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Shane stared at the small, blue plastic clicker in Ilya’s hand like it was a live grenade.
"Ilya, what the hell is that?" Shane asked, his voice cracking slightly.
He was still trying to regulate his breathing after the shower, but seeing his boyfriend hold a piece of pet store equipment in their bedroom was not helping.
"You’re... you’re kidding, right? You want to use dog training shit on me?"
Ilya didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. He just sat there, shirtless and immovable, looking at Shane with that terrifyingly focused stare.
"Not for dog. For you. Your head is loud, Shane. I can hear it from here, you’re already thinking about the morning skate. You’re thinking about how you need to sharpen your blades. You’re thinking about everything except right now."
"Because it’s my job to think about those things," Shane snapped, though he felt a flicker of heat crawl up his neck. He felt exposed, standing there in just a towel while Ilya watched him with such calm, calculated intent. "I don’t get how a piece of plastic fixes that."
"It doesn't fix it. It replaces it," Ilya said.
Click.
The sound was sharp, metallic, and completely out of place in the soft quiet of the room. Shane flinched, his shoulders jumping toward his ears. "Stop that. It’s annoying."
"It’s a signal," Ilya countered, his voice dropping an octave. "Come sit. On the bed. Between my legs."
Shane hesitated, his mind racing, but his legs moved anyway, a traitorous reflex toward the comfort Ilya always provided. He settled in, feeling the heat of Ilya’s skin, but his brain was still spinning a mile a minute.
"You’re doing it again," Ilya murmured. He leaned forward, his breath hot against Shane’s ear. "Analysing. Predicting. Stop."
Click.
Before Shane could even process the sound, Ilya’s hand was in his hair, pulling his head back firmly. Ilya kissed him, hard, messy, and deep, shoving all those frantic thoughts right out of Shane’s throat. When Ilya pulled away, Shane was blinking rapidly, his vision slightly blurred.
"What... what was that for?" Shane whispered, his pulse thrumming in weird places.
"The click means something good is coming," Ilya explained simply. "Your brain is smart, Shane. Too smart. We have to give it simpler job. Hear sound, expect reward, is simple."
Ilya pushed the towel off Shane’s hips. Shane felt a wave of cold air, then the sudden, intense focus of Ilya’s gaze. It made him feel small, not in a bad way, but in a way that made the weight of the "C" on his jersey feel miles away.
"Lie back," Ilya commanded.
"Ilya, I don't know if-"
Click.
Ilya leaned down and bit gently into the meat of Shane’s shoulder, followed immediately by a soothing lick and a firm stroke down his thigh. Shane let out a shaky moan, his head hitting the pillow. He felt like he was losing his grip on the conversation, on the evening, on his own autonomy.
"I don't... I don't get it," Shane panted, his hands clutching at the sheets. "It's just a noise."
"Is it?" Ilya teased a fingertip over the head of Shane's cock, barely touching, just enough to make him twitch. Shane waited, breathless, expecting more. But Ilya stopped. He just watched.
The silence in the room stretched. Shane’s mind tried to wander, back to the warmup drills, back to the gear replacement he needed, but he found himself straining for that sharp, metallic snap. He wanted the noise. He wanted the permission to feel something.
Click.
Ilya’s mouth replaced his fingers. Shane arched off the bed, a choked-off sob escaping him. "Oh god, okay. Okay, I get it."
"Shh солнышко, no thinking," Ilya muttered against his skin.
Ilya’s mouth was warm and expertly thorough, swirling around the head of Shane’s cock in a way that made his toes curl into the expensive duvet. Every time Shane felt his mind start to drift, wondering if he’d locked the front door, or if he should have called his agent back, Ilya would stop. He’d just pull back, hovering inches away, the sudden absence of heat feeling like a physical blow.
Shane would whimper, his hips stuttering up in a pathetic search for friction, but Ilya remained a statue.
Click.
The moment the sound cut the air, Ilya dove back in, his tongue flat and heavy, dragging up his length. Shane’s breath hitched, his fingers knotting into Ilya’s curls to keep him there.
"No," Ilya murmured, pulling back again, his voice like gravel. "Hands at your sides, Shane. You do not touch. You only wait."
"Ilya, please," Shane gasped, his chest heaving. His body felt like a live wire, humming with a frantic energy that had nowhere to go. "I can't... it's too much."
"Shh, you can take it котенок."
Ilya reached for a bottle of lube on the nightstand, the sound of the cap flipping open loud in the quiet room. He coated two fingers and pressed them firmly against Shane’s entrance, circling.
Shane’s eyes flew open, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the blunt, slow pressure of Ilya’s fingers, the intrusive stretch as Ilya worked his way inside.
Click.
Ilya’s pointer immediately found Shane's prostate. The sensation was so sudden and so intense that Shane’s vision went white at the edges. The thoughts of calling his agent or replacing his gear didn’t just leave, they were incinerated.
"There," Ilya whispered, watching Shane’s face with predatory satisfaction. "The noise is gone now, yes?"
"Yes," Shane choked out, his head thrashing against the pillow. "Yes, just... don't stop. Please."
Ilya added a third finger, stretching him wider, his other hand hovering over the clicker. He began a slow, agonisingly steady pace.
Shane was a mess of contradictions. He was the captain of his team, he was the guy who made the calls, who led the group. But under Ilya’s hand, he was just a series of conditioned reflexes. Every time his muscles tensed with a stray thought, the pleasure vanished. Every time he went limp and surrendered, the clicker signaled a reward that made his knees shake.
"Spread for me," Ilya commanded.
Shane didn't even hesitate. He grabbed his own knees, pulling them toward his chest, exposing himself completely. He felt the flush of shame, but it was quickly drowned out by the desperate need to hear that sound again, and Ilya draping his own body over Shane’s.
Click.
Ilya rewarded the obedience by sliding his cock home in one slow, agonisingly deep thrust. Shane’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, his back arching off the bed. It was too much, it was everything.
"Look at me," Ilya growled, pinning Shane’s wrists above his head with one hand.
Shane blinked through tears of pleasure, focusing on Ilya’s dark, blown-out pupils.
"You are not the captain here," Ilya said, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust, bottoming-out. "You are not the stats, not your thoughts. You are just mine. Do you understand?"
Click.
The sound timed perfectly with the impact of their hips. Shane shattered. He didn't even have to answer, the way his body clenched around Ilya spoke for him.
"I'm yours," Shane sobbed, his voice broken. "Please, Ilya."
Ilya went faster then, Shane’s mind was a blank slate, a white-hot void where only sound and feeling existed.
The rhythmic slamming of Ilya’s weight against him was hypnotic, but it was the punctuation of the clicker that truly broke him.
Click.
Ilya’s pace turned frantic, his movements desperate and hard. Shane’s world narrowed down to the point of a needle, just the sweat-slicked heat of Ilya’s chest against his, the friction between his legs, and that goddamn blue piece of plastic.
"Focus, Shane," Ilya grunted, his thumb hovering, waiting for the perfect moment of surrender. "Forget everything else but me. Say it."
"Just you," Shane gasped, his voice hitching as Ilya hit that exact spot inside him again and again. "Only you. Ilya- please-"
"Come for me, Shane," Ilya growled, his voice a low, vibrating command. He caught Shane’s chin, forcing him to keep those glassy, overwhelmed eyes locked on his. "Right now. Good boy. Give it all to me."
Click.
The praise hit Shane harder than the physical sensation. It was the final bit of permission he needed to stop holding on. He let out a broken, high-pitched sound, something raw and desperate, as he finally shattered.
It wasn't just release. Every missed pass, every headline, every ounce of crushing expectation poured out of him in a ragged, vocal finish. He shook so hard his teeth rattled, his body clenching around Ilya in a frantic, rhythmic pulse.
Ilya followed him seconds later with a guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of Shane’s neck and grounding him into the mattress with the sheer, heavy heat of his body. He stayed deep inside, refusing to let Shane drift away just yet.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was their synchronised, heavy breathing. The clicker lay forgotten on the sheet between them, its job done for the time being. Shane felt heavy, his limbs like lead, his brain blissfully, wonderfully empty. The silence in his head not a void anymore.
Ilya didn't just let him drift off. He knew Shane’s brain, how it would try to claw its way back to the surface, dissecting what had just happened, looking for things to worry about or feel ashamed of. He wouldn't give it the chance.
"Stay here," Ilya murmured, his voice no longer a sharp command but a warm, heavy anchor.
He moved with a quiet, practiced reverence. First, he fetched a warm cloth, returning to the bed to clean Shane with slow, rhythmic strokes. He was meticulous, his large hands handling Shane’s heavy limbs like they were made of something precious and fragile. Every touch was an unspoken promise. I have you. You are safe.
Once clean, Ilya didn’t pull away. He crawled back under the duvet, hauling Shane’s limp body flush against his side until Shane was tucked securely into the curve of his chest. He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, holding it to Shane’s lips.
"Drink, solnyshko. Small sips."
Shane obeyed, his hands still trembling slightly as they rested against Ilya’s ribs. The water felt grounding, but it was the heat of Ilya’s skin that really brought him back. He felt raw, cracked wide open, but for once, he didn't feel the need to put the armour back on.
"Head still quiet?" Ilya asked, his fingers tracing the line of Shane’s jaw before moving up to comb through his hair, untangling the mess he’d made.
"It's... it's like a dial was turned down," Shane breathed, his forehead resting in the hollow of Ilya’s throat. "I’m not even thinking about tomorrow. I’m just here."
"Good. Stay here, we will shower later." Ilya wrapped his arms tighter around him, a massive, warm shield against the rest of the world. He started to hum, a low, Russian lullaby that vibrated through his chest and straight into Shane’s bones.
He stayed like that for a long time, refusing to let Shane move or pull away, kissing the top of Shane's head, his temples, and his knuckles.
"You were so brave tonight," Ilya whispered, his breath stirring Shane’s hair. "The best boy I have ever seen. My good boy."
Shane let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, his eyes finally fluttering shut for real.
"Don't let go," Shane murmured, his voice thick with the beginning of a deep, dreamless sleep.
"Never," Ilya promised, pulling the duvet up to their chins. "Sleep now. I am on watch."