Work Text:
Not Much of a Loophole
It was the reality of a professional hockey player. Sooner or later, you were going to get hurt. If you're unlucky, it could happen multiple times, or it could be bad enough to end your season. The worst time for Shane, so far, was when he got his bell rung playing Boston earlier in the year. He had a concussion and fractured his collarbone. It was lucky that he had the off-season to recover.
While the original physical therapy had come and gone, when Shane landed hard on the arm that had the fractured collarbone, she had insisted on going to physical therapy through the rest of the year. For a while, Shane was good about the weekly appointments; he did the exercises and was as careful as he could be while playing hockey.
Physical therapy was way too close to doctors and other medical stuff for Shane's comfort. Once Thanksgiving had passed, it felt like time sped up, the way it always did at the end of the year with Christmas and New Year's and the holiday parties. It was always a lot at once. Adding physical therapy, which was more of a just-in-case than an actual necessity, made him a bit lackadaisical.
Ilya had managed one more visit before Thanksgiving break and Christmas break. He was in Ottawa playing the Centaurs during the second week of December. He had the time to get dinner with Shane and his parents. Yuna made pasta, remembering how much Ilya had enjoyed it the last time they had seen the couple.
The Russian wasn't used to how easy things were with the Hollanders. It was clear they cared deeply about Shane, but they were also so kind to Ilya. They listened to his opinions and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him for who he was, not just because he was Shane's boyfriend. He was surprised that Yuna and David had asked for his phone number when he had visited in October. He provided it without question, but felt confused. Why would they ever need that? If they had questions, wouldn't they use Shane as a messenger?
Every time he had a meal with the Hollanders, it healed a long-wounded part of him. The daily family dinner Ilya saw repeatedly on TV shows and in movies had never been his reality. His father never wanted much to do with either Ilya or his brother. His Mom was amazing. She tried her best, but the Depression had won a lot before it finally took her from him when Ilya was twelve.
There was something warm and safe about the two other times he had joined a meal, and this time was no different. Conversation flowed easily, they laughed together, and ate well. The only thing that would've made the night better was if Shane could've come back to the hotel with him. Sadly, the Voyageurs had a game early tomorrow afternoon, so Shane had to go back to Montreal tonight.
After dinner, Yuna walked them to the door and hugged both men. As they were walking out the front door, she called absentmindedly, "Oh, Shane, don't forget you still have three more appointments with the Physical Therapist! I'll see you boys in two weeks. Text me when you get home."
It should've been a random reminder; if it had been anyone else, no one would've thought twice. Watching Shane immediately stiffen and blush, Ilya immediately grew suspicious.
"Yeah, Mom, thanks, I'll see you soon," Shane responded.
The way he tried so hard to make it seem casual only made Ilya focus more. The Russian then remembered that Shane had mentioned in passing that he hated all medical stuff and avoided it whenever he could.
With one last smile, Yuna had shut the door. The outside lights were bright enough for Ilya to see his beautiful, blushing boyfriend. For his part, Shane made eye contact, saw the recognition in Ilya's gaze, and gulped.
"Physical therapy?" Ilya repeated. "Why?"
"I hit ice harder than the Voyageurs doctor liked," Shane shrugged. "Put me in physical therapy through the end of the year. It's just a precaution."
"Hmm."
"Yeah, nothing serious."
"You're going?"
“Yes, Ilya.”
Shane had made eye contact when he said that he was going, so Ilya let the conversation go. He wasn't thrilled to hear this was the first he'd heard of a fall, but he didn't want to make a huge thing about it, especially when both men had nothing but practices and games until Christmas break.
The drive back to the hotel the Bears were staying at was over too quickly. Out of precaution, they had parked two blocks from the hotel. The street they were on was abandoned, but neither man was comfortable enough to linger in a kiss.
Ilya squeezed Shane's hand. "I'll see you in two weeks, baby."
"Can't wait."
It wasn't that Shane meant to blow off the last two physical therapy appointments. The first of the two he missed was an honest mistake. Hayden had invited him over to dinner with Jackie and the girls. Missing his family, Shane had accepted without thinking. It was only after dinner, with Hayden and Shane lounging in Hayden's backyard, that he felt his phone vibrate. When he saw the voicemail, he read the transcription, sighing when it mentioned calling to reschedule the missed appointment.
The last one he missed was because he was running around getting everything ready for Christmas. He had never asked about Ilya's Christmases growing up; his boyfriend always got terribly sad when he talked about Russia, unless he was talking about his mother. He wanted their first Christmas as a couple to be perfect. He had decorated a tree; it sparkled invitingly in the living room, and Shane already had a bunch of presents under it. He may be willing to admit he went a bit overboard.
By the time he had the apartment ready, both for Christmas and for Ilya in general, it was almost time to drive to the airport to pick him up. He paused to put a couple of Cokes in the refrigerator and a bottle of the best Vodka he could find in the freezer. He walked over to the entry closet to shrug into his coat. With one last glance, everything looked great, and Shane felt comfortable going to his car.
He wasn't too worried about Ilya being cold; coming from Russia, he figured he was used to it. He was waiting outside the terminal with his luggage: a backpack and a suitcase. When he made a move to get out to help, Ilya waved a hand instead, gesturing to open the trunk, which he did. Moments later, Ilya opened the passenger side door, dropping in with a groan.
"You okay?"
"Long day," Ilya sighed. "Better now."
Both men smiled at one another before Shane began to navigate them out of the airport and back to the apartment.
"How are you? Was Physical Therapy okay? What did the doctor say about your collarbone?"
"Everything's good," Shane shrugged. "The team doctor said everything's good."
"Great!"
The smile on Ilya's face made one cross Shane's as well. It was just a little white lie. While the team doctor had said they were happy with his arm and clavicle, he hadn't been to physical therapy. Shane shrugged off the flicker of unease. The physical therapy was a precaution. He was fine. His arm was good.
Ilya doesn't let Shane take either his backpack or his suitcase. He led his boyfriend up the backstairs of his condo. He held the door open, gesturing Ilya through. The Russian paused, slipping off his shoes. Shane took his coat and hung it up with his own. Ilya was standing quietly, staring at the Christmas tree and the presents underneath.
The look in his eyes is impossibly soft, mixed with an emotion that Shane couldn't quite read. He didn't have long to ponder it before Ilya reached out, grabbing his hand to reel him into his embrace.
"I missed you," Ilya said.
He could feel Ilya's lips brushing against the top of his head. He melted into his embrace.
"I've missed you, too."
"Did you do all this for me?"
Ilya's grin widened at Shane's blush, taking that as an affirmative. Ilya kissed him again. With one last hug, Shane took a step back and led Ilya over to the kitchen island.
"There's Coke in the fridge and vodka in the freezer."
"You're spoiling me."
"That's the idea."
They both smiled before Shane turned to the refrigerator. He pulled out the ingredients for a Tuna melt, knowing that it was a good choice for both of them. He didn't want to force his diet on the other man, especially since Ilya had made fun of him for it in the past.
Shane had left his laptop open on the edge of the counter; the ding of a new email awakened the computer screen. Before he went into overdrive preparing for Ilya's arrival, he had been checking his email and had left the application open. He left it open because he had to respond to his Mom's questions about some new commercial that Rolex wanted to shoot in the New Year.
Ilya wasn't the type to invade his partner's privacy. But Shane's laptop was right there, and the email application had opened without him having to do anything. The ding startled him enough to look over, and he immediately breathed harshly through his nose.
The Canadian felt the easygoing, comfortable atmosphere vanish in an instant. He looked cautiously at his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye and fought back a flinch. Ilya was staring daggers at Shane in a way that sent all the warning bells off in his head.
"You went to physical therapy?" Ilya asked.
His tone was heavy. The implication was that he knew the answer and was daring Shane to lie again. Shane winced, his mind racing as he fought to think of what to say.
"Why do you ask?"
"The email was from the physical therapist's office asking if you wanted to reschedule the last two appointments."
Shane glanced past his boyfriend to see that the email was open. He regretted leaving his laptop open. Shane made quick eye contact with Ilya before looking away. He shrugged, "It's no big deal. It was just a precaution anyway."
"You're doctor now?"
He wrinkled his nose at the censuring tone in his boyfriend's voice. He rolled his eyes, suddenly glad there was a kitchen island between them. Ilya gave a disapproving tut at the gesture, his expression becoming more foreboding.
"It's not that big of a deal."
"Your health is not a big deal?"
"I didn't say that."
"No?"
"Ilya, it was just a precaution. The team doctor said I'm fine."
"What about agreeing that honesty is important?"
"I didn't lie," Shane objected. "I told you the team doctor said I'm fine, and they did."
"I asked you about physical therapy."
"Which I didn't answer, so I didn't lie."
Ilya's scowl made it clear that the answer wasn't satisfactory. Shane watched as the other man seemed to consider something before nodding to himself. He rose to his feet, curling two fingers toward his boyfriend. "Come."
"What about dinner?"
"That can wait," Ilya replied. "This cannot."
"Ilya, come on!"
"Shane, now."
"You're being ridiculous," Shane complained. "You're blowing this completely out of proportion."
"You have two options," Ilya announced with a warning hiss. "You come with me on your own, or I come and get you. You won't like that."
"I don't like either option," Shane retorted.
"Do you need to use a safe word?"
"No, I don't. Ilya, come on, you're overreacting. I didn't do anything wrong."
"You lied to me."
Before Shane could open his mouth to argue, his boyfriend had closed the distance between them. Then, between one blink and the next, Shane felt the other man grab him, bending Shane over his hip. Shane found himself staring at the floor, held up by Ilya's arm, which felt like an iron band around his midsection.
"Ilya! Let me up."
"You had your chances."
A flurry of smacks brought flashes of sizzling heat wherever Ilya's hand cracks down. This was undignified; he was dangling in almost midair as Ilya's hand went from cheek to cheek. Even though Shane's jeans hurt. Shane was quickly learning that Ilya had much more room to swing when he was standing, and it stung something awful. It was hard to stay stoic under the onslaught. Not that one would ever accuse Shane of stoicism when Ilya had him in hand, but this was worse.
"Ow, fuck! I-Ilya, please!"
Shane started moving, kicking his feet as much as he could. It looked more like he was dancing in place, and Ilya was providing the motivation. Hell, Shane wanted very much to get out of his boyfriend's grip.
"Stay still."
"I can't! You're spanking me too hard."
"Not yet, I'm not."
Ilya issued two of the hardest smacks yet, low along Shane's sit spots, before he let his boyfriend go. He held Shane by his shoulders, watching as his head spun from the quick change in positions. For a moment, Shane didn't say a word, rubbing his butt and giving Ilya a reproachful look.
"What the fuck kind of position was that?"
"Useful. There are many positions to use to spank a naughty boy."
The Russian stared at his boyfriend, looking at the anger still in the man's eyes, and fought back a sigh. No one could say that Shane Hollander wasn't stubborn. Ilya didn't bother asking if Shane still felt he was overreacting; that answer was written all over his face.
"I'm sorry you're upset."
"Upset?"
Shane winced at the sheer outrage his boyfriend managed to pack into that word.
"Penalty box," Ilya announced. "Corner."
"You're sending me to the corner? I'm not five."
"Do you need help?"
Ilya's voice was light, as if they were discussing what to have for dinner. Or what they wanted to do tomorrow. Shane knew that the Russian's idea of help would be painful, and he already had enough smacks, thank you very much. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, he walked to the corner near the stairs. He was facing out with his arm crossed, displeased with the turn the evening had taken.
For his part, Ilya met Shane's eyes as he put up one finger and made a circling gesture. He swallowed his amusement as Shane's move fell open in a surprised oh. But the man did as instructed and spun around to put his face in the corner.
"How long?" Shane sighed.
"Misconduct."
"Ten minutes?" Shane turned around to glare at his boyfriend.
This time, Ilya began to walk over. The determination in his gaze immediately made Shane want to squirm, and he turned back into the corner as a way of showing obedience. As far as Ilya was concerned, the show of obedience was a little too late. Shane's breathing quickened as he felt Ilya's presence at his back. He was standing so close that Shane could almost feel the heat of him.
Neither man spoke for a moment. Then Shane let out a gasp of surprise as Ilya's hands came around to the front of Shane's body, popping the button on his jeans and pulling that and his briefs to his ankles.
"Ten minutes," Ilya repeated.
Shane would've thought that he was past embarrassment by now. He shared locker rooms with his team. They saw each other naked on an almost daily basis. Shane had also lost count of how many times he and Ilya had been naked in front of each other. Context, Shane was learning, was everything. For instance, standing with his bare, pink bottom out in the corner of the living room was mortifying. It definitely put Shane in a more cooperative headspace, which was exactly what the Russian intended.
While Shane spent his time in the corner, Ilya pulled one of the dining room chairs away from the table, settling it in a way that would give Shane space to lie over Ilya's knee. Once that was done, Ilya made his way to his suitcase, rummaging around until he found a wooden hairbrush. It had never touched anyone's hair, but Ilya had used it on a few naughty bed partners.
Ilya settled on the chair he pulled out, while he placed the hairbrush on the table nearby. He was still deciding whether the hairbrush would be necessary; the times that he had spanked Shane previously had all been with his hand. He had yet to spank with his full strength, and he had the stamina of a professional athlete; combining both was normally enough. Shane was being argumentative today, so Ilya wanted to be sure he was ready. Normally, guilt brought Shane halfway to resolution; he just needed a hot bottom to feel like he had paid the price. Exactly when ten minutes had passed, Ilya cleared his throat, startling his boyfriend.
"Come here, Shane. No, no, did I say to pull up your pants?"
"Ilya," Shane whined. He had the urge to stomp his foot, but he knew that would be a horrifically bad idea.
Instead, we walked toward his boyfriend, trying to look like it was a normal occurrence to walk around his apartment with his pants around his knees. Ilya watched his progress seriously. Shane was being a bit more contrite. When Shane stood between Ilya's spread legs, his expression downcast, the Russian grabbed his hands. He kissed them and rubbed his thumb along the knuckles of Shane's hand.
"Look at me, Lapochka," Ilya ordered.
When Shane's eyes rose to meet his, he offered him a small smile. He didn't expect Shane to hold eye contact; he would never fault his boyfriend for being uncomfortable with it. While he held Shane's eyes, he took a moment to appreciate how pretty they were, a dark smoky quartz.
"You said you didn't answer my question about your physical therapy and that by not answering it, you didn't lie. Your statement is incorrect. Would you say that you omitted information?"
"Yeah," Shane sighed.
"You lied by omission," Ilya stated. "You avoided an answer to mislead. It is deceptive."
Shane was now visibly shifting in place. He shot a quick look at Ilya, enough for the latter to see that his eyes were now full of guilt.
"You may not have lied straight to my face, but what you did also damages my trust."
"I'm sorry," Shane said, his voice cracking around a sob.
"Do you still feel like I am overreacting?"
"No."
The answer was quiet but given without hesitation. Shane moved to lie over Ilya's lap when his eyes glanced at the table, spotting the hairbrush. He took a step back.
"What's that?"
"I think you know," Ilya replied. "I don't think it'll be necessary tonight, unless you start arguing again."
"I won't, Ilya," Shane said. "I'm sorry, really."
"I know, Kotik," Ilya soothed. "You feel guilty, da?"
Shane nodded quickly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. This time, Ilya helped him over his lap. His hand soothed the already pink cheeks, noting that despite the protection of jeans and underwear, Shane's butt was a solid pink all around.
For his part, Shane was realizing that just lying over Ilya's lap wasn't as comfortable as when he was over his lap on the couch. He felt much more vulnerable; he also had his boyfriend's thick thighs digging into his stomach.
The pressure on his stomach didn't take his attention for very long as Shane felt Ilya's body move seconds before the sharp crack of flesh against flesh rang out. With the first swat, more followed rapidly. Ilya kept a frantic pace, layering smacks in the same spot a few times before moving to a new one.
Shane's toes were tapping in response to the spanking. He was squirming a bit, but he was trying to stay still to make up for his earlier behavior. However, when Ilya increased the strength of his smacks, as well as how fast they were being meted out, it became much more difficult to stay still.
"Ilya, please!"
"I know, Lapochka, you're being so brave for me."
Despite his boyfriend's kind words, he was still spanking as hard as he had been. Shane was struggling not to scramble off Ilya's lap; his butt was roasting and only getting hotter with each pass of the Russian's hard, calloused palm.
"P-p-please, Ilya, I-I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to break your trust."
"Shhh, Kotik, it will be okay."
Despite the soothing words, the hand and arm not committed to setting Shane's ass on fire wrapped around his waist, tucking him tightly into Ilya's midsection. The grip was as absolute as it was earlier; there was no breaking it, even though Shane did try. When his kicking became too frantic, Ilya maneuvered his boyfriend fully over one thigh to pull his other leg out to stop the flailing limbs with his own.
Tears splattered on the floor under Shane's face. When Ilya started targeting the tops of his thighs and sit spots, he knew the spanking was almost over. Not that it brought a lot of comfort, those were terribly sensitive areas to spank, and Ilya was giving no quarter, not turning down the intensity.
With one last wail, Shane slumped over the remaining thigh he was over, sobbing quietly. His feet were no longer kicking, and his body was loose, no longer as taut as a bow-string. It took Shane a few moments to realize that fire wasn't being added to the inferno that used to be his ass. Now it just simmered and burned.
Ilya rubbed Shane's back, one palm slipping under Shane's sweater to rub at the sweat-damp skin. When Shane began to shift, Ilya helped him up. Instead of pulling Shane into his lap, Ilya stood up as well, crushing Shane into his arms. He held him tight, kissing the crown of his head as Shane continued to try.
"You did well, Kotik, moy Lapochka," Ilya praised. "So good. The best."
Shane was quiet but willingly soaking up all the comfort and praise Ilya had to offer. He guided them back toward the couch, settling into the cushions lengthwise. Shane barely waited for Ilya to settle before crawling, sprawling on top of his boyfriend with a contented sigh. His head rested on Ilya's chest. He always found his boyfriend's heartbeat comforting. The fact that he got to listen while one hand was rubbing at his neck, while the other caressed up and down his spine, was quickly lulling him to sleep.
"You were right," Shane croaked, sometime later.
"Hmm?"
"You weren't spanking all that hard in the beginning, I mean, compared to the end. That first position sucked, though."
"Yes."
Shane scoffed a laugh, knowing better than to expect an apology. If either truly had a problem, they had their safe words. He was still impressed that Ilya could spank that hard, and for that long. Even though he had no idea how long it really was, that's what Shane got by dating a professional athlete. He shuddered thinking about the hairbrush that was still lying on the table. He hoped Ilya never used it. His giant hands were plenty.