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There were days where Shane felt like his desire for submission would swallow him whole. His body craved it, needed it like sustenance and without it he would not make it out alive. He's so lucky to have Ilya. Ilya, who knows Shane down to his core. He has Shane's routines memorized, knows when things get just a touch to overwhelming for him, but most importantly he knows when Shane needs his brain to quiet for a couple hours.
And Shane is aware of how irritable he's been all day. It started with Anya tripping him up that morning, his glass of disgustingly thick and green but ultimately health smoothie falling to the floor with loud splat. He's mostly frustrated with himself because she's like this every morning, bounding for the backdoor as soon as Ilya shuffles out of bed. Ilya finds Shane crouched over the floor, paper towels in hand and a scowl on his face.
"She did not mean to," Ilya tells him and Shane softens at his words.
"No, I know," Shane admits, "it isn't a big deal,"
But, Ilya knows that to Shane, it is. Perfectly measured out portions, it was almost like a ritual to him as he balanced and weighed everything to a precise degree before he blended it all together.
Ilya crouches to meet him, gently prying the paper towels from his hand as he presses a kiss into Shane's scalp, "Go, moya lyubov, I will clean it up and make another one for you,"
Ilya was always so gentle in the morning, both with his movements and Shane.
Anya whines at the backdoor and Shane laughs softly to himself before nodding and relenting to Ilya's demand like he often did, willing and with no protests.
Ilya was attempting to reset the morning because he knows for Shane that once something goes wrong, everything will go wrong, maybe not to a severity that was detrimental but enough that the day would get under Shane's skin and wouldn't leave until Ilya found a way to rid him of it.
As suspected, his day is shit.
Ilya spends most of the day just a step behind him the entire time, his reassurance a soothing balm for the moment but he can see that Shane is simmering with annoyance that never quite fades. He's missing shots during practice, fumbling with the tag on his new compression shirt that he didn't have time to de-tag before driving to the arena that morning.
Ilya rips it from the seam without thinking when Shane skates to him slowly near the side of the rink where Ilya calls him over, "You are overwhelmed," Ilya states it as a matter of fact, an astute observation, flicking the strap on Shane's helmet loose and nodding toward the locker room, "go home, is not mandatory practice anyways,"
"Don't do that," Shane bites and Ilya scrunches his nose a little at the tone—okay, fair.
"You are having bad day," Ilya shrugs, "and you slamming your stick on the ground after every missed goal is making team ask questions,"
Shane looks over his shoulder at the rest of the team who snap their heads away simultaneously.
"I have bad days, too," Ilya reminds him, "and you are very bossy about me taking care of myself when things get heavy, so I do—just go, I can tell coach you weren't feeling good and I will ask Bood for a ride home, okay?"
"Are you asking or telling me?" Shane retorts and Ilya recognizes that tone in an instant.
It would be a problem to handle later, obviously.
"Telling you," Ilya tells him sternly, "as captain, not husband,"
Shane huffs, but relents.
"Whatever you say, captain," Shane snips, curling his hand around the collar of his jersey and pulling down on his gear before turning away from Ilya, suddenly met with resistance as Ilya pulls him back.
"Attitude is not necessary," Ilya tells him, "do not let it follow you home,"
Shane huffs a laugh, shaking his head dismissively.
Ilya is thankful they are on the ice, surrounded by others, because he's not sure how easily he would restrain himself from dealing with Shane when he got like this. He knows what Shane is doing and Shane knows it too, always ultimately too shy to ask for it outright.
"Or I will find a way to fuck it out of you," he says quiet and careful, his face relaxed and unsuspecting.
He spots the way Shane's eyes darken at the playful threat.
It was absolutely following him home.
—
Ilya sends Shane a text after practiced has finished, testing the waters.
Ilya smirks to himself.
Shane was keying himself up but Ilya was not taking the bait.
Ilya doesn't reply, scrubbing his fingers through damp, freshly washed curls as Bood pulled into their driveway. He quickly thanked him, bumping the side of his fist against his teammates' before he's out of the car and settling his shoulders as he walks toward the front door.
He places his keys down loudly on the kitchen counter as he walks inside, met with Anya's scampering steps as she jumps up with her front paws. Ilya coos at her sweetly in Russian and picks her up, scratching gently at her fur as he places a kiss near her ear, "You want to run?" he asks her curiously, her ears picking up instantly, "I will let you run," he answers decisively, "let's go,"
He ignores Shane entirely, who glances slightly away from the hockey highlights on the television screen but quickly back to not be obvious. Fortunately to Ilya, it was glaring.
Once Anya is settled outside and running laps around the expanse of their backyard, Ilya quietly settles back in the kitchen, leaning against the center island with one hand curled around the edge and the other unlocking his phone, leg crossed over the other as he thumbs through his apps lazily. He gives it approximately five minutes before he hears the telltale footsteps behind him, soft but heavy.
He turns his head as Shane is approaching, his arms crossing over his chest. Ilya is not immune, unfortunately, to his husband and his beautiful body. Shane's biceps bulge at the motion and his eyes track there before they land on Shane's face, who is smirking like he just caught Ilya doing something he shouldn't.
"Are you done being an asshole?" Shane asks, "I could've finished practice, I was fine—"
"You are still acting like brat, I see," Ilya retorts, eyes flickering back toward his phone.
Shane approaches him with a surge of confidence, pulling the phone from Ilya's grip before his hand is curling around the back of Ilya's neck and pulling him in, lips pressed together heatedly.
Ilya makes a noise of protest and pushes at Shane's chest until he's a handful of inches away, one finger pressed directly into his sternum, "That is not how this works," Ilya reminds him, "I was so kind, so thoughtful. All day. I think oh, maybe he will appreciate these things but you are acting ungrateful,"
Shane scoffs slightly but doesn't deny it.
"You have bad day, I try to fix that. Is not what you want then just say it, but you are acting like brat for attention, Shane, is very silly that you think I don't know that,"
Shane opens his mouth to speak but Ilya shakes his head, the finger digigng into Shane's chest moving up towards Shane's shoulder and gripping firmly, "No, shut up," Ilya replies clipped before pointing down to the floor with his other hand, "get on your knees, now,"
It all clicks into place so easily after that.
Shane doesn't even question it, moving to kneel in front of Ilya without a word and shuts his eyes at the hand that pets through his scalp before gripping tightly at the root, unrelenting.
There's a soft shuffle of fabric before Shane hears the distinct friction of skin on skin—practically feels the heat of Ilya this close and he opens his eyes, met with the sight of Ilya's hand gripping his slowly hardening cock, staring down at Shane with his mouth set in a flat line and his eyes dark under the dim light of the evening.
Shane's mouth opens on instinct. He's never not dying to suck Ilya's dick, both of them knew that.
But, it was not what Ilya had planned at all.
"No," he grits, using the tip of his middle finger to guide Shane's lips apart while still gripping himself, the tip of his dick bumping Shane's nose in the process and Shane moans softly, wanting nothing more than to shove his face into Ilya's crotch and inhale, finding comfort in the familiar heady but fresh scent of him.
"You stay like this," Ilya instructs him, "and you will take what I give you, that is it,"
It will prove to be the hardest thing Shane has ever had to endure, he thinks.
Ilya's frowns slightly, eyebrows knitting together as he jerks himself slowly, rubbing his thumb over the head as he dick hovers an inch or so away from Shane's mouth, his head pulled back by Ilya's grip in his hair, eyes locked on the motion of Ilya's hand.
Shane's breathing is heavy, panting hot and wet against Ilya's dick where his lips press featherlight as Ilya angles his cock down and rests the tip there, molding against his bottom lip. Ilya watches the way Shane swallows, tongue bobbing in his mouth like he's calculating how mad Ilya would be if he attempted to defy his orders for a taste.
"You will regret that," Ilya warns him, voice tighter than he liked but he wasn't immune to the sight of Shane like this, settling into his obedience like it was all he knew, "do not add greedy little slut, to the list,"
Shane quirks an eyebrow in amusement and Ilya can't help but smirk, all of their fondness for each other still lingering under the surface. It was part of the reason they worked so well—really, it was almost entirely the reason. Mixed with deep love and trust that had been built upon for years.
"Ilya," Shane says softly, met with a drop of precum that slips from the slit, pressed into his tongue by Ilya's guidance, "thank—thank you,"
"You want to apologize for attitude?" Ilya asks curiously, his fist moving faster and his voice thinning out slightly and Shane hesitates, decides what would pull more of a reaction out of Ilya.
Ultimately, he just wanted to get fucked. He knew it would happen regardless, but he wanted Ilya, not the facade of anger that he was throwing on for Shane's benefit to help him out of his funk.
"I'm s—sorry," he hiccups, eyes tearing without warning, met with the familiar fuzzy feeling he always got when Ilya took him like this—mean and self serving.
Ilya groans, balls taut and his dick pulsing hard with his impending orgasm as Shane moans, thought it comes out more as a broken sob, "I'm so sorry," he tells him again. Ilya shushes him gently and growls behind a closed mouth, releasing the tight grip on Shane's hair to cup his cheek, using his thumb to guide his mouth wider, fist moving furiously as he balances the head of his cock against Shane's bottom lip.
"Tell me," Ilya demands, "how much do you need it, Shane?"
"Fuck," he gasps, nodding his head, "so much—please, give it to me,"
Ilya grunts as his hand squeezes Shane's cheek and hinges his jaw open wider, pulling his dick away just enough that he can come in Shane's mouth without direct contact, eyes locked on the sight of Shane's waiting tongue as it rested still inside of his mouth, painted in the thick spurts of cum that Ilya left.
"Hold it," Ilya tells him breathless and Shane stills while Ilya's hand moves to his jaw, directing his chin down slightly so it balances on his tongue more comfortably, "you will stop pushing yourself when you have bad days like this and you will ask for what you want instead of acting like a little brat just for me to treat you like this, yes?"
Shane nods, eyes glossy and wet as the tears spill quietly.
Ilya nods too, guiding his mouth shut with his thumb and Shane swallows before opening his mouth again for show and Ilya has to muster every bit willpower to not sink to the floor with him.
"Get up," Ilya instructs gently, allowing Shane to fall into him immediately, allowing his husband to curl around him for comfort, swaying slightly in Ilya's hold.
"I liked that," Shane admits, his voice sounding soft and far away.
"You are impossible," Ilya chuckles, "so greedy, moya lyubov,"
Shane laughs against Ilya's neck, "A little rough on the knees, though,"
"Oh, that is no good then," Ilya chides, pulling back to look at Shane while he wipes away a couple stray tears, "no more of that,"
"No, no, no," Shane protests, "fuck—"
"I am kidding, Shane," Ilya smiles, "I like when you are brat, is very…fitting for you,"
"Fuck you," Shane retorts and Ilya clicks his tongue at the insult.
"Is okay," Ilya assures him with a nod, "I will fuck it out of you too, like I promised,"