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Practice had been weird. Wiebe had given the normal pep talk on the ice after running drills, something about their upcoming road trip to Florida, but the most of the team had been distracted. Boodram and Dykstra were whispering and giggling, which wasn’t abnormal, but they kept glancing at Ilya while it happened. If it was any other day, Ilya would have smacked the two of them on the back of the head, but Shane was next to him. When Ilya was around Shane, he felt like he had to control his impulses, that he had to be good. It was something that had been ingrained into Ilya over the years of their relationship — especially after they finally started playing into those dynamics. Before they were on the same team, it didn’t extended farther than the bedroom. In privacy, Ilya would be on his knees, taking Shane into his mouth, and Shane would pet his hair and call him “good”. Outside of that, they were rivals.
But, with Shane now standing next to him on the ice in the same jersey, it was different. Instead of their usual cat and dog rivalry, it was more of a dog and their… handler. At least that is how he had heard Harris talk about it one time, between photoshoots, to Gen. It hadn’t made sense to Ilya until he had asked Shane about it afterward, reveling in the way that Shane’s freckles almost glowed, backlit from the blush that painted his cheeks.
“They are saying, I’m like — like your owner. I guess.” Shane had murmured, shoving his gloves into the cubby above his name plate. Ilya had paused, his own gloves sat in his lap as he watched Shane slowly take off his hockey gear. The photoshoot had required them to both be in their full game gear, which was annoying because they weren’t even on the ice, but Chiron had been bounding around the offices that day so Ilya had smiled and posed. Like a good boy.
“My owner, huh?” Ilya had said amusedly, eyes trailing up and down Shane’s now shirtless chest, instinctively spreading his knees apart as Shane moved and stood between his legs. Ilya had looked up at Shane through his eyelashes, smiling as Shane gave him a look that made Ilya squirm.
“You like it.” Shane had cooed, running a hand through Ilya’s blonde curls a few times before resting his open palm on Ilya’s cheek. Ilya leaned into the touch, eyes slipping shut. He did.
So, Ilya had ignored the giggles that skittered past him as they practiced, ignored how Hayes had made pointed comments about how excited he was “to go back to the locker room!”, ignored how Shane’s hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, the black strands tickling right above his eyes.
Finally, as they filed off the ice, Ilya felt motivated to say something. He grabbed the back of Troy Barrett’s jersey, the right wingman stumbling slightly at the unexpected touch.
“What is so funny to them?”
“Huh?”
Troy had looked at him, his uncomfortably blue eyes glancing around, confused and truly unaware of what Ilya was talking about. Troy was too easy to read. He sighed, letting go of Troy’s jersey and patting him on the shoulder. Ilya wasn’t sure why he expected Barrett to be in on any inside jokes. Despite the strides he had made since joining the Centaurs, Barrett spent most of his time off the ice with Harris, his boyfriend. Troy made a soft noise of confusion, and continued waddling towards the locker room behind Ilya, who now was slightly more annoyed than before. He hated when his players hid things from him.
There was a package sitting in Ilya’s stall, a bag covered in blue and green stripes with colorful tissue paper sticking out of the top. It was fancy, and it was… weird. There was no birthday coming up, or anniversary of any kind that he could think of. He looked around the rest of the locker room curiously, trying to find a single teammate to make eye contact with. Everyone was acting normal suddenly, unlacing their skates or putting their jerseys in the big laundry pile that was slowly building. It was almost like they were purposefully ignoring him, like they would break and tell him exactly what this mysterious gift was the moment they locked eyes with Ilya.
Begrudgingly, Ilya bent down to pick up the bag, peering between the soft tissue paper at what was inside. His heart swelled at the gesture his teammates had made. He felt bad for being so annoyed during practice, for judging them under his breath. It was a thoughtful gift, probably pulled together by some of the older guys. Lifting out the nylon collar, he turned around and gave the first person he could get to look at him a soft smile— Wyatt Hayes.
“Thank you. Anya will love it.”
Wyatt gave a smile back, however his was teasing. A smirk, now that Ilya looked at it closer.
“It’s not for Anya, Roz.” Zane Broodman had said between a breathy laugh next to Wyatt, and Ilya felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion as he brought his gaze back to the collar in his hands. It was soft, with a black and white checkered pattern. The metal clasp was silver, and reflected brightly in the over head lights of the locker room. He turned it around in his hand, studying, looking for anything that would explain why there was soft snickers being thrown around between his teammates.
That is when the tag on the collar caught his eye; it was silver and in the shape of a dog bone. Ilya lifted the collar closer to his face, eyes squinting as he tried to read the thin carved letters. It was then, with the smell of nylon and sweat filling his nose, that Ilya realized that he wasn’t above murder.
When Shane had transferred to the Ottawa Centaurs, for the first time in his life, Ilya wasn’t scared of rejection. He knew his team, no their team, would be supportive. It was hard to remember sometimes, that he was surrounded by people who cared about him. Cared about Shane, how they were, how they were handling the stress or the expectations that now clouded over their heads after their relationship went public.
It would hit him, the acceptance and the normalcy that this team had given them, and it was so, so heartwarming. There was dinners, where they would all file into a teammates house, children running in and out of rooms and laughter filling the air. At each one Ilya could reach out to Shane. He could grab his hand, even if it made Shane glance around the room with panicked eyes at first. It was harder for Shane, Ilya knew this. His old team had hurt him really deeply. Shane would cry about it still sometimes, especially when he would send Hayden a congratulations text after the Voyageurs would (somehow, in Ilya’s opinion) win. It hurt Ilya, seeing Shane like that. Haunted by the family that he gave everything to, his youth, his skills, and they had turned on him. It was why Ilya put in such a strong effort for Shane to feel not just welcomed, but loved with the Centaurs.
Ilya wanted Shane to feel the community that had been built for them, to make him feel at home on the ice again after how rejected he had felt. It was like all the puzzle pieces of Ilya’s life were finally falling into place. Shane was his, publicly, and they were still playing hockey, and Ilya had a dog and it was just… it was just all he needed. Because now, Shane would laugh with their teammates, being able to finally let loose around a group of people who knew him beyond his hockey reputation. He would squeeze Ilya’s hand back in response, resting their interlocked fingers on his thigh at a dinner table, a soft flush on his freckled cheeks as he laughed with whatever girlfriend sat on his other side.
They had finally found a place where they could be themselves, and be loved for it.
Except right now, as he felt the dog collar sit heavily in his hands, Ilya had wished these people never knew about them. Because of course, out of all jokes they could make, they had to make one that actually meant something. Something extremely embarrassing.
The silver bone-shaped tag had blocky letters, the front reading Rozanov in capital letters, and the back…
“Property of Shane Hollander”
Ilya felt the weight of the collar suddenly, like it had gained 10 pounds in the time it took Ilya to read the tag. There was laughter that floated around the locker room, playful and light, however Ilya knew if they had actually understood what was happening, it would be dead silent. In fact, Ilya actually wished it was silent. Wished he was alone in the locker room, collar in his hands, then around his nec—
“Lighten up, Roz!” Evan Dykstra had laughed, a hard hand coming down suddenly on Ilya’s shoulder, making him jump. The black and white collar slipped out of his hands, the metal making a loud thunk on the floor as it landed. Ilya let out an uncomfortable laugh, bending down to pick up, his… no — not his… or was it… god… the collar. As he lifted his head back up, preparing himself to put on the most convincing mask he could muster up, any attempt shattered. Shane walked into the bright locker room, hair wet from the shower, athletic shorts resting on his hips. There was a curious tilt to his eyebrows as he scanned the room, a soft smile on his face at the energy in the air. Shane was always susceptible to a good laugh. Then, when Shane’s eyes landed on Ilya, crouched on the ground with a dog collar in his hands, Shane’s face bloomed into an even bigger smile.
“Aw, is that for Anya?”
The room erupted in an even louder laughter, one that made Troy Barrett flinch from where Ilya could see him tucked into his cubby. Shane laughed along softly, moving over to to his bag, pulling out his deodorant and giving Ilya a look that said what am I missing?.
“Read it! Read it!” Wyatt Hayes had said ecstatically, running over to snatch the collar out of Ilya’s unsuspecting hands. Hayes tossed the gift to Shane, who clumsily caught it. Ilya was humiliated. The emotion didn’t come easy to him, he honestly had pride in that. He could take most of anything that was thrown his way over the years. However this, this was… different.
It had taken Ilya ages to finally open up to Shane about his desire for praise, to be, for lack of better terms: Shane’s good boy. It was vulnerable, and Ilya felt like everyone in the locker room had joined together to make fun of him. Ilya Rozanov, tough captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, liked being treated like a dog. It was hilarious, objectively, right? He felt like his face was on fire as he straightened up, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart as he packed away his gear. Maybe if he pretended like it didn’t even phase him, maybe they would stop. Maybe?
Shane was still holding the collar, Ilya could see him out of the corner of his eye. If Ilya turned completely to face Shane, he has no doubt in his mind the other man would be as red as a tomato. They were all probably laughing, teasing Shane and Ilya in countless different ways. He could swear he heard Wyatt Hayes say something along the lines of “Shane Hollander walks Ilya Rozanov like a dog!” Ilya insisted on keeping his eyes down, shoving old socks and loose a mouth guard into his duffle bag. Deep breath in, deep breath out. It was fine. He definitely wasn’t making it weirder.
It was Shane who took Ilya out of his spiraling thoughts, a soft hand hand on the small of his back to grab his attention.
“Hey.”
Ilya glanced up, eyes unfocused as he tried to steel his expression. Shane was no longer holding the collar, the other hand not on Ilya’s back was shoved deep into the pocket of his shorts. There was a soft look in Shane’s eyes, one that Ilya had fallen into day after day, year after year. A look of love, and safety. It made Ilya feel warm inside, a welcomed feeling despite the heat of embarrassment on his skin.
Ilya sighed, rolling his shoulders out as he straightened back up. It was time to play it off, go home, and maybe flip off the team photo he had framed in his living room. Glancing around the locker room, he saw most of the boys were busy again getting ready to go home, no longer focusing on the strange reaction Ilya was haunted by. He cleared his throat, slipping clumsily into the mask he knew too well.
“If you are pranking, at least tell Harris. It would be good for our Instagram, get lots of likes, yes?”
Chuckles rippled throughout the room, Shane flinching next to him as Broodman ruffled his freshly washed hair. Slowly, the locker room emptied out, but it wasn’t until Ilya could barely hear the muffled laughter and voices that he let out a deep breath. Slumping back into his cubby, he hung his head between his knees, letting all the blood that was pumping throughout his body rush to his head.
Shane was quiet next to him, despite the fact that Ilya knew he was buzzing to say something, to talk. There was soft noises of zippers closing, a towel being tossed into the laundry pile, and Ilya would have been more than fine to sit in the silence, but he knew Shane.
“Go ahead,” He said, waving his hand sarcastically in the air. “Talk.”
Shane gave out a soft laugh at that, settling next to Ilya and putting an arm around his curved shoulders. Shane’s hand squeezed Ilya’s shoulder softly, before moving up to rub along his the dip of his shoulders.
“They definitely didn’t mean anything cruel by it, if that helps.” Shane said softly, fingers tracing along the clasp of the gold chain around Ilya’s neck. The softness of the touches, the warmth of Shane’s body next to him, had Ilya wanting to curl up and sleep right there with his head on Shane’s lap.
“Is it obvious…, the whole…,” Ilya shrugged, lifting his head to glance at Shane through his curls. “The whole praise thing…”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but it’s not your fault you like to… like to listen to me.”
“It must be enough to buy, a—a fucking collar, though.”
Ilya hung his head again, his hands threading through his blonde hair. Had been Ilya just been following Shane around like a lost puppy this whole time? Did he wag his tail, perk his ears up, pant at Shane’s ankles or something? It was a whole different ballpark, not just being a couple but being perceived as one too. Were they not as good as hiding now that everything was in the light?
Shane rustled a bit next to him, and Ilya could hear the soft clink of the dog tag against the metal loop as Shane toyed with the collar in his hands.
“At least they picked a cute one.”
Ilya snorted through his nostrils, sitting up and resting his head against the back hooks of his cubby. Shane laughed, shoving the collar back into his bag as he stood up. He reached a hand out for Ilya, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.
“Let’s go home, Ilya.”
-
Ilya and Shane hadn’t talked about the gift since the locker room, but it had been on Ilya’s mind every minute since. The idea that his teammates would tease him about a relationship was fine, and if he was honest he did like the normalcy it gave them. Ilya appreciated not being looked at like a commodity. He clearly wasn’t the only man on the Centaurs who was queer, take Troy Barrett for example, but it still felt nice to see the acceptance. The team surrounded Troy with love and lots of jokes. Mainly jokes that Harris was too good for him, and sometimes Ilya agreed, but it was all friendly fire.
Which is what the dog collar had been, Ilya knew this. A joke. He knew that his teammates were just playing around, that they hadn’t meant anything deeper or to put Ilya on blast for being… whatever he was. He didn’t really have any explanations for it. He liked to be good, liked to hear it, and he loved when Shane fed into these scenarios. He loved the praise, loved to get soft pets through his hair after a hard day, to fall asleep with his head in Shane’s lap on the couch. Of course, his favorite was when Shane would try and put on this strong, dominate personality. It was adorable, although Ilya would never admit it, to see Shane try and be… strict. Ilya knew that Shane would never actually follow through on the empty threats he would send Ilya’s way, claiming he was being “bad”. Ilya knew he wasn’t bad, and he knew that Shane would rather die than stop Ilya from touching him, but they both liked the fantasy it put forth.
It was there, with Shane’s legs wrapped around Ilya’s thrusting hips two nights later, that the collar came up again. Ilya’s face was pressed into the curve of Shane’s neck, leaving sloppy and wet kisses along salty skin. Shane was whimpering beneath him, the way he did as he was getting close. Ilya could listen to those noises on repeat, put them on a loop and play them as he worked out. Shane would hate that, but that was the best part.
Shane’s hands, which were gripping tightly onto Ilya’s biceps, traveled up, shakily wrapping around Ilya’s neck. Ilya grunted at the pressure, the sensation of Shane trapping him like this. Legs tight around his waist, hands circled around his throat. It made him feel owned.
“You know — fuck. The, the collar. It, mhm, might be nice…” Shane panted out, eyes fluttering as he continued to drag his hands across Ilya’s body, digging his nails sharply into Ilya’s shoulder at a particularly deep thrust.
“Oh-h, yeah?”
“Yeah… you’d look p—pretty.”
Ilya let out a shaky breath, lifting his head to make eye contact with the beautiful mess of a man under him. Shane’s skin was flushed, hair fanning around his head against their white sheets. If anyone looked pretty between the two of them, it was Shane. Shane’s soft skin, the crooked teeth that Ilya liked to stare at when he talked, the crinkle in his eyes when he was laughing, the way he would roll them back in pleasure.
Ilya leaned forward, connecting his mouth messily with Shane, capturing the moans that were getting louder as Shane arched his back. Ilya reached a hand between them, swiping his thumb over the head of Shane’s dripping cock, pulling an orgasm out of him like it was nothing. Ilya loved having Shane like this, taken apart and sweaty, cum sticky over his stomach and between his legs.
Ilya groaned as he came, head curling inwards against his chest, eyes squeezing shut tightly at the feeling of Shane threading his fingers through Ilya’s sweaty hair and pulling. The two of them panted hard, sweat and cum cooling as Ilya flopped on the bed next to Shane.
Softly, Ilya found Shane’s hand blindly next to him, bringing up his knuckles to kiss and nuzzle at in adoration. They laid like that with the soft tick of the wall clock being the only noise beside an occasional squeak of a dog toy down the hall. Ilya could feel himself slipping into the headspace he had finally allowed himself to feel comfortable in, turning his head sluggishly to look up at Shane.
Shane, eyes still closed, opened his arms and invited Ilya in.
“Come ‘ere, baby.”
Ilya shuffled upwards, resting his head on Shane’s chest, pressing his ear into the beating heart beneath him. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of Shane’s soap and sweat, wrapping his leg across Shane’s stomach. Ilya didn’t even care that it just spread the mess of Shane’s orgasm further around. He needed to be enveloped by Shane.
One of Shane’s hands slipped into Ilya’s hair, playing with the curly strands as Ilya sank deeper into the bliss of their warm bodies.
“Such a good boy, Ilya. So good for me. My sweet boy.” Shane murmured, words slurred together yet dripping with affection. It made goosebumps dance across Ilya’s naked skin, his stomach swooping in arousal and love. He loved Shane.
Shane’s hand, much to Ilya’s dismay, left his hair, and began tracing up and down Ilya’s exposed neck. The movements felt intentional, the soft pads of Shane’s finger tips lingering each time they crossed his Adam’s apple. Ilya swallowed, pulse racing as Shane continued to drag his fingers across Ilya’s neck.
“I was being serious, y’know.” Shane said softly, his voice barely a whisper above Ilya.
“Hm?”
“About the collar. I think I want you to wear it.”
It was like Shane had zero ability, or desire, to be subtle. Ilya lifted his head up, skin sticky against Shane’s bare chest, eye brow raised.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
They stared at each other, the glint in Shane’s eyes telling Ilya he was absolutely up for a round two. Ilya, on the other hand, had felt the wind knocked out of him. He had never considered exploring the idea of… this beyond verbally. It was something he found when he first looked into why all the comments of being a dog, or being good, had made his dick twitch in his pants. Men in collars and masks, fluffy ears and spandex body suits, and these tails that had no where to hang on to except for inside of someone. It was so foreign to Ilya. It all felt like a bit too much, at the beginning. He might have just liked the social aspect. He liked being good for Shane, to listen nicely and make his lover feel appreciated.
He also realized, however, that there might be some allure to being… being claimed like that. Having something that hung around his neck that said he belonged to Shane. When they got engaged, the ring was more than enough, but now that it sat permanently on his finger, there was an emptiness. Could it be filled by a stupid, gag-gift?
“Maybe. You hungry?”
-
It wasn’t until weeks later that it came up again. The two of them had been so busy, really the whole team had. The most recent road trip had taken them to three different states, and Ilya was losing count at how many games, press interviews, planes, busses, and fans they had experienced. It was overwhelming in a way they all adored. The Centaurs had been such a low ranking team, small crowd turnouts, barely any publicity. However, in the months since Shane had joined them, there was a difference in the way the rest of the NHL and its fans took them in. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just Hollander and Rozanov on the same team — it was Hollander and Rozanov married on the same team.
Ilya was used to it, the hustle and the screams and the constant attention. Some of his younger players experienced the more deer-in-headlights phenomenon, but they were handling it well. After their two week trip had ended, Ilya had sworn to all his players that this long weekend ahead would be completely press free, event free, and social media free (despite Harris wanting to continue his regular upload schedule).
Ilya and Shane had spent the evening home lounging in front of the television, Anya fast asleep on her bed under the TV. There was take out containers strewn across the coffee table, a random home renovation show playing with low volume. It was, in Ilya’s humble opinion, a perfect night. Only thing that made it more perfect? Shane Hollander on his lap.
Ilya’s hands were roaming up the expanse of soft skin that was Shane’s back, drinking in the weight and warmth of the man above him. Shane’s hands were threaded in Ilya’s favorite place, his curls. The soft tugging caused Ilya to let out breathy moans into Shane’s open mouth, letting his head be pulled around in any direction Shane wanted. He would do anything Shane wanted.
“Go get it.”
The words were so soft, so quiet, that Ilya almost didn’t hear them. It wasn’t until Shane had pulled away, eyes blown in arousal that Ilya had let the command sink in.
“The… the collar?”
Shane nodded, hand caressing the side of Ilya’s face, thumb dragging across his damp bottom lip. Ilya instantly opened his mouth, letting Shane press the digit into Ilya’s wet mouth, pooling drool along his tongue. Ilya’s heart was racing.
“Now, Ilya.”
“Okay.”
Shane pivoted off Ilya’s lap, shimming into a comfortable position on the couch as he watched Ilya briskly walk into the other room. Ilya, of course, knew exactly where the collar had been stored for the last few weeks. It sat, untouched and intimidating, in his bedside table. A very, well, intimate place for it to be but Shane had insisted. Easy access, he had said, and then shrugged at Ilya.
The collar was heavy in Ilya’s shaky hands, and the cold metal felt like it was burning. Did Shane want to put it on him? Ilya wanted what Shane wanted. Slowly, he turned around, his socked feet padding against the hardwood floor as he returned to their couch. Shane was sitting, back against the cushions, legs spread. His sweat pants were still around his waist, but Ilya could see the tent of his erection from the doorway. The collar was still so heavy in his hands.
Ilya stepped forward, standing awkwardly between Shane’s knees. Shane reached a hand up, taking the collar from Ilya’s nervous hands. The black and white nylon contrasted drastically against the warm color of Shane’s skin, and Ilya felt like he might pass out from arousal. Was that possible?
“Down.”
The word was sudden, and pointed, and of course Ilya did just that. He dropped to the floor, the soft carpet dulling the pain in his knees. Shane shifted forward, nimble fingers clicking open the clasp of the collar, turning the now flat material around in his hands. The soft clink of the tag was the only sound in the room, and Ilya was surprised he could hear it over the loud beating of his heart. Slowly, Shane leaned closer, reaching to wrap the collar around Ilya’s bare neck. It was thick, the material, and itchy but not in a way that made Ilya uncomfortable. It was present, grounding. It was… it was really nice. Ilya’s eyes fluttered shut as he heard the click of the metal closing, the full weight of the collar resting around his throat. Above him, he heard Shane’s breath sharpen, fingers tracing the edge of the nylon collar to lightly touch the name tag.
Just like it had when they both read it for the first time, the name tag told everything that needed to be known. Ilya belonged to Shane.
“So beautiful, Ilya.”
Ilya preened at the words, lips parting breathily as he re-opened his eyes to meet with Shane’s. The way Shane was looking at him sent ice through Ilya’s veins. It was with such raw desire. It was like Shane was undressing Ilya with just his imagination, leaving him naked and exposed; with a collar around his neck.
“Please, Shane.”
Ilya didn’t know where the words came from, how they pushed pass the weight of the collar around his throat, and past the heavy tongue that sat dumbly in his mouth. He wanted Shane to touch him, to shove his head into Shane’s crotch, to let Ilya take him apart. Shane just nodded, clearly in a similar place mentally: absolutely fucked.
Ilya surged forward, hands scrambling to pull down the hem of Shane’s sweat pants, pushing the grey fabric down to his calves. Shane’s erection bobbed, wet with pre-cum and red. It was perfect, and Ilya was so eager. Ilya opened his mouth, tongue darting out to give kitten-like licks on the head, until he leaned down and flattened his tongue along the bottom of Shane’s shaft. Shane was breathy and shaking above him, hands finding a home in Ilya’s hair, pulling at the strands with desperation. However, Ilya took his time. He reached a hand forward, cupping Shane’s balls in his palm, squeezing and massaging the skin tenderly. His mouth left sloppy kisses up and down the length of Shane, just enough to piss off Shane the way Ilya loved to.
“Just do it already, fuck.”
“So desperate…”
Shane’s fingers tightened around the roots of Ilya’s hair, pulling him off of Shane’s erection, tongue sitting now pointlessly on his lips. Shane’s eyes were glaring at him, making Ilya shift slightly, the strain of his dick in his pants impossible to ignore.
Ilya eyelids felt heavy with arousal and pain, the tenderness of his scalp making him lean into Shane’s hands, as if it would lessen the pull on his hair. However, it just shifted Shane’s attention to his throbbing cock between Ilya’s thighs. Slowly, Shane’s socked foot lifted, pressing with a testing weight into the fabric of Ilya’s sweat pants. Pleasure shot through Ilya’s body, the combination of the hand in his hair, the belittling foot on his cock, and a heavy collar around his throat a deathly combination. A moan, louder than he had expected, crackled through his mouth.
Shane smirked, slowly dragging his foot away from Ilya’s begging erection. He leaned forward, putting two fingers under the edge of Ilya’s chin. The other hand hooked into the large metal loop on the dog collar, pulling it forward suddenly.
“Be a good boy, suck my dick, and then maybe, maybe, I’ll give that some attention, hm?”
Ilya nodded wordlessly, eyes blown and he wouldn’t be surprised if he was able to cum in his pants then and there. Shane dropped his hands, letting them sit idly on his bare thighs, chest rising and falling heavily. Ilya wanted to take back everything he had ever thought about Shane’s attempts of being dominate in the past as “adorable”.
As fast as he could, Ilya leaned forward and took Shane down in one go. He had always prided himself in his dick sucking abilities, and the way that Shane immediately let out a broken moan only fueled him on. Sure, Shane can set up the dominos, but Ilya knows exactly how to knock them down. The noises he were making were pornographic, the slide of his mouth up and down Shane’s length, the drool dripping out of the corner of his mouth, the tears prickling his eyes from the constriction on his air way. On top of it all, the loudest noise to Ilya was the tinkling of the dog tag against the metal loop, the sound ringing in his ears each time he sunk his head down lower and then back up again.
Ilya could get lost in the sensation of taking apart Shane like this, dragging his orgasm out through just his mouth around his cock. Sometimes, Ilya wished he could stay like this, head leaning on Shane’s thigh with his dick sitting in his mouth. Warming the soft flesh, feeling the blood pump through it as it hardened between Ilya’s lips. He would love to just sit there, knees pressed into the floor, collar heavy on his neck, Shane’s erection in his mouth. Maybe he would come up to eat, or drink, but Ilya would spend his entire waking hours just like that, pleasuring Shane. Soaking up each inch of Shane’s body, his smell, his sounds.
Ilya’s head was ripped out of its rhythm by the hands in his hair, Shane cursing loudly as he came, his release shooting directly onto Ilya’s surprised face and open mouth. The semen was hot on his skin, leaving warm track marks as it dripped slowly down.
Shane just stared at him, surprised himself at the visual before him. Ilya Rozanov, in a dog collar, with ribbons of cum on his face. It was Ilya who broke first, smile blooming on his stretched out lips.
“Wow.”
“Shut up.”
“No, it’s okay, just… that was quite a performance, no?”
Shane slumped even farther back into the couch, if that was possible, raising his hands to cover his red, sweaty face. Ilya laughed, pushing himself up off his sore knees, crawling up and settling himself into Shane’s lap. Shane’s hands rested softly on his hips, absentmindedly playing with the hem of the grey t-shirt Ilya wore. They were silent for a moment, just staring into each other’s eyes, or well, more like Ilya was watching as Shane watched the cum on his face dry slowly.
Ilya moved to climb off of Shane’s lap, the feeling of the sticky substance starting to bother him, when Shane’s hands tightened in their grip, rooting Ilya back into place. Ilya cocked an eye brow at his lover, dragging his hands up and into the dark locks of Shane’s hair. He liked the length, liked how it was wispy at the edges around his ears. Shane leaned in, seemingly for a kiss, and Ilya closed his eyes and parted his lips in welcoming.
It was the feeling of a wet tongue on his cheek that got a soft gasp out of Ilya. Shane tentatively licked his release off of Ilya’s skin, freezing when Ilya’s hands tightened in the longer locks of hair at the back of Shane’s neck. He began to pull away, when Ilya shook his head suddenly, quietly encouraging him to keep going. The kisses drifted across Ilya’s warm skin, licking and prodding at the tracks of semen that Shane had left.
Ilya moaned softly as Shane shifted his mouth further down, kissing softly at the junction of his jaw, then licking a strip from the tip of his chin to his earlobe. There was goosebumps all across Ilya’s skin once again, more and more appearing at each wet touch that Shane’s mouth left. It was when Shane’s mouth reached the collar that Ilya let out a louder moan, feeling how Shane’s mouth and fingers, which had suddenly appeared, played with the black and white checkered material. Shane hummed softly into the damp skin of Ilya’s neck, the soft clink of the name tag as Shane lifted it up pulling Ilya’s attention away from the sudden lack of kisses.
“It’s true, y’know.”
“What is?”
“You’re mine.”
Ilya sighed dreamily, hips rocking against Shane’s lap in need. He wanted Shane. Ilya pulled Shane in for a kiss, nipping with desperation at Shane’s bottom lip. Shane smiled into the kiss, rotating their bodies and pushing Ilya into the couch cushions. His arms bracketed in Ilya’s head, dark hair looming over his face.
“My good boy, my khoroshiy pos. How about I reward you, hm? You were so good…” Shane said, hand moving slowly down Ilya’s torso, playing with the strings of his pants. Ilya nodded wordlessly, eyes closing in bliss as he let Shane return the favor. He was good. He was Shane’s good boy.
He was Shane’s and Shane’s was his, and this stupid prank gift had un-ironically been the best thing they’d ever gotten. He would definitely need to ask Shane who taught him that phrase later, though.