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Chapter Text

"Ilya, thanks for taking my call. We have a situation, and I was hoping you would be willing to hear me out."

Svetlana was a no-nonsense type of person. Ilya could imagine her curly hair tied up tight, almost painfully so, while bouncing the ends of her infamous cat-eye glasses on the tip of her lips.

"Hearing you out? Sure, Sveta. What's going on?"

"Well..." Svetlana hedged. Svetlana never hedged. She speaks outright in a way that would make most grown men cry. Or stiffen their posture, at least. His attention was piqued.

"A brief just passed over my desk. For a very high profile client." She wasn't saying something, Ilya could tell. He took the bait, regardless.

"Do you need me to come in? I can help with the brief, but you know I can't take any more clients."

Sveta was a well respected, heavily educated Dominatrix in the greater DC area. She ran a discreet escort agency aimed at providing the elite with safe, professional, confidential services. If Sveta was calling him to discuss a high profile client, the client must be incredibly well-known to the public. Great care would have to be taken to ensure all parties anonymity.

"Ilya. You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn't 100% certain this client could benefit from your expertise. I never ask favors, and won't make an exception here, but I am asking you to seriously consider the brief. As a testament to our long-standing personal and professional relationship." She had to go there. She knew he was a pushover at the best of times.

"Ok, Sveta. Give me 30, and I'll head over to the office."

"Please drop by my house, if you wouldn't mind. I left the office earlier this morning." Ilya's eye brows jumped subconsciously. She left the office after receiving the client brief? Who is this person? Why wasn't she giving him any pronouns, at least? His mind was already spinning.

"I'm intrigued." A huge, resounding understatement. He was sure Sveta could tell. "Sounds good. Give me a few, and I'll head over."

Svetlana lived in a quaint, little cottage. From the outside. From the inside, one would think they had been transported back to Moscow. Chandeliers dripped crystals from above, lazily and without thought. Jewel-toned furnishings decorated the surprisingly spacious open concept, receiving room. Iron finishings tied it all together in a sort of mourning that always reminded him of Russia. Ilya was always surprised she hadn't found herself in one of those flashy high rises that dotted the small city. She said she valued her privacy, as well as her occasional client's. She said the trade off was worth it. Ilya had to agree with her.

She was laid up on an aubergine chase when he walked in. Looking like she just walked off the runway, legs positioned to the side of her. Ilya could admit the feat considering she was currently wearing a criminally tight pencil skirt with a sheer champagne blouse semi tucked in. She looked like sex. She also looked like home.

Papers were held in her hand as well as on the end table next to her. Not disorderly, but definitely not in pristine order. Another check in the something's off box.

"Sveta." Ilya murmured in greeting, crossing the room to give his longest friend a kiss on the cheek.

"What do you have for me?" Ilya sat across from her in one of the matching citrine arm chairs. He always thought they were deceptively cozy.

"Before we begin, I need you to sign this." She pushed over a rather large document shrouded in a protective jacket.

"What's this?" He picked it up, thumbing through the first few pages. "Sveta..." He said slowly, "Why do you need me to sign a U-NDA?" Ilya was maybe not concerned, but he was definitely curious as to how evasive Sveta was being.

"Ilya, we cannot continue this conversation until you have signed this. It's a standard U, but please take your time if you want to read it in it's entirety." Ilya tried not to take offense to her somewhat patronizing tone. He knew what was mentioned in these contracts. He didn't need to read it again. He quickly reached the end, and signed on the dotted line. It felt like he signed his life away with the gravity in which Svetlana was looking at him. Assessing him.

"Did I pass the test?" Ilya said somewhat hautily. "I'm trying not to take offense to this, but when have I ever been at risk for leaking confidential details? Contract or not." Svetlana just hmm'd to herself.

"The client insisted on the contract. My hands were tied. If you want to read the brief, you had to sign. I'm sorry. You have my implicit trust, Ilyusha. I hope you know." Ilyusha.

"The client insisted? Please put me out of my misery. Who is this client?"

Svetlana brought over her laptop, and set it on the table in front of Ilya. A video was queued up. It was dark though, as she hadn't pressed play.

"I need you to watch this, and then we can discuss timelines, da?" First, Ilyusha, now da? She hadn't let her accent slip this much in a very long time. This client had her worried. Or confused. Nothing good, Ilya thought to himself. Sveta pressed play on the recording, and made her way back behind him using the back of his chair to prop herself up.

The video started playing with a strong beat. It looked like some sort of club, with the low lights and shadowed bodies. The video quality wasn't great, but from what Ilya could tell, it looked to be some sort of dungeon. Dungeons were fine, sure, but they lacked a certain confidentiality most of Ilya's clients required. Confidentiality...

Ilya sat up, ram rod straight, almost dislodging Sveta from her post behind him.

"Holy shit..." Ilya couldn't help but breathe. The club. The people. The striking angel currently getting beat to all hell, arms restrained behind him, bare ass pointed up, asshole gaping. Show me his face, show me his face...

Sveta bent down to murmur in his ear, "This is Shane Hollander. Recent transplant to the Captains. #24. Canadian. Three time Stanley Cup winner. Yes, this is our newest client, Ilya."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Shane Hollander had recently been outed due to this very video. Someone had recorded an, from what Ilya could tell, incredibly intense scene. An incredibly private moment. Or what should have remained a private moment. Ilya paused the video seeing enough. Three weeks ago this video had surfaced. Two weeks of silence from Hollander and the Captain's management. Hollander had come back to the Captains as if nothing had happened. Played games as if nothing happened. Did press as if nothing happened. Ilya wasn't a huge hockey fan, not like Sveta, but he understood the game and followed a few players diligently. Especially the very cute, tight-bodied forward that happened to get traded to his home team in DC. And the very cute player turned client may act like nothing had happened, but players, fans, and the press didn't act that way. Not only was Hollander outed as "sexual deviant", one who craves a certain flavor of dominance and control, but he was also outed as the first gay player in the NHL. This was big, and Hollander was being crucified by his team, other players, fans, and the press. 

"Sveta..." Ilya couldn't even form words. Thoughts. Nothing was sticking. "Explain...I don't...explain. I am so confused. What is happening?" Ilya felt like he was hyperventilating. Which made no sense since he wasn't the one who was outed. He didn't even know what his part in all of this was. Well...that was a lie. Ilya knew.

"I have decided to take on Shane Hollander's brief. He reached out, personally, asking for a referral to "a Dominant that knows how to hurt people, physically and mentally". I know you dabble in physical play, but your real passion lies in the mental arena. I think he would be a good fit for you, Ilyusha."

Ilya still hadn't taken his eyes off the paused video. Holy shit. Shane Hollander, recently outed gay hockey player, current pariah of the NHL, is seeking pro services? It makes sense. If his identity was leaked once, he would do anything in his power to limit the exposure. Especially if this wasn't something he could give up and still live a fulfilled lifestyle. Most of his clients weren't able to give this up. Hence, a hole Sveta and Ilya tried to fill.

"So?" Svetlana gently prodded.

"I'll process his intake. Get a feel for him, our chemistry. I'll be able to uncover any tells he has. If the intake goes well, and he agrees, I'll take him on as permanent client. At max. Ok?"

Sveta didn't love the "at max" part, he could tell. He wasn't going to be going down this rabbit hole with the Shane Hollander, and still have to keep his other clients satisfied and properly taken care of. Thankfully, they only had to rehome three clients. Their business was lucrative enough that they didn't have to hold a lot of clients to make decent money. And with a potential client like Shane Hollander, he would need to have a clear schedule for him, amongst other things.

Ilya was getting excited. Something he hadn't felt, at least in this job, for a very long time.

Chapter Text

Numbness swept over Shane. Swiftly. Brutally.

He always thought that being outed would be the worst thing to happen to him. Maybe once he had retired, players that had shared the ice with him would be upset. The league possibly distancing themselves from a retired Hall of Famer. Never in his wildest nightmares could he conjure up what he had to live through these past three weeks.

Once the video had been released, a video that Shane hadn't even known existed, his life had irrevocably changed.

His mom called. His teammates called. His former teammates called. Any and all press that could get his number called. He drowned his phone in the bathtub.

Shane had been a member of Jardin des Tortures off and on for years. Whenever he was in town, and had some time off, he would stop in. The NDA's were ironclad, or so he thought. It was dark enough that nobody seemed to ever recognize him. Over the years, he had built up rapport with a few professional Dominants at the club, and thought of them more as friends than anything else. 

The angle of the video made it known that it wasn't one of his friends who had leaked the video, but a passerby. A passerby that had, without a doubt, knowingly handed Shane his worst nightmare.

[video in detail: Shane was face down ass up on a semi stage. His arms were tied behind him, leaving his shoulders, neck, and knees to take the brunt of his weight. He was in the process of being fucked. Anthony had just removed himself from Shane's ass, to continue the bare-handed spanking he was receiving. Fucking, pulling out, spanking, pushing back in. They had been doing this dance for over an hour, and Shane was at the point of breaking. His ass was so red, mottled skin was already forming the beginnings of what would be very prominent deep tissue bruises.]

Seeing the depravity and the brutality of the video made Shane ill. Violently ill. So ill he wondered what was the point of living in this new nightmare. He made peace with the fact that he had won the Stanley Cup, three times, in his lifetime. Maybe he didn't need anything else...he didn't have a partner. He had supportive parents, but Shane knew how embarrassing this was for them. How irrevocably Shane had changed their lives, because of his needs. Needs. Life would be much better without him...life didn't need him, and Shane didn't need anybody. Not after everything that had happened. 

Shane sat at the edge of his bath tub, with a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey. Thinking. Bargaining. Maybe he could just...leave. No one had to know. And nobody would know since nobody had stopped to check in on him this entire time. He reached for the bottle again. This would be easy, he told himself. He continued to drink. Continued to muse. And eventually the nightmare fell away...

Shane's elderly neighbor, the only he had, happened to hear the bottle fall from his hands and the hit his body made when he landed in the tub. She had called 911 thinking there was an intruder. They ended up saving Shane's life, blaming the excessive drinking on a hard loss and not what it actually was. A suicide attempt. Shane wasn't sure if he was happy for the fact.

Shane needed to hurt, and he needed the hits to keep coming. He needed them to cut into his very core. A knew discovery he made after having been outed. Maybe he could find somebody to dispense them. Someone cruel. Someone who would love nothing more than to punish Shane. Punish him for embarrassing his family. Punish him for being weak, and needing this outlet. Punish him for being needy. Punish him for simply existing when he knows he shouldn't be allowed to anymore.

This thought eventually led him to Svetlana, and if he doled out his own sort of punishment in the meantime, nobody had to know but him.   

Chapter Text

Ilya always took his intake meetings at the office. Their office was actually a converted row home that, to any outsider, looked like an upscale renovations center. To Ilya, Sveta, and their clients it was an oasis. Everything calm yet sterile. No indication of what went on in either neighboring buildings, or in the rooms attached. Ilya, and the company in general, didn't hold many clients at one time, further isolating Ilya and soon to be Shane.

Shane Hollander. Ilya had been doing a lot of thinking. A lot of ruminating. Trying to figure out a game plane, and what Ilya could provide in terms of counseling and comfort for his potential new client. He didn't, however, want to over indulge in that line of thinking. He needed to keep a clear, somewhat organized head. And he couldn't do that if he kept getting lost in the what ifs and what was already done. He shook his a head a little. He needed to get it together, because Shane was due any...

Minute. Ilya glanced at the clock. Five minutes early. Not bad.

He crossed the cool toned, natural minwax slate floors. His slightly heeled boots created thumps with every footstep.

"Good morning. Do you have an appointment today?" Ilya had to start off with anonymity, even with knowing exactly who he was meeting today and at what time.

"Ya..." Shane looked around. "I'm here to meet with Svetlana at 11AM. Is she here?" Hmmm. Why hadn't Sveta told Shane he wasn't meeting with her after all? This was a detail that Svetlana would never purposefully, or otherwise, overlook.

"She had to step out, and asked me to process your intake. Would you feel comfortable with that? I have signed the U-NDA you provided as well as our company's M-NDA. My name is Ilya, by the way." Ilya stuck out his hand waiting for Shane to shake it. Shane just looked at him. And looked. It was very unnerving, and Ilya couldn't afford to be unnerved right now. Not when he was the dominant, and this boy was going to be his submissive and client.

"Let's start over, shall we?" Ilya shut the door, enshrouding them in lower lighting creating a private little nook away from the harsh lighting of the once open door. Using his body and height to his advantage, Ilya gently backed Shane up against the door. With hands still behind his back, Ilya met Shane's gaze head on. Shane averted his gaze much too quickly for Ilya's liking. Making a tsking sound deep in his throat, Ilya whispered "Eyes here." Shane brought his eyes back immediately, and wasn't that something. Ilya guessed Shane really was submissive, at least to a point. He had nothing but time to figure this one out. "I asked you a question. If I ask you a direct question, I am going to need a direct answer. Would you feel comfortable if I processed your intake instead of Svetlana?" Ilya kept his face clear of any intentions. Wanting Shane to make this decision on his own.

With eyes darting away, again, Shane simply said "Yes. That's fine." And with that, Ilya let him go.

"Perfect! If you could follow me, please. I'll be taking you into the first door on the left." More thumps followed Ilya's. Shane was dressed. Well, Shane was dressed was all he could say. He was wearing a faded hoodie and sweatpants. The hood was pulled all the way over his head, and the sneakers he was wearing were faded white. Nondescript. Interesting.

Ilya made his way into the designated office of their office building. Because Sveta did most of her work here, most of the decor had a feminine touch. Shane, looking around with calculating eyes and a tiny twitch to his lips, probably picked up on that. He was also probably going to try to put Ilya in his place. He couldn't wait.

"Nice office." Shane said, in voice that sounded like he was trying to be confident. But it was a touch too hoarse. A touch too...put upon.

"You think? What's your favorite item in here?" Ilya lounged back in the office chair, blush colored of course, and brought his hands to the back of his neck. Stretching. Getting accustomed to Shane and his observations. Ilya was already having fun with him. Shane blushed, just a tiny bit. Probably not expecting to be called out quite so soon. Little hockey player, Ilya thought to himself, I am going to take you apart piece by piece. And you're going to thank me for it.

"Uh, the stain-glassed lamp. Its uh...vintage looking. Nice." Ilya used every single trick in the book not to react. Not to laugh or snort at Shane's obvious discomfort. But after reading his brief, maybe Shane would enjoy some mental sadism.

"Mmmm. Yes, what great observation skills you have." Ilya placed his hands in front of him on the desk waiting for the rebuke. Ilya caught the muttered asshole. Just barely.

"Before we begin, I want to get this out in the open for both of our sakes. Yes, I know who you are. Yes, I saw maybe 30 seconds of the video. No, I will not treat you any differently than any other client. When you are in my care, and out of it to an extent, I am not a fan. I am your tether. Your counselor. Your person. Use me in any way you see fit. My time, not me. Because..." Ilya let that phrase hang. Openly eyeing Shane's increasingly blushing cheeks, down to what he could see of his waist, and back up again. "You will be mine. And I will toe the line you have drawn every single session we have together. You might hate me. You might wish to never see me again. You might wish to yell at me." Ilya waited for those words to land. "But you will crave my dominance, I can assure you of that."

A ghost of an exhale left Shane's body. Legs uncrossed then crossed. Hands shifted in his lap. Ilya had made him uncomfortable. But in the fun way.

"That sounds...good." That was Shane's contribution to the session so far. Wonderful.

"You let me know if it's ever not good, da? And how do we do that, Shane?" 

"Stoplights," was Shane's automatic answer. He must use it a lot, then. Better for the both of them.

"Perfect. Stoplights. And anything can be stoplighted. Conversations, words, anything. If you want it to stop, you say red. And we'll go from there." He heard the muffled snort that came from under Shane's hood. 

"A lesson, Shane. Your first here with me. Words can hurt. Words can hurt more than any blow ever could. We will be going toe to toe on many aspects, and I need to know that you know you can safe word if words get to be too much. Say, 'da, Ser. I will safe word if words get to be too painful to hear.'"

"Da, Ser. I will safe word if words get to be too painful to hear." Shane mumbled. Twiddling his thumbs. Nervously scooting around. He was precious, Ilya thought to himself. Dropped into a reality so painful. Ilya would help him.

Ilya sat upright, infinitesimally, wanting to catch Shane's reaction to this next part. "Good boy, Shane. Thank you for following my instructions so well." A violent shiver ripped out of the boy's body. So hard and fast it looked like Shane had choked. Maybe he had.

"I'd like to speak more about this process, if you're ok with that. Then, if we are both in agreement, we can sign our final NDA, and begin working on a game plan. How does that sound?" Shane nodded.

"Words, please. Always words, Shane."

"Da, Ser." Ilya looked up, straight into Shane's eyes. Shane was blushing profusely. Ilya couldn't keep the mirth off his face.

"Wonderful! I do love a boy that's a quick study." Ilya winked. God, this was going to be fun.

"So, moving forward, I would like you to refer to me in those terms. In English, it's 'yes, Sir', but in Russian, da? I will also speak to you in Russian. Nothing that requires understanding, but I will do it. Mark it as a hard limit if it's an issue." When Shane just shook his head, Ilya continued, "I am here at your disposal. You will be given access to my private phone number. I work 24 hours, 7 days a week for you. Some aspects you might be interested in could be relaxing together, playing video games, sex, of course," another wink just to fuck with Shane some more, "providing pain, working out together, making dinner. Anything you might need or want companionship in, I can fill that role. I will only be filling that role, however, as a Dominant. I will not be snuggling my boyfriend in bed. I will be cradling my submissive after a hard evening. I will not be playing video games with my boyfriend. I will be settling my submissive's mind with familiar activity and parallel play. Do you understand?"

Shane begins to nod his head, then stops. "What about...Well, I'm taking a leave of absence right now." One hand goes to the back of his neck, the other cradles his stomach. Nervous. Do not push, Ilya. "What if...what if I just can't sleep. Or...need help navigating the grocery store because of paps or something?" That admission cost Shane a great deal, he could tell.

"All within my parameters. We can discuss hiring you additional security, but I can provide those services, as well." Shane took a long, lazy perusal of Ilya's body. Ilya knew what he looked like. 6'3 on a bad day, devil may care curls, tattoos winding up his neck and peeking out of his sleeves, ice-honed eyes gifted to him by Mother Russia. Shane seemed to be happy with assessment, nodding to himself again. A nervous habit, or a wonderfully whimsical tic? Ilya couldn't wait to figure it out.

"If you have no further questions, let's get these papers signed, and start building a schedule together." They quickly signed the papers, Ilya tucking them away in one of Sveta's suspiciously chic filing cabinets.

"I'd like it if we could start as soon as possible. Preferably today if you have the time." Shane was trying not to fidget in the ridiculously fluffy office chair he had somehow found himself in. It had feathers on it, for god's sake. He was trying to maintain eye contact, too. Trying to appear braver than he was. He wasn't brave at all, and he thought Ilya might know that already.

Ilya just stared at him. Unnervingly still. Like a predator. Fuck, he was way out his depth here. Svetlana had told him she had the perfect match for him. Shane wished it wasn't this beautiful fucking apex predator in from of him.

"I just...I'm already here. Why not just dive right in, you know?" God, Shane was rambling. And Ilya still wasn't saying anything.

"Dive in?" Ilya mused out loud. Fingers stroking his chin and jaw. Why was that so hot? So sexy. "Dive in to...what exactly?" Ilya had to be fucking with him, but that was the service he was paying for. Another need that shouldn't be a need. He shouldn't need any of this, especially not an incredibly sexy escort who...

"Stop." Shane looked up. Frozen.

"Good boy. Thank you for finding my eyes when I speak to you." Ilya's voice was smooth. Honeyed. Mana for Shane's frayed inner thoughts.

"I will not make you tell me what caused that," Ilya said with a wave of his hand in Shane's general direction. Shane had a hand tucked under his hoodie, wrapped around the back of his neck. He had his other hand in the front of his hoodie grasping his stomach very tightly. Too tightly. "...yet." Fuck.

"But I will make you come here. Another lesson for you, Shane. Come." Ilya extended a hand, beckoning Shane to his side. Shane crossed the small space in a few strides, until he was beside Ilya's chair and next to the rather large desktop table. 

Ilya didn't get up. Just leaned back in the chair assessing Shane. Shane thought that if he was the one sitting in a way that was below Ilya, he would be unnerved. Scrambling to stand up straight away. Not Ilya. Ilya, whether below or above Shane, would always be the one on top. Another lesson indeed.

"Sit." Ilya pointed to his lap. Shane couldn't stop the nervous laughter that bubbled out of his throat. "Uh...I weigh...quite a bit. I don't think that chair can fit us both." Ilya didn't even blink.

"You will sit on my lap, or end up over it. How would you like to start off our relationship? I'm fine with whatever decision you make." And he could tell that Ilya was fine with either option. His face was clear of any emotions besides a subtle fondness that kept creeping in. Making Shane incredibly jumpy. Shane dropped in the man's lap. Not because he didn't want that pain. He did. He was jonesing for it like an addict. But. He didn't want Ilya to take his good boy's away just yet. Maybe for just this once, just a few minutes, he could have some of Ilya's kindness. Covet it. Because he knew he didn't deserve it. Not at all. But maybe he could bask in it just a tiny bit before Ilya had to see the utter blackness, sludge that made up Shane.

"Good boy." Ilya rearranged their bodies so he was reclined back and had Shane sort of slump over his body. He was surprisingly comfortable. Shane, himself, and also Ilya's body. Ilya also felt incredible. Shane couldn't wait until their relationship fully began.

"Lots and lots of thoughts up here, yes?" Ilya gestured to Shane's temples. Wafting an indecently, tantalizing smell past Shane's nostrils. Holy shit. Don't drool. Don't drool.

"Mmmm. Yes. Can be very hard, the first meeting. But you have done so well. So, reward time. What is one thing you want, anything, and I will give it to you if it's in my power."

"Can I please smell you..." rushed unchecked out of Shane's mouth. Holy fuck. Suffocating heat smacked Shane in the face. "I mean...that's weird. No. What I meant was...you smell nice, what sort of cologne do you wear? Just so...not that I could buy it because that would be even more strange...just curious. Curious about....it, not you..."

"Curious? Do I make you curious, Shane?" When Shane risked a glance at Ilya's profile, the wolfish grin spread across his face made Shane shriek. Internally, he hoped. 

"No! no...just..." Shane was having a hard time staying still in Ilya's lap.

"Hmmm...and lying? Already?" Ilya made another tsking noise. "How about this, hm?" With what seemed to be no effort at all, Ilya turned Shane's body so more of his own body touched Ilya's. He gently, but firmly, grabbed Shane's face and guided him into his neck. Shane was stiff. Obviously, Shane was gay. And obviously Ilya was hot as fuck. But he just met him, and being in somebody's neck, that you just met, was weird. Even if they were hot. Ilya didn't say anything, just ghosted light touches over Shane's side and hair. Sometimes fingering the top of his ear. It made him shiver lightly, and ultimately relax.

"Better...see? I am a very generous man. If you are brave enough to tell me what you need or what you want...I will give it to you. Always. So concludes our lesson, Shane. You need to trust me. Our relationship will go much smoother if you do not fight me on this." Shane locked up once again, because fuck. Ilya would not like where his head had gone before. He needed to keep it locked up tight. Punishment was easy. That's what Ilya would be giving him. Nothing more.

Having felt Shane's body tense, Ilya said, "or not! Either way is enjoyable for me, yes? It will just be easier on you..." Ilya grabbed his cheeks and squeezed. "But maybe you want it hard, yes? I can work with that, too." With that Ilya shifted him up, and out of his lap. Chuckling to himself at the dazed expression Shane was trying to keep off his face.

He helped Shane gather his belongings and walked him to the door. "Call me anytime. I am here for you, ok? The first few times might be hard, but know I will not abandon you. We need to set up a communication protocol in which you know you will not be denied if you reach out to me. Until I can show you, you will not believe me. Da?" Shane's Da Ser felt like a sip of crisp mountain spring water. Absolutely delicious.

After Shane had left, Ilya let himself run through their meeting from start to finish. He was a little jumpy, nothing too serious. He had a hard time keeping eye contact which, paired with his blushing, could be an anxiety thing. Something to think about later, and address if corrections are needed. 

The one thing that stuck out to Ilya, though, was the arm placements. He had seen Shane grab himself like that multiple times throughout the intake. At first, it looked like maybe Shane was trying to stabilize himself. But after seeing it a few times, Ilya thought it could potentially be a psychosomatic symptom. Like Shane's inner turmoil was making itself physically known in the form of a stomach ache or something worse. If that was the case, Ilya had his work cut out for him.

He knew Shane was going through it. Ilya started writing down a few ideas that might help Shane begin to work through some of the turmoil Ilya was sure he was feeling at the moment. Creating a workable approach that could be tailored to fit Shane better down the road.

Scene Ideas for Shane:

-a very fun game called "Ilya says"

-cockwarming (duh)

-show me / tell me (mirrors)

Chapter Text

Shane felt...unsettled.

The meeting went well. Surprisingly well. Which, of course, meant something bad was going to happen. That's just the way Shane's world worked now. It was better to be prepared for the inevitable downfall then just be sitting around one day and have your whole life crash and burn before you eyes.

Shane let that morose thought go as he made his way back to his apartment. It wasn't far from the office he was just at. All he needed to do was make it home in one piece, without getting recognized, and then he could go over the day. Look back through their interaction to see if anything was missed. If anything needed a little bit more attention.

Shane decided to cut through the back of a few store fronts. It was early enough to where he didn't feel threatened, but walking out front a bunch of shops where he could easily be recognized would not be ideal. Especially with his current mindset.

Shane made it to his apartment without fanfare, thank god. His interaction with Ilya this morning was starting to settle in his mind, rubbery pieces fitting together in a weird amalgamation of desire and fear.

Shane headed to the bathroom immediately to soak off the day, studiously ignoring his reflection in the rather massive, yet clinical, primary bathroom. It was only early afternoon, but he needed to feel grounded and he knew a good chamomile-scented soak would do that for him. Once the water was on, scalding, he added the bubbles and waited for the tub to fill.

Look in the mirror you dumbass. For god's sake...look so you can catalogue the damage. Hesitant eyes met the mirror. Ok, he looked fine. Unremarkable. Not anything like meeting Ilya Rozanov had changed his entire world with only an hour long conversation. His ribs were still riddled with bruises from his last game he played against the Panthers. They weren't vibrant though. Not the alluring pink and purple flashes he loved to look at. No, the bruises had aged and now looked sickly brown. A garish sort of yellow that, coincidentally, matched the way Shane was feeling inside. At least here, with these ugly bruises marking his entire upper body as well as a large portion of his thighs, his outsides matched his insides. There was a sort of rightness when this happened. Almost like Shane could breathe again. Like people could see the bruises, see the ugliness, and know for sure Shane was bad. Wrong. The good boy exterior was an illusion. One Shane never purposefully wore, of course, but it was there none the less. It made him feel strangely manipulative. 

Shane finished taking off the rest of his clothes, placed them in his bathroom hamper, and headed straight for the tub. Shane couldn't keep the pained gasp from leaving his lips, as he stepped in. The temperature causing Shane to feel like his feet, thighs, and butt were slowly freezing. Like the water was slow boiling his blood in dry ice. This was fine. This brought him back from the edge of...whatever that was before. It shocked him back into a more rational way of thinking. Everything was fine. The bruises had stayed. They weren't going anywhere. He was here. He was real.

Shane's hands slowly made their way to his mid thighs. The bruises had stayed. He couldn't help but trace the unsightly masses with gentle fingers. Spanning from just above his knees, coiling around the outsides of his thighs, ending at the very tip of his groin. He pressed a little harder, just at the edges. Thumbs fanning out on both sides, gradually increasing the pressure, slowly making his way towards the center. The center of these bruises, as with most hits he's sustained during his tenure with the NHL, could be considered deep tissue bruises. Bruises that look like they've healed somewhat, but always came back with a sudden vengeance. The yellows and browns turn almost black in a matter of days. Shane secretly loved when that happened. It prolonged his reality.

Shane couldn't keep himself from pressing into the centers. He tried, or at least that's what he told himself, but after a day like today? He needed it. He knew the bath wouldn't be grounding enough on it's own. No, he had to touch them. And touch them he did. He poked, and prodded, and dug his knuckles into the deepest most darkest parts of them. Groaning and whimpering as he continued his inspection. Once he had started, he knew he wouldn't be stopping for a while. Once he let himself have this, this time, he wasn't strong enough to stop himself. He became inconsolable. Unable to feel fulfilled until his new bruises, the bruises his thumbs and knuckles would make today, made themselves known. He could tell by how hard and lumpy the skin his thumbs ran over that these would pop within the next 24 hours. He couldn't help but hope for a bit earlier than that.

It was selfish, sure, a need that Shane wouldn't refuse himself. Couldn't refuse himself. That was ok, too. The world was catching on to the fact that Shane Hollander was selfish. Give it a little time, and Ilya would think the same thing. Ilya...

Shane had forgotten about the man entirely, if for only a few minutes.

What would Ilya think of me? What would he think of me right now, in this state?

The thought came from nowhere. Well, he guessed not nowhere, he had just seen the man. The man that was supposed to hurt him, punish him for his failures. Disregard him, ignore his cries. Ignore him. Make him repent for his sick needs. Ilya would probably think he was weak. Weak enough to participate in this weird self re-harming thing he was doing. Just to make it through the days. Probably disgusting. Disgusting for poking bruises just to...what? Merge his own reality with the reality of the entire world? Make himself ugly on the outside so people knew the kind of person he was on the inside? 

He was probably extremely happy to have Shane leave his office. Shane had been rude, nervous. Had made fun of his office space. Of course he wouldn't want Shane to come back. That's how they had ended their meeting. Shane leaving, abruptly. No other form of comfort besides sitting on Ilya's lap for a few minutes. 

Shane was glad. He had learned that nobody truly cared for him. Not his parents. Not his teammates, who had started to feel like brothers to him near the end. Before. Shane guessed that brothers could still be cruel, so maybe he could still count them as brothers. Not his coaches or mentors. Nobody. So why would Ilya stay for him? Ilya didn't even know Shane. They hadn't even done anything besides sign paperwork. That was it. Sure, Ilya had teased him a little. He probably wanted to do more, and Shane would have let him. He would have let Ilya call him anything, and maybe hearing it from someone like Ilya might solidify his new reality. Because if someone like Ilya really looked at him like he was worthless, he would have no choice but to agree with them. Irrevocably.

Shane dunked his head under water. Air leaving his lungs in a long exhale, bubbles sticking to the peach fuzz on his jaw and cheeks, and just listened to the vast emptiness that always seemed to come. He couldn't do this. He couldn't open his heart up to another person that would disappoint him. He might not have known Ilya for long, but Shane knew he had the potential to wreck him. Wreck him in a way that would permanently alter his being. It wasn't worth it. Shane wasn't worth it. 

Shane didn't deserve that. The peace and punishment that would come from Ilya. He had tasted just a bit of it that morning, and he knew once he started he could never let Ilya go.

Bursting through the surface of the water, Shane inhaled too much water. Not enough air. He coughed and spit until he could breathe clearly, and see through watering eyes. Mind made up, he grabbed his phone and pulled up Svetlana's contact information.

Shane: Hi Svetlana. This is Shane. The intake went well but I won't be needing your services after all.

Was that too rude? She had helped him in his time of need. Made him feel worthy of her time. Attention.

Shane: Thank you again for your time and attention.

You may have saved my life for the time being.

Shane: I hope it's ok if I keep your contact information, just in case...well, just in case

The bouncing dots appeared immediately. Apparently they really did work for their clients 24/7, Shane thought to himself..

Svetlana: Shane, I am so sorry to hear you won't be continuing your journey with us.

Svetlana: May I ask how the intake went? How your meeting with Ilya went, specifically?

Shane: Oh, it was fine. Ilya was good.

Ilya was 'good'? What does that even mean?

Shane: Just some things came up, and I won't be needing your services any longer.

The bath had started to cool rapidly. Shane turned and grabbed the towel off the side of the ledge and wrapped it around his waist haphazardly. Shane didn't need her services any longer. He definitely didn't need Ilya's. He wasn't going to be telling her that, though. He had a feeling they were incredibly close. Closer than boss and employee. Or co-bosses. Shane still didn't really understand their dynamic, professionally or personally.

Svetlana: Alright, that's fair. Again im so sorry this partnership didn't work out. Would it be ok with you if I checked in on you in the coming days? Nothing formal, just to make sure everything has settled with you post-intake? Protocol, if you will.

Shane wanted to say no so badly. He wanted to sever this temptation before any roots took place. Even virgin roots could be incredibly difficult to pull once rehomed. But he didn't want to make her or them suspicious. A quick check-in would be fine. If she said it was protocol, he had to believe her. He couldn't risk making this a bigger deal than it already was.

Shane: sure that's fine. just notify me beforehand, and ill make it work.

Svetlana: Sounds good, Shane. Be well and take care of yourself, please. I'll be in touch. 

Be well. Take care of yourself.

And this is why Shane needed to jump ship before he got in too deep. He would be caring for himself the only way he knew how. Control and pain. Who better to dole out his punishments than the one who had committed the infractions.

"Ilyusha. You will not believe who I just got off the phone with."

Ilya was in too good of a mood to decode Sveta's tone.

"Just tell me. I had an amazing intake with H.S. and I want to spend my focus on that. Creating a schedule with all the details so fresh in my mind." From here on out, Shane would be referred to only by his inverted initials, as was policy with all clients. 

"That was who I was just speaking to. Apparently, he is not interested in our services anymore. He was very careful to say 'yours', meaning me. Not you. So what happened, Ilyusha."

Ilya's mind stuttered to a halt. Shane had cancelled their contract already?

"Wait. Did he cancel the contract, or just verbally waive his interest?" There's a big difference in choosing either action.

"What do you take me for? Of course it was only a verbal waive. AND I got him to agree to a check in within the next few days." Thank god. If Shane had only waived his interest verbally, the contract was still in effect. Ilya could work with this.

"I don't like this, Ilyusha. Something is wrong. His tone was off when he was messaging me. I need you to take ownership of the check-in, and I need it to be a physical one if possible. You saw his medical reports. You know what I'm referring to."

Ilya had seen the medical reports. Most were from hockey hits, a standard physical could show you that. These were medical reports Ilya had been expecting when Shane reached out to Svetlana. One piece of paper stuck out to him, though. An emergency room visit for alcohol poisoning where water was found in his lungs. This could have been an accident, sure. That's what the medical staff wrote in the file. Ilya wasn't convinced.

"I'll give him a few days to breathe. I'll complete the check-in. I'll update you on...our course of action." There. Ilya hadn't said anything, really. Nothing untoward. But if Shane thought that he could shake Ilya with a message to Sveta? He simply could not allow that. Ilya had seen Shane's face, his eyes, his tense posture. Part of the services they offered were labeled under tough love. He would see how well Shane did under this category. 

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Ilya had met with Shane. Three whole days. Ilya felt like his skin was being sloughed off. Slow and torturously. He knew he shouldn't be this invested in a client. Yes, Ilya prided himself on caring for all of his clients. Caring for them in a professional capacity. Wanting them to succeed, wanting them to lean less and less on Ilya until they could handle life without him. A graduation of sorts, joyous and prosperous.

Ilya did not have those feelings towards Shane. He wanted Shane to succeed, because Ilya had helped him succeed. He wanted Shane's smiles whenever he did something worthy of praise. And Ilya would praise him so very often. He wanted to hoard every micro expression Shane flashed deep inside of his being. Lazily running his fingers through each and every one of them.

So no. Ilya was not enjoying these three days. He was worried Shane was...unwell. He still hadn't reached back out to Svetlana, not that Ilya thought he would. It would have just made this wait easier. 

Ilya decided to message Shane early Sunday morning. Something about early worms and birds.

Ilya: Good morning, Shane, this is Ilya. Sveta asked me to check in on you and see how you are feeling post intake. I know you have waived interest in our services, but I would like to see you in person to see how you are doing.

Ilya ran through Shane's brief one more time hoping it would make the time pass quicker. Something inside of Ilya needed to hear from Shane.

Ilya was torn. Shane had been very clear in his intake forms. He wanted psychological and physical pain. That was nothing out of the ordinary. He could deliver those unfailingly. He had enough experience in both arenas to be confident in that decision. What Shane didn't want was aftercare. Not only was that against Sveta's policies for all of her employees, it was also against Ilya's own personal ethics. He did not entertain mind breaks. He didn't touch any load-bearing walls in the mind without having a course of action in place to bring his client back from that kind of pain. And that was what Shane was refusing. Care to bring himself back from that sort of acute destruction. He wasn't sure if Shane knew what he was asking for, or if Shane asked for something so specific because he had experienced that many times. Both options made Ilya's stomach turn weak.

That was the first red flag. The second red flag was all of the pain implements and practices Shane had marked as green. There were no hesitation marks. Just confident checks next to almost every single one. Ilya knew there were many individuals who had a high pain tolerance. A tolerance for pain so high even thinking about it made Ilya squeamish.

Ilya had made a very lucrative living reading clients. Their likes, desires, needs, wants but can't haves written so very clearly across their faces. He would bet his small fortune that Shane was not a pain slut. He didn't like pain for the sake of pain. This led Ilya down a very dark rabbit hole. One he wished will all his might he wouldn't find Shane at the bottom of.

Ilya checked his phone. No reponse from Shane. He bristled. Ilya wasn't used to being ignored. He definitely wasn't used to being ignored by beautiful men, client or otherwise. Ilya would give him a few hours before he went to Shane's residence. The contract allowed for physical contact in case of an emergency. This was beginning to feel like an emergency.

Shane cracked his eye open. He heard a distant rapping noise. Maybe in his head? He shook it. Nope...still there. The curtains and blackouts were drawn, leaving his bedroom in complete darkness save the little red blinking light on his laptop. Fuck, what time is it? The knocking sound, more persistent now, picked up again.

Alright, alright. I'm coming.

Shane swung his legs over the side of the bed, and had to immediately grab the headboard. His legs had almost given out from under him.

How long had he been in bed for?

Truthfully, Shane didn't even know what time it was. What day it was. He had messaged Svetlana after his bath, and made his way to his room. A whiskey bottle sat almost empty on his nightstand next to a crumpled up bag of goldfish. Shane rubbed his hands up and down his face, trying and failing to remember what he was even doing up.

Oh...the door. Shane made his way as quickly as he could, side stepping the boxes and garbage that littered the floor. He wasn't really sure he wanted to see anybody he knew, definitely not management or his team, but they wouldn't even know he was here. Shane had moved quickly after the video had surfaced to a new apartment. Still grandiose, just not as large. Not as known as his previous residence. Private.

"Ya ya I'm coming..." His voice was hoarse. Wonderful. He could also smell himself from here, which meant he was in pretty bad shape. Oh well. Maybe whoever this person was would leave him alone.

He opened up the door, too tired to look through the peep-hole, to a smiling Ilya. Ilya's smile froze, looking, for a moment, painfully stuck on his beautiful face. Then he arranged his face in a perfectly neutral expression. That was freaky. And unnerving.

"Ilya...hi. Hi...what are you doing here?" Shane grated out as he leaned heavily against the door frame. Keeping his arms folded across his stomach trying to contain himself as well as his smell. He wasn't sure how successful he was judging by the way Ilya was currently looking at him. Assessing him. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this would be the final straw.

"I texted. A few times, actually. I wanted to make sure you were ok after messaging Sveta." Ilya's eyes glanced past Shane, probably surveying the wasteland that was his new apartment. His face gave nothing away.

"You wanna come in? I can make...juice. Or something." Ilya just nodded. Shane turned and headed to the kitchen, hearing cautious footsteps trailing after him.

Belatedly, Shane realized the entire apartment was dark, maneuverable, but still dark. Ilya had already crossed the foyer hands reaching for the curtains. 

"Can I open these, grustnyy mal'chik?" The whispered Russian barely making it past Shane's consciousness.

"Ya, sure. Can you leave the curtains shut, but open the blackouts?" Ilya nodded. The gauzy curtains still kept some of the afternoon light out of his face. He felt like death. Head sticky, body sticky, brain sticky. He grabbed a glass from the sink, filled it with water, and downed the whole thing. He filled it again, just so he had something to do with his hands. Why was Ilya here? Now of all times.

"I just uh woke up. Sorry for missing your texts." Shane realized he must have been out longer than a night. Longer than a few days, he thought. Where was his phone?

"I think my phone died. But as you can see, I'm ok. You can thank Svetlana for me. For worrying about me." Shane couldn't help but giggle at that. God, he was tired. Ilya had just been watching him. Not saying anything, which was making Shane incredibly anxious. More anxious than usual.

"Yes. I can see you are very fine." Shane tried not to flinch at the drawn out way Ilya spoke those words. Not quite mocking. Not quite kind, either. Ilya managed to find a scary something in between those emotions. It hit Shane in the chest. In his groin.

Ilya crossed the space and stood directly across from Shane with only the kitchen island separating them. He leaned all the way onto his hands, making himself look much more menacing than what Shane thought previously possible.

"I will give you two options, Shane, so listen clearly." Shane's eyes immediately found Ilya's. Fuck. He was in so much trouble.

"Option one. You go take a shower, brush your teeth, and meet me back here where I will have breakfast waiting for you. Whiskey does not count as breakfast, Shane." Shane cringed. Ok, so Ilya could definitely smell the alcohol seeping out of his body. "I will give you 30 minutes of privacy. Da?" Shane nodded, kind of wondering what option two would be.

"Option two. You fight me. Ask me to leave. In this option, I physically remove you from the kitchen, strip you down, and shower you myself. I will brush your teeth for you. I will dress you, and bring you back to the kitchen where you may or may not be allowed to sit at the kitchen table." Instant heat wracked Shane's entire body. He knew, without a doubt, his cheeks were glowing. Ilya's eyes tracked down Shane's face to his chest. He just realized he was only in boxers, so Ilya was probably cataloguing the blush that trailed all the way down his shoulders to his chest. Making a home there.

"You can't...come here and do...this..." Shane stammered out, waving his hands around like an actual crazy person. Yes, he wanted Ilya to take control of him badly, physically move his body, but he was not allowed to reach out and grab it. It was a fantasy. One Shane wasn't allowed to have. But maybe if it was offered....

"I can, actually. The contract you signed is still live. I can come here. I can man handle you. I can bathe you. I can make you eat." Shane didn't like this. This pushing Ilya was doing. God, he was so confused.

"Fuck you! Leave...get out of my apartment..." Ilya just stood there, all casual, watching him. Watching him like some sort of science experiment, and Ilya was the sick scientist about to make Shane dance for his own amusement.

"Shane, if you do not pick an option, I will pick one for you. And you know which option I'm going to pick, da?"

The da, Ser that slipped out of Shane's mouth ripped through the dimly-lit kitchen like a gun shot. He reached for his mouth, hoping that he could stuff those words back where they came from. Back into the depths of his soul. But Ilya had heard them, if his stiff posture and honest to god growl was any indication.

"Shane...do not do this to me. You will not like what happens when you provoke me. Go into the bathroom like good little boy, and leave me to work." Ilya's thickened accent did horribly, terrifying things to his stomach.

Shane was simultaneously outraged and relieved. Relieved because Ilya wouldn't make him do anything he didn't want to. Outraged because he wanted Ilya to make him do things he didn't want to do. Fuck.

"I thought...you said, well...I didn't make a decision." He just left those words out there to marinate. He hadn't made a decision, so they could still go with a different option, right? 

"I see." Ilya tracked him with too-perceptive eyes. "Ok. I make decision then, yes?" Ilya slowly made his way around the counter, fingers walking along the countertop edge. He reached for Shane's jaw, titling Shane's chin up slightly. Forcing eye contact.

"I will only say this once. Once because the rules have changed. You have changed the rules, Shane." Shane was barely keeping up with the conversation. The forced eye contact was making him feel very weak in the knees, and the stomach, and in the soul. He nodded his head along the best he could.

"Red is the only way this stops. The only way, understood?" 

"Da, Ser." Ilya tipped his head in a faint nod. Some sort of clarity and finality sticking to his face. With that, Ilya bent down to grab just below Shane's upper thighs. He picked Shane up, settling him in the natural dips of his hipbones, and carried him out of the kitchen and down the hall. Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya's defined waist, imperceptibly, trying to hide the tiny grin that had taken over his face.