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“Ilya, no.”
“Ilya, yes.”
Shane was standing in front of the full length mirror in their walk in closet, frowning at him like an adorable angry kitten. Ilya stood behind him, back to chest, and held the garment up again in front of Shane's boxer clad hips. Ilya had yet to get dressed himself, much more focused on convincing Shane to go along with his latest idea.
“Is a crime to cover up those thighs, малыш. Especially for this.” Ilya put his best pouty face on and pleaded with Shane's reddened reflection in the mirror.
Today was the Pride and Pucks community event. The Ottawa Centaurs were happily the ‘queerest’ team in the MLH, and they had decided to host their own Pride event this year during the week the city also hosted all of their events.
Poor Shane thought that meant wearing a rainbow jersey for warmups, maybe recording a video. But the Pride and Pucks event wasn't being held on the ice, and there was no way Ilya was going to let his husband cover himself like a blushing virgin for this.
Ilya had bought him and Shane several outfits for various events this week. He could admit to himself that maybe starting off with this particular choice was a bit too ambitious, but he was committed to the cause now.
Shane was already (grudgingly) wearing the t-shirt Ilya had handed him. He'd picked out a black t-shirt with a deep v-neck and ordered it a size too small. What was the point of all those hours in the gym if Shane didn't show it off? On the front it said “I'm not regular gay, I'm super gay” with the word gay being in a very large font and rainbow striped.
“I am not super gay Ilya,” Shane had groaned when Ilya first held it up. “What does that even mean? Are there levels of gay? I thought Drag Race was about cars until Rose turned it on, remember?”
“Oh I remember,” Ilya had smirked. “Rose laughed so hard she snorted her wine. Was iconic.”
Shane had acquiesced on the shirt pretty easily, despite his grumbling, but he was refusing the bottoms. If a man couldn't show off his hockey thighs in a black and rainbow pleated miniskirt at Pride, where could he? Ilya just wanted Shane to embrace his gay identity– absolutely no selfish motives here. He shook the skirt in front of Shane in the mirror again.
“Моя любовь, pleaaaseee. Just try it for me?” Ilya whispered into Shane's ear. He was playing dirty as he kissed his way down Shane's neck, always an instant turn on switch for him. Shane didn't say anything, just tilted his head further to give Ilya better access, and grabbed the skirt from his hands.
“You are insufferable,” he said as he pulled the skirt on over his ass and situated it, smoothing the pleats down. In the mirror Shane's eyes were lust filled, a deep blush highlighting his cheeks. He reached back to grab Ilya’s arms and bring them back to his own hips.
“Mmm, maybe, but you love it. And your ass in this skirt makes me want to do bad things to you.” To emphasize his point Ilya swept his eyes across Shane's full reflection as his hands wandered from his hips to grope him under the tiny skirt. Shane stared back at him in the mirror, eyes heated.
“Show me.”
Ilya's knees hit the carpeted floor before he even registered moving. Fuck. Bossy Shane was a goddamned delight. He took his time pulling Shane's tight black boxers off, leaving the skirt covering exactly nothing.
He couldn't help himself from sucking marks into Shane's meaty thighs, biting his way up to his ass before covering his cheeks in perfect impressions of his teeth. Ilya loved Shane's ass. The perfect round globes that his hands could barely contain, his tight little hole that was only his to take. He loved marking his territory with bite marks and occasionally, hand prints, and if that made him a caveman, then so be it.
He grabbed Shane's ass cheeks in both hands and pulled them apart to give himself space. “Beautiful” he muttered before licking a broad stripe up his crease before swirling his tongue over Shane's hole, teasing bitten off moans from him. Shane's knees threatened to buckle from that first sensation and Ilya couldn't help the smug little laugh that escaped him.
If only the world knew. Perfect, buttoned up, media trained to the heavens, Canada's Golden Boy Shane Hollander, unraveling immediately from a tongue in his ass. But no. This was a privilege only for Ilya. The world couldn't have this slutty, submissive version of Shane. They would never get to see him like this, bared open, writhing, and pushing his ass back into Ilya's face. Mine. The possessive thoughts swelled up in him as he sucked and licked at Shane's hole, fucking him with his tongue. This was always, only, for him.
Shane was whimpering, hands braced on the mirror, head hanging between his shoulders. Sweat beaded on his forehead and clung to the tips of his long silky hair. His eyes were clouded with that fucked-out haze Ilya loved to see. He suddenly needed to push him further, just a little bit.
Ilya stood and lubed his fingers, grateful, not for the first time for the bottles of lube they had stashed all over the house. He pushed two fingers into Shane's tight heat and grabbed his hair with his free hand, forcing him to stare at their reflection. “Look at yourself, sweetheart. Look how gone you are for me. Most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.”
Shane whined at the command, but complied. The instant obedience was enough to make Ilya feel lightheaded. He scissored his fingers a bit more, stretching Shane open, before lubing his cock and thrusting inside, punching the air out of both of them with twin groans. They'd fucked thousands of times. In every position they could manage, on every surface, in houses and hotels across continents, and it never failed to take him by surprise, just how good it was. Every fucking time.
"Tell me who you belong to, Шаня. Who owns this ass?" Ilya growled as he hammered into Shane. He fucked him fast and rough today, he wanted Shane to feel this all day and remember this. Remember who he belonged to. Remember who he was dressing up to impress. Remember how he was rewarded for his submission to Ilya.
"You, baby. Unhhh. Only ever you."
Shane threw his head back on Ilya's shoulder as he thrust his cock inside him. Ilya steadied himself with one hand on Shane's hip, digging the material of the tiny skirt into his skin. He rested the other one on Shane's throat. Not choking, just applying steady pressure to keep Shane focused, present. Usually Ilya encouraged him to float away, but today he wanted him paying attention. He needed Shane to see what Ilya saw when he looked at him, when he claimed him.
He kept up his punishing pace, taking no mercy on Shane's ass, nailing his prostate relentlessly. Shane was taking him so beautifully, trembling with the effort of not coming before he was allowed. Ilya placed sloppy wet kisses all over his neck, sucking on his earlobe before biting down.
"Remember this, hmm. You. Are. Mine."
Shane's whole body tightened, eyes slipping closed as Ilya continued to slam into him, the hand on his neck forcing his head upright. He let out a high keening sound as Ilya drove into him, forcing Shane's body to accept what he was given. He'd have fingerprint bruises on him later and Ilya knew there'd be hell to pay when Shane's head cleared. But right now, he was lost in the need to fucking ruin this man. He wanted him to absolutely fall apart from the force of Ilya taking him and owning him.
“Eyes open, малыш. Come for me now” he growled in Shane's ear. Ilya flipped up the front of the skirt and held it out of the way, just in time to watch Shane's red, swollen cock shoot untouched all over the mirror, thick ropes of cum painting their reflection. Shane's eyes watered with the effort of staying open as Ilya continued pumping into him, his hand tightening ever so slightly around his throat, just enough for Shane to struggle with the effort to breathe, to know Ilya controlled even his breath.
Ilya fucked him hard, rhythm slipping as he neared his own orgasm. He delighted in Shane's oversensitive shaking and moaning as he bit down on Shane's exposed neck, and thrust his cock into his ass as deep as he could. Shane screamed and his hole clenched around Ilya's dick as he finally let himself go and filled Shane's hole with his hot release, claiming him in the most intimate way he could.
“Fuck, baby,” Shane panted out, hands coming off the mirror as he leaned his dead weight entirely against Ilya's chest, trusting him to keep them both upright. They were both breathing hard, relishing in the feeling of still being connected.
“Mmm. So you agree the skirt is hot now, yes?” Ilya laughed at Shane's involuntary blush. His dick was still in Shane's ass, his cum filling him and leaking down his thighs, but calling a skirt hot made him blush. Oh how Ilya adored his man.
“Should put a plug in you and make you stay full of me for this event, hmm. Think you could handle it? Can't get hard wearing this slutty little skirt, Шанечка, won't hide a thing.” Ilya was mostly teasing, but the full bodied shiver from Shane at the idea did give him a moment of consideration.
They still had an hour before they had to leave, Shane had even set an alarm. A habit he had begun after they were almost an hour late for Fan Appreciation Day. Ilya maintained that he had spent that time thoroughly appreciating his biggest fan. Harris and Coach Wiebe disagreed.
He finally slipped out of Shane and walked them to the bathroom to clean up. He made sure to be extra gentle with Shane's abused hole, cleaning him thoroughly and rubbing his expensive lotion into his sensitive cheeks. He placed gentle kisses all over Shane's ass and thighs, admiring his marks and the goosebumps that broke out from his breath on his oversensitive skin.
Shane pulled on a clean pair of briefs, but Ilya was thrilled when he left the skirt on. Success. Shane hadn't seen Ilya's outfit yet so he sent him out of the closet to put his shoes on and walk Anya while Ilya got dressed. He couldn't help the grin spread across his face as he pulled his clothes on, imagining Shane's reaction.
He didn't have to wait long. Ten minutes later he was walking downstairs. Shane turned at the sound of his feet on the stairs and his gaze swept over Ilya's body. It felt like a brand on his skin, the way Shane looked at him as their eyes locked.
Ilya reached the bottom of the stairs and did a little twirl. He saw the corner of Shane's mouth twitch and that was enough, he had to kiss him about it.
Shane broke this kiss, putting a hand on Ilya's chest. “Baby…” he started. Ilya decided to play dumb.
“What is it sweetheart?”
“Must you wear that shirt, baby? Seriously?”
“Oh yes малыш, I must.”
Shane groaned, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him. Ilya was wearing a black v-neck, similar to Shane's, but Ilya had cut the sleeves and the bottom half of his off, leaving his abs and his arms on full display. His shirt, of course, wasn't proclaiming him super gay, like Shane's. Instead, his read “I'm not gay, but my husband is” in white writing, set on top of rainbow stripes. He paired his modified top with the shortest, tightest black shorts he could still pull over his ass. The blessing and the curse of hockey butts was real, y'all.
But what really pulled the look together was his accessories. Of course, his wedding ring was always on, these days proudly glittering on his hand, not hiding on his necklace unless they were on the ice. He had a collection of Pride and Centaurs related friendship bracelets on one arm, gifts from fans that he was excited to show off and trade at today's event. He'd stolen one of Rose's old belts, a rainbow studded callback to the early aughts that he couldn't believe she kept, and threaded that around his little shorts.
He'd left his curls natural, cascading around his face and down his forehead, and he'd also smudged the tiniest amount of black eyeliner under his lashes. The combination was really doing something, if he did say so himself. But he's fairly certain the thing that had actually blue-screened his husband was the tights– between his black combat boots with the bi-pride laces, and the barely there hem of his shorts, Ilya's pale muscular legs were wrapped in black fishnets.
Altogether, he knew he painted quite an image. Undeniably queer, undeniably married, undeniably torturing his very private husband, on purpose. It was their first pride event! Ilya had always made his presence known. From early on, it became obvious to him that he would never be able to be like Shane– polished, professional, blending into his environment.
So he leaned into the larger than life picture the media painted of him. He mostly enjoyed the attention. He knew he was hot, and he didn't see any reason to pretend otherwise. At least this way, if all eyes were going to be on him anyway, he felt like he had the illusion of control– of choice. It made life under a microscope easier to bear if you put yourself there.
But now? Out, married, supported by the best team, part of an actual family, and free from the spectre of Russia's oppression? Yeah, Ilya was taking up all the space, fucking gladly. Now he was choosing it, courting it, and he was dragging his husband with him. If they were going to be written in sports history books (and they already were), Ilya was determined to do it proudly, head held high, and in style, damn it.
Shane had given up all pretense of annoyance, openly ogling Ilya at this point.
“Yes, I know. I am too sexy but we have to go, солнышко. Cannot have pride party without hockey husbands.”
Shane shook his head like he was clearing the cobwebs out of his brain. He kissed the corner of Ilya's mouth, and when he pulled back there was a glint in his eye that made Ilya shiver.
“I, uh, got you something actually. To wear. Today. If you want,” despite trying to appear confident, cocky even, Ilya heard the nerves in Shane's tone. Whatever he'd gotten him, he was both excited and panicked about, and Ilya was clueless as to what that could mean.
He disappeared for a minute, gathering something from the hall closet they used for rain and snow gear. Shane returned carrying a black square box. He handed the box to Ilya and instantly blushed a furious red color. His eyes didn't waver, however, as Ilya pulled the lid off the box. He looked inside and his breath caught.
“Shane…”
“It's ok, baby. You don't have to wear it. We never talked about it or anything and I shouldn't have just thrown it at you right before we have to leave. I'm sorry, it's stupid ok. We can forget it just plea-”
Ilya cut off Shane's nervous rambling by attacking his mouth. He kissed him breathless, all tongue and teeth, forgetting they had a timer running out. They finally broke apart, Ilya's head resting on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of forever that lived in Shane's skin.
“Show me.”
They both smiled at that, Shane's shoulders lowering a fraction, which was Ilya's goal in quoting his own words back to him. Shane reached into the small box Ilya was still clutching. He pulled out the item, a sleek black leather collar. He turned it over in his hands slowly, letting Ilya take in all the details. His fingers itched to secure it on Ilya's gorgeous neck.
He'd spent more time than he was willing to admit, on corners of the internet he hoped no one ever traced back to him, searching for the perfect one. He wanted to get this right, needed it to be perfect. Ilya was worth it. He was worth everything.
He knew how viscerally, tangibly Ilya desired to be chosen. How much he wanted everyone to know he was taken, and taken by Shane specifically. And as much as they'd been so very open and honest about so many things, Ilya still struggled sometimes with voicing a direct desire. Especially one that he felt would make him seem needy or weak. His father's voice still managed to haunt him, despite their best efforts, and countless hours of therapy. So Shane did what Shane did best– research.
What started off as a simple search for something akin to a wedding ring, but…louder, became a crash course in puppy play, ownership kinks, and leather daddies. Shane honestly wasn't sure what to do with all of that, but it was informative. He'd saved several bookmarks to revisit with Ilya later. Meanwhile, he kept coming back to the idea of a collar.
Ilya loved when Shane got possessive. Hell, he even loved how strict Shane could be, where most people saw him as uptight and controlling, Ilya thrived. He sought out the structure and rules Shane couldn't help but enforce in life. Said that it settled the chaos inside him from turning him reckless and dangerous. When Ilya called Shane boring, what he meant was steady, grounding, stable.
If a physical collar could remind him that Shane was all those things, and always would be, it seemed like a net positive. And maybe they were a little too obsessed with the idea of marking their territory, but after a decade of hiding, who could blame them? Shane wanted everyone to know Ilya belonged to him.
Shane had custom ordered the entire thing, probably making the poor artisan insane with his questions and modification requests. The smooth black leather was maybe an inch and a half wide. It fastened with a gold clasp like a watchband. Shane had measured Ilya's neck one night when he was sleeping, and asked for extra length to make it adjustable since their weight changed over the season so drastically. The tag loop was secured with the same black leather and two rivets on either side. A custom ID tag hung from the loop. Underneath that, secured by two more rivets was a matte gold chain about 2 inches long. Shane figured it was just for decoration but he thought it looked nice so he hadn't changed that part of the design. The accents were all matte gold, and all 14k because he had absolutely no chill when it came to spoiling his baby.
The outside of the collar was embroidered with Ilya's name in black thread, subtle, but there. Ilya Hollander. Professionally, they kept their own names. Legally, they'd hyphenated and become the Hollander-Rozanovs. But for this, claiming his property? He gave him only his own last name. It felt right.
Ilya's eyes teared up as his fingers gently traced the embroidery, and Shane silently celebrated his victory. He flipped the collar over to show Ilya what he'd had stamped on the inside. The date was first. 12.23.08. Followed by coordinates 50.4091766° N | -104.6333156° W
They really didn't have a date outside of their wedding anniversary, to hallmark their relationship. The whole timeline was very confusing, even to them. But after everything– plane crashes, wedding vows, and heart to hearts, they both admitted that the sparks were there from that very first meeting. So that's what Shane chose. The coordinates to a shitty, since closed down, ice rink in Regina, and the date just before Christmas so many years ago.
He'd introduced himself to the arrogant Russian kid he'd been studying on grainy VHS tapes, scolded him for smoking, and been insulted, blushing profusely and shaking his hand twice in ten minutes. And somehow, he had irreversibly changed both of their lives. So yeah, he figured it was worth remembering.
Ilya had yet to say a word since he lifted the lid on the box, but his shaky breaths gave him away. So did the tear that fell onto the soft gray suede of the collar's interior. Shane held him closer with his free arm, pulling him tightly to his side.
Lastly, was the tag, holding it gently as he flipped it to show Ilya both sides. The tag had been the biggest dilemma for Shane. He couldn't decide on a shape. He couldn't figure out what to write on it. He debated not adding a tag at all, at one point, but it looked unfinished without one. Finally, he settled on a hexagon shaped pendant, about an inch wide, in the same matte gold as everything else. On the front it was engraved with their numbers, 2481. The back read “Property of Shane Hollander. If lost, return to owner.”
Ilya laughed at that, but as he was also attempting not to cry openly, it came out more like a choking honk. Shane lost his composure at that, breaking the tender silence they'd been standing in with a full bodied laugh. Shane stood, delicately holding the collar, and holding his breath. Silently giving Ilya time and space in light of introducing something new, allowing room for whatever response he may have.
They stood there for a few minutes, Ilya nestled into Shane's side, his head on Shane's chest. Just breathing each other in, until finally Ilya spoke.
“Put it on me, малыш. Please,” Ilya's voice wavered as he asked but Shane wasn't about to call it out.
He moved behind Ilya and fastened it around his gorgeous neck. He checked the tightness with two fingers slipped between the leather and Ilya's warm skin. Ilya turned then and Shane stepped back to properly view him.
His breath caught. He bit his lower lip. He was staring and he knew it. But how could he not?
“Is good?” Ilya asked.
Was Ilya actually wondering if Shane's silence was disapproval? When this entire thing was his idea? That just wouldn't do. Shane's fingers wound through the chain on the collar and pulled until Ilya crashed into him. Oh fuck. So that's what that chain was for. Well, they'd be exploring that more tonight.
He kissed him with everything he had, hands messing up his styled curls and not giving a single little fuck. Ilya kissed him right back, devouring him, hands rucked up under the absurdly short skirt he'd been coerced into, grabbing his ass hard enough to leave handprints. God they were going to make headlines with their outfits today. And it was only the first of several pride events this week.
Shane's phone started buzzing, signaling it was time to go and effectively ruining the moment. And, yes, also preventing the kiss from getting (even further) out of control. Both of them looked a little flushed, a little tousled. Shane laughed as they both uncomfortably adjusted themselves. Ilya's left hand reached for his collar, gently fidgeting with the tag. His other hand found Shane's ass and cupped him with a possessive hold.
They called out their goodbyes to Anya who was blissfully asleep on her pink dog-sized sofa. (She is our daughter Шаня, you want her to sit on the floor?!) Shane stuck his hand in Ilya's back pocket and together they headed out the door to go celebrate Pride with their team and their city.
It was such a surreal concept, Shane could almost forget that said team was absolutely going to notice Shane's outfit and the bite marks littering his body that he didn't bother to cover. Shane's thighs looked like he'd been used as a chew toy. (Because he had been)
Forget about noticing Ilya's new accessory. He knew his husband. Ilya was definitely going to show it off, and tell everyone he could that he was “Property of Shane Hollander.” Bood and Troy were definitely going to say something. Luca was definitely going to blush and forget how to speak English. Harris was definitely going to be owed combat pay for editing their social media presence into something respectable.
How was this his actual life?
What beautiful madness it was, to own and be owned in equal measure. Obsession, possession. Call it what you want.
For Shane and Ilya, they just called it love.