressful week, after a stressful season, after an eventful couple of years. Parades, media, interviews, parties, it was a lot, and Ilya wasn’t a young man anymore. Everyone around him always needed something from him—goals, assists, soundbites, leadership, speeches—it never ended.
He reaches over and checks his phone. Nothing important. Nothing urgent. He hadn’t had a moment's peace since the the AllStar break in February. It was almost July now. There was literally nothing more the league, the press or his team could possibly want from him that he would be willing to give them during the next 48 hours.
Just in case anyone was planning on stopping by, he sent a few texts to Yuna and the boys. Basically saying, "If you need us today, don’t," And “If it’s an actual emergency, call first.” Their friends and family knew to listen to these texts after the Great Birthday Debacle of ‘24.
Ilya drops his phone on the side table and turns back towards his husband. He pushes his way under an arm and pulls the other man close. “Good morning,” a sleepy voice greets him. Instead of answering back right away, Ilya presses his nose into the soft hair under his arm and inhales deeply. It smells like sweat, deodorant, and Shane. “Good morning,” he mumbles into skin with his nose still stuck deep in his husband’s armpit.
A gentle hand comes to the back of his neck; it holds firm but doesn’t direct him. It doesn’t pull or push or demand anything, just rests and holds and cares for him. “What do you need?” Shane asks.
It’s a simple question with a complicated answer. What does Ilya need? Everything? Nothing? Both? Something in between that paradox of options? What Ilya really needs right now is to not be Ilya for a while.
He needs to be soft, he needs to be loved, he needs to be cared for, and he needs to know he’s doing a good job. He needs to be pampered and to be treated delicately. He needs to look beautiful, to feel beautiful. And he needs to not be in his head.
But does he really need all of that? Should he need it? Should he put all that need on Shane? He’s the goddamn captain of the Ottawa Centaurs. He’s hoisted the cup three fucking times. He doesn’t need anything—he shouldn’t need anything. Except he does.
He can’t help but let out a very soft whine, a whimper really. The hand at the back of his neck tightens slightly, then starts to lightly scratch at the base of his skull. A soft, sleep-rough voice presses words and kisses into his forehead, “Take your time, think about what you want.”
Want. That's easier. That's more manageable right now. He wants to be pretty, and pampered, and loved, and cared for.
Thankfully, Ily knows how to ask for all that. Knows how to communicate those wants effectively. He takes another deep breath, nose still buried in the thick scent of his lover. “Daddy,” he whispers.
“Yeah? You want to be my good girl today? My perfect pretty pet?”
Ily nods, “Da,” he breaths out.
“Okay, okay, Ilyusha. We can do that,” he’s wrapped up tightly in Daddy’s arms. It’s like a damn broke, a steady stream of tears flows down his cheeks. He has no idea why he’s crying, relief maybe? It only lasts for a moment, and Daddy holds him through it. He doesn’t tell Ily to stop. He doesn’t say you have nothing to cry about. He just holds him. And when he's finished, he keeps holding him.
Eventually, Daddy asks, “Can I make us some breakfast in bed?” Ily nods against Daddy’s chest but makes no move to let his arms go from where they are wrapped around him. “Ilyusha.” There was a playful tone in Daddy’s voice, so Ily tightened his grip. “One more minute. Please?” he asks.
“How could I say no to you, my pretty girl?” Daddy waits until Ily’s arm’s losen. Before pulling away. He presses a kiss to Ily’s lips and pulls the blanket up over him. “I love you, stay,” and Ily settles back into bed, obeying the command that had been given.
***
Ilyusha is beautiful like this, relaxed, free, open. It’s hard to leave him, to leave the warm sheets of their bed, where the love-of-his-fucking-life is clinging to him like he’ll float away when he lets go. But he has to. They have learned the hard way that a solid breakfast and coffee are a must before an extended scene.
Shane knows they both need this to be an extended scene. That’s what he’ll plan for unless told otherwise. He mentally runs through his morning checklist as he makes his way downstairs. First is breakfast. Scrambled eggs, sliced fruit and coffee. It’s simple and easy to eat with his fingers.
When the coffee is still brewing and the eggs are cooling on the breakfast tray, he works on the second thing on his list. Shane quickly runs back up the stairs to the playroom. He opens the middle-right drawer in the dresser under the window and selects the soft pink cock cage. The one with the geometric pattern and the tiny spikes at the vertex where the confining metal bands meet. He’s feeling very pink today, and he’s sure Ilyusha won’t mind.
When he closes the drawer, he finally notices the dazzling patterns formed by morning light. It’s refracting off the centrepiece of the playroom, which sits atop the dresser. That is for later… after. When he has sunk his beautiful pet deep, deep down into his headspace. Ilyusha is halfway there right now. Shane knows by the way the tears had spilt out of his eyes so easily.
Despite that, he pauses for a moment here, cock cage in hand, and enjoys the way the crystals diffract the sunlight around the room. This is his favourite time of day, when the sun's rays filter through the trees and hit the dresser just right. Making rainbows dance over the walls and his reading chair, reflecting off the human bed and the dog bed alike. Decorating his favourite place on earth, the first space they had carved out just for themselves.
This might not be their actual first playroom, but it feels the same; it smells the same. Shane takes a breath, and then another and another. It smells like leather, and books, and faintly like lube.
Ilya needs him, Ilyusha needs him today. And he needs his beautiful pet right back. That heady exchange, the understanding that Shane was completely and totally in control of his pet. That he was Master, Owner, Daddy— whatever Ilyusha needs him to be. It was a clear task, it gave him that sense of unambiguous accomplishment and purpose. Nothing else in his life is this simple, not even being on the ice.
Everywhere else, he needs to hide a part of himself, be aware of his image, his brand. Doubts constantly swirling in his mind.
Is that what a good role model would do?
Is that how he should behave?
Is he looking at people's eyes enough? Too much?
Is he too much? Too intense? Too serious? Too horny? Too gay? Too into hockey?
But with Ily, Ilyusha, who wants to be his Baby Girl today. He wasn’t too anything. He can just be. Be in charge, be in control, make a plan, execute it and reap the rewards. It's simple. It's perfect. And it's waiting for him right now.
His moment finished, he is focused, ready and willing to be exactly what his Princess needs him to be.