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“Relax, Ilya,” Shane insisted, brushing his hands over his husband’s shoulders with a steady pressure for emphasis.
Ilya huffed, looking up at Shane from where his head lay in Shane’s lap.
“Making me relax…,” he questioned slowly, shifting to get comfortable on the bed beneath him. “Is your job, no?”
He expected some sort of witty retort, or a frown, or at the very least a half-hearted “shut up,” but instead, Shane smiled, soft and genuine, beaming down at him.
“Yes, baby, that’s my job,” he agreed, his hands finding Ilya’s curls, the blonde nuzzling into the touch automatically. “All you have to do is focus on my voice.”
As soon as Shane said the words, Ilya could feel the fuzzy feeling of trance creeping up on him, the world around him going soft and blurry. After all, he was accustomed to it. After its first success at calming Ilya down, letting him experience true relaxation without racing thoughts, Shane had been hypnotizing him regularly, and each time he’d fall under more easily.
This, however, was different. Because Ilya’s relentless teasing of Shane’s wanting gaze and the soft blush that would blur his husband’s freckles –that even Ilya could notice when hazily coming out of trance – had come to a head. Because Shane had finally admitted he wanted to use their relaxation technique for something much more salacious.
“I think I could make you come untouched,” the raven said unprompted one morning, as casually as one would regale their dinner plans that evening. Ilya choked on his coffee in response.
“I don’t want you in my ass, Hollander,” he replied bluntly once he’d gotten his bearings, and Shane furrowed his brow, partly at the fact that he’d fingered Ilya before, usually while blowing him, and he always thoroughly enjoyed it, but mainly because of how egregiously he was being misinterpreted.
“Not like that,” Shane had said, leaning in and unknowingly emphasizing the light flush already forming on his cheeks. “With hypnosis. I think I could make you come with just my words.”
Ilya scoffed at him and internally celebrated his victory at accurately clocking Shane’s arousal from Ilya’s soft and pliant form before the weight of what Shane was suggesting fully settled on him.
When he’d first processed it, his immediate thought was that it wouldn’t work. Even when he agreed and chose the day that he’d consent to their regular relaxing sessions, taking on a sultry edge, he had his doubts. Now, meeting Shane’s confident gaze and already feeling the effects of his gentle voice guiding Ilya towards an altered state of consciousness, his doubts were quiet. All his thoughts had grown syrupy and hard to reach. Before his husband had even begun guiding his breathing and whispering affirmations between each instruction, he knew his doubt was misplaced.
“Doing so good,” Shane muttered, more to himself than Ilya, who was already on the cusp of trance from breathing deeply and holding Shane’s gaze. “Feeling so relaxed, so good, Ilyusha.”
Ilya let out a pleased hum, unconsciously, causing Shane to grin down at him. He’d quickly discovered how well the Russian responded to praise. With how wound up he constantly was, yelling and fighting as he soared on the ice and still carrying that frenetic energy, continuing to chirp and bounce when off, Shane quickly realized that being forced to stay still – including keeping his eyes fixed on Shane’s – reminded to breathe, and gently affirmed, Ilya slipped into trance like a second nature.
“Sleep, Ilyusha,” he said softly, finally relieving the man below him of the increasingly difficult task of keeping his heavy eyes open. His eyes fell shut with finality, and he released all his tension, melting into the mattress below him and Shane’s lap under his head.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” Shane said softly, stroking Ilya’s shoulder with a steady hand as he spoke. “Already sinking into trance for me.”
Ilya’s next exhale was a deeper sigh, aware of Shane’s voice even as his consciousness drifted.
“Now, because tonight is special, I need you to go a lot deeper for me,” Shane explained, looking at Ilya’s still form for a reaction.
He sighed again. Good.
“I’m gonna count you down all the way from 50,” he went on. “And you’re gonna drop deeper with every single number, letting go of everything except my voice, sinking so deeply for me.”
This time, Shane didn’t wait for any breathy acknowledgment; he didn’t need one. He started counting.
“Fifty,” he began. “Sinking deeper with every number. Forty-nine, relaxing further into trance. Forty-eight, feeling all your muscles release their tension. Forty-seven, feeling so good…”
Shane continued like that, a short instruction said after each number. Despite his body already being practically liquid – his muscles loose and his jaw slack – Ilya somehow managed to sink deeper, mentally and physically resting heavier on the mattress with each count.
“Thirty-nine, the deeper you go, the better you feel. Thirty-eight, letting go of all your thoughts. Thirty-seven, feeling so incredibly blank. Thirty-six, focusing on my voice...”
Ilya wasn’t entirely sure what Shane was saying. In fact, after just 10 or so numbered he’d lost track of what exactly Shane was doing entirely. A distant, sleepy part of him told him he should be bothered, that he was a captain, and a Russian, and being this unaware shouldn’t sit so right with him. However, with the next count, the part disappeared without another objection or so much as a trace.
“Twenty-five, your resistance fading away, it doesn’t serve you. Twenty-four, completely blank and empty for me. Twenty-three, it feels so good to be mindless. Twenty-two…”
Completely blank, mindless, Ilya felt himself sink impossibly deeper into a feeling he would have recognized in its shallower form if he had the ability to recognize anything at all. Early on, he had thought that he couldn’t possibly go deeper, that he was so far gone he was at the bottom, and a deeper trance couldn’t exist. Now, he couldn’t think at all, and somehow continued to sink without an awareness of what was happening and why.
“Ten, your head feels so empty. Nine, your mind is blank. Eight, you’re doing so well,”
The phrases were getting shorter, and Shane knew he was repeating himself, but it didn’t matter when it was so clear that Ilya was reaching another level of submersion that Shane felt giddy just witnessing.
“Three, nothing inside you except my voice. Two, ready to drop all the way down,” Shane paused, pleased to see no tension, no evidence of bracing on the man below him. He brought his hand next to his ear, leaving one in his hand. “One, sleep.” He snapped.
There were no visible changes in Ilya’s demeanor. By now, his body had melted as far as physics would allow, but even without a visible change, Shane could feel the pleasant warmth coming from his husband and his controlled, but deeply relaxed breathing as proof that he’d reach his deepest state of trance yet.
The realization made Shane smile, bringing his hands to Ilya’s bare chest to truly appreciate the slow rise and fall of his breath, then dragging them to his shoulders to fully appreciate his warmth and lack of tension, lastly moving upwards once more to cup his face.
“Did so well, Ilyusha,” he cooed, even though more praise wasn’t necessary to coax him in this state, Shane couldn’t help but let his heart’s declarations be spoken. “You deserve a reward.”
Shane leaned down, his breath ghosting Ilya’s face before he tilted to the side and brushed his lips on the shell of the Russian’s ear.
“From now on,” he whispered, so as not to startle Ilya when speaking so close. “Whenever I snap my fingers, you’ll feel an intense rush of pleasure throughout your entire body.”
Shane paused, letting the command settle, smiling contentedly when his sharp attention allowed him to catch the tiniest hitch in Ilya’s breath. He switched to the other ear, lips grazing Ilya’s forehead in his journey.
“Every time I snap my fingers, deep, and pure arousal will course through you,” he explained, hushed. “The sensation will overwhelm you, but you’ll be so empty and blank for me you’ll have no choice but to let it build, and build.”
Ilya’s breath hitched again, more noticeable this time, and Shane rose from his place, leaning by Ilya’s ear, to see a flush dusting the Russian’s face.
“Now, it’s going to be very intense,” he warned with emphasis, now speaking in the narrow space between their faces, their noses almost touching. “So I’m gonna count down from five. When I reach one, I’m going to snap, and you’re going to feel every ounce of that pleasure, and feel so unbearably good.”
Ilya shuddered, hardly noticeable, before his muscles yielded to the pull of relaxation again, and he went limp. Shane’s fingers lightly traced lines up his neck.
“Five, feeling the heat already starting to build.”
The Russian’s breathing began to grow uneven, the slow, deep respirations disintegrating into increasingly needy panting breaths.
“Four, letting your anticipation grow.”
He shuddered again, this time more noticeably. It racked his entire upper body and didn’t seem to stop.
“Three, too mindless, too blank to stop it.”
A furrow had appeared in his brow at some point, tension creeping into his jaw, but it all disappeared, his face going slack with obedience.
“Two, needing it so badly.”
Shane watched deftly as Ilya was fully trembling beneath him, his eyes still closed gently, but his body bracing to yield to the unattainable pleasure Shane was threatening to release him to. He cupped Ilya’s jaw with one hand, the other resting right next to his ear.
“So good for me,” he couldn’t help but mutter again, reverent at the sight. Ilya’s breath was growing frantic, shiver after shiver snaking its way through him, making him grow desperate. If he could think, he would beg, but he couldn’t. Just before his heavy breathing could build towards a pleading whine, the closest he could get to begging.
Shane snapped.
"One."
Ilya let out a guttural moan. He tossed his head back in Shane’s lap as he bucked his hips into nothing, his back flexing and arching as he was left writhing and shaking and groaning in Shane’s lap as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Overwhelming was an understatement. He was being remade, hollowed out by an impossibly stimulating sensation that he couldn’t even gather a thought about, let alone resist. It was so good, it was too good.
“Such a good boy,” Shane couldn’t help but coo as Ilya unconsciously pressed his face into Shane’s hand, his eyes now half lidded but unfocused as he seemingly tried to escape the overwhelming ecstasy that was racking him.
“Just feeling it build and build, never fading, never letting up. Submit to it, baby,” Shane urged him, dragging a desperate whine out of the shuddering man below him. “Every time I snap my fingers, it increases.”
Shane snapped again, and Ilya let out another punched-out sound that wasn’t unlike a cry, hips twitching more feverishly as he was overtaken by another wave, despite his cock only being pressed against the fabric of his boxers, now soaked in precum as he leaked uncontrollably. If he could think, he’d be in disbelief that there was more, that the feeling could multiply, but he couldn’t think; he could only moan, and writhe, and feel every ounce down to his core.
“Feeling so blank,” Shane muttered softly as he stroked his thumb on Ilya’s forehead, where his brow was threatening to furrow once more.
He snapped again, and any inklings of tension in Ilya’s blissed-out face quickly disappeared. His unfocused eyes now rolled back in his head, his jaw slack and drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, threatening to spill down his reddened cheeks.
“Too mindless to do anything but feel,” the Canadian went on, before snapping again.
The sound Ilya let out this time was definitely a sob, and with it, a line of saliva left his mouth, opening the gates for more drool to pool out. In any other state, he’d be gripping the sheets and begging for mercy, but the coordinated tension needed to wind his fist didn’t come. It dissolved, like any intentional movement, rapidly until all he could do was shake as he took it.
“Oh, baby,” his husband cooed. “It’s so much, I know. Are you gonna come?”
Distantly, Ilya could feel a question being asked of him, but his ability to process had been plucked from him minutes (maybe hours) ago, with the arousal still coursing through him being all-consuming. However, whatever Shane asked made him distantly aware of an ache, a need somewhere inside him being amplified by the sound of every snap ringing in his ears.
He tried to speak, to beg, but all that came out was garbled gibberish, unintelligible in any language, making Shane coo at his helplessness all the more.
Then he snapped again.
“It’s okay, baby,” he assured over Ilya's pathetic whimpers. He snapped again. “You can come whenever you’d like.”
He snapped again.
And again. And again. And again in rapid succession, creating a steady rhythm until Ilya was unsure where one wave ended, and another began, because now he was drowning. He was being pulled impossibly deeper into this abysmal, relaxing feeling despite his back being permanently arched, his hips desperately grinding the air purchase, and writhing in a silent plea for something he didn’t even know. Shane kept snapping. It was too much, it wasn’t enough. He needed more; he needed it to stop. It felt so good; it was so overwhelming. He felt his want pooling in a way that he would’ve recognized if alert. His increasingly pathetic, loud, broken moans peaked before dissolving into wrecked little whimpers and then suddenly silence when ..
He whited out. He didn’t even know he was cumming, he couldn’t possibly know that his untouched cock was twitching and painting the inside of his boxers, he didn’t know Shane was still snapping through all of it, leaving him spasming and whimpering and overstimulated. He did know that whatever this was, it was a lot, and it felt so good, and he didn’t have to think or know anything else, so as soon as he came down, his entire body returned to laxness, and his mind, which never left the hazy, fuzzy feeling of trance, drifted further into nothingness.
When his awareness returned, he could hear Shane talking and feel him scratching his scalp, muttering praises and tracing those gentle patterns.
He smiled when Ilya finally managed to focus his eyes, the world fading back into light.
“Hi,” he said, his tongue still heavy as he willed away exhaustion.
“Hi,” Shane said, looking at him with the sweetest, genuine smile that Ilya could lay there and look up at forever except..
“I came in my pants,” he noted, feeling a prominent, uncomfortable, now cold, damp feeling in his nether regions.
“Yes, you did,” Shane said casually, far too casually, as he often did.
“It worked,” Ilya muttered again, still quietly growing reaccustomed to consciousness.
“You didn’t think it would?” Shane asked, quirking a brow and looking slightly offended.
“Mm, I didn’t think I would see God,” the blonde settled on, avoiding answering the actual question, which Shane thankfully let go, laughing at the comment.
“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” Shane insisted.
“So I can suck you off in the shower to repay the favor?”
“Ilya!” Shane gasped, his face turning red before his brow furrowed, considering, then.. “Okay, fine, but quickly.”
And with that, Shane hurriedly stripped them both, and Ilya let himself be led to the bathroom with a triumphant smirk.