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"Hollander! Come here, please!"
"Why don't you come here?" Shane replied, fussing with the stubborn strands of hair that refused to settle. It was his fault for taking a nap right after showering, leaving his wet hair to dry in a chaotic mess. "Are you even dressed, Ilya?"
"We have time," his husband responded calmly. "Come here." A loaded pause. "Now, Shane. This is not a request." Shane felt his spine straighten at the shift in tone. Ilya had many voices: the confident, occasionally crass captain's voice he used in the locker room, the indulgent tone he greeted Anya with whenever they arrived home, the lusty, heavily accented words he slurred when sex drunk. But there was only one voice, deeper and more commanding in the rest, that could raise goosebumps on his arms in an instant. It was a voice he only heard when he was in trouble and often preceded some less than pleasant consequences.
But that was ridiculous, Shane told himself as he made one more attempt at flattening his errant hair. He and Ilya had barely seen each other today, too busy rushing through their off-day routines in preparation for a charity event this evening. It was a formal dinner and silent auction—not for their shared charity, the Irina Foundation, but one of the many other causes they supported in the greater Ottawa area. And they needed to be leaving in—Shane checked his watch—just about thirty minutes.
"Um, Ilya? Is everything okay?" Shane's steps halted as he wandered into their bedroom and found Ilya lounging and shirtless. At first, he was distracted by Ilya's perfectly sculpted torso, sparkling with residual water droplets from his own shower. Half a second later, he registered where, precisely, his husband was seated, and all other thoughts left his brain. Because Ilya was sprawled on the worn navy loveseat across from their bed. A piece of furniture that only got used when Shane was being spanked. And not the playful kind of spanking, a few slaps stinging his ass during sex. No, this was where Ilya dealt with discipline.
When Shane didn't resume walking into the room, Ilya raised an eyebrow and motioned at the empty space between his legs. Shane gulped. Always, before a spanking, there was an embarrassing lecture with Shane standing between Ilya's spread legs. Ilya enjoyed taking his time with the conversation, seeing how much he could make Shane squirm before he doled out a single smack. But that was when Shane was in trouble, which he absolutely, positively was not. Was Ilya upset about Shane skipping dinner? No, they had agreed that plenty of safe food would be available at the event. Had Shane hurt his feelings? No, they rarely dealt with personal slights through in their dynamic. Besides, Ilya was just as likely to retreat inward if he thought Shane was genuinely upset with him. So...what?
"What's going on?" Shane asked, hating the wobble in his voice.
"Ah, kotenok," Ilya said with a smirk. "Come here and I will tell you."
"Okay..." Shane obliged his husband and slowly walked toward the loveseat. Soon, he was trapped between Ilya's strong legs, in the place he regrettably thought of as his spot. Ilya's lips quirked in a knowing smile as he ran his hands up and down the outside of this thighs. "We don't have much time," Shane said cautiously, even as he fought back a full-body shudder. "You're not even dressed yet, Ilya. I know we want to be a little late, but this is pushing—hey!" A pinch at his thigh stopped his nervous rambling.
"Ah, ah. We have time," Ilya said, leaning up to kiss the pout on Shane's lips. "But for now, you will be quiet and listen, da?"
Shane offered a small nod.
"There's my good boy," Ilya said. He pointedly ignored the flush rising on his husband's cheeks. "I was reading on Reddit—"
"Oh, god." Shane rolled his eyes, then winced as a real swat found the under curve of his bottom.
"Your job right now is to listen, zaychik." Ilya patted his bottom, right where the sting from the single swat was fading. The gesture was part fond, part overt threat. "Da?"
"Yes," Shane grumbled.
"Hm?" Ilya patted his butt again.
"Yes, sir." Shane amended.
"My good boy." Ilya squeezed his thighs. "So. I have been reading on Reddit. Learning from other couples who are like us, who share a...dynamic, yes?" Having been warned not to speak, Shane simply nodded. "I have been learning so many helpful things about dealing with naughty boys." At this, Shane can't help the whine that escapes his mouth, but Ilya merely smiles, an evil glint in his eye. "There are many, many men like me, you know. Who have naughty, bratty boys they have privilege of keeping in line. I was reading post about maintenance discipline."
"What?!" Shane squeaked only to receive another swat.
"Ah, ah. I am still speaking," Ilya said. "I am not saying we should do this. Maybe, if you were not so naughty, you might need reminder of who is in charge around here. But you are ending up across my knee all the time. I think, my Shane has a red bottom often enough. He does not need this. But then I read about a boy who gets his bottom warmed before outings. Just as reminder to behave. Normally he might be rude, snapping at his partner, but having to sit on a sore, stinging behind is...how do you say? Ah, a helpful hint."
Shane felt his jaw dropping. Even if he had been allowed to speak, he couldn't have summoned words. Because his husband, his dom, had just suggested spanking him before attending a formal gala as a helpful hint to behave.
"What do you think?" Ilya asked, like he was genuinely interested in Shane's answer. Like he hadn't already decided how this little exercise would end.
"But..." Shane shook his head. "But I haven't done anything!" He meant for the words to sound indignant, but even he could hear the plaintive whine in his tone. "I shouldn't get, you know.."
"You shouldn't get your naughty bottom spanked?" Ilya helpfully supplied, and Shane wanted to combust from embarrassment. He struggled to say the "S" word aloud, but Ilya was always plenty eager to fill in the blanks. Shane just nodded grumpily. "I understand. My beautiful husband thinks he has been good today, so punishment is unfair?" Shane nodded again.
"Okay. Two things." Ilya held up his pinky finger to count. "One, while you have been a good boy today, I seem to remember last time we went to fancy event. The donor brunch for the foundation?" Shane wiggled his hips, not wanting to remember the outcome of that disastrous brunch. He had been tired and overstimulated, the lights and music too much for him to handle. It had left him extra irritable, and he had unfortunately snapped at his mother within earshot of his husband. He had been summoned to the bathroom for a few swats and a stern warning to behave, and then spanked soundly that afternoon with his hairbrush. Yuna had been none the wiser when Shane called to apologize from the corner, his bare bottom still blazing and his nose pressed to the wall.
"And two." Ilya's voice cut through the memory. "I am fairly certain we have an agreement, Hollander. This perfect ass of yours..." His hands crept to Shane's backside and squeezed. "...is mine to do with as I please, da? If I want to spoil you with lotion and rub your bottom until you fall asleep, that is my decision. If I think you need small spanking..." He shrugged. "Then you get small spanking. If you deserve my belt and I wish to send you to practice with welts up and down your thighs...well, I guess we will have to answer some questions." Shane shuddered at the thought, even though he knew Ilya would never follow through on that last one. Besides, he would definitely safe out if there was a chance his hockey game could be affected. Maybe. Probably.
"And today, I have decided to try tip from wise anonymous internet people. You will be getting a little hand spanking before we leave as a reminder to be good. Just a small reminder. If you are good boy all night, that's it. If you decide to be brat, then this is warm-up, da?
Shane glared in response. Ilya merely smiled, reached one hand up to smooth the wrinkles between his eyebrows, and then patted his thighs in invitation. With a poorly suppressed huff, Shane began to lower himself over Ilya's knees.
"Ah, ah." Shane hesitated, bent halfway over in a humiliating posture. Ilya tugged on Shane's belt. "I said small spanking, but it's still a spanking, yes? These go down, please."
This time, Shane groaned for real, dancing out of Ilya's grasp before he got any extra smacks. Rather than shove his pants to his knees, wrinkling the formal trousers, he opted to remove them entirely. After folding his clothes and placing them on the bed, he begrudgingly returned to his spot between Ilya's legs—bare-bottomed this time—and was unceremoniously tugged onto the loveseat.
As much as Shane loathed this loveseat, it wasn't an uncomfortable place to lay across his husband's lap. At least not yet. Ilya fussed with his shirt, pushing it up to bare his behind, then ran his palms down the length of Shane's muscular legs, ensuring he was settled. Only after Shane had taken a few deep breaths did Ilya place a warm palm across both cheeks. "Relax, kotenok. Be a good boy for me, okay?"
Shane whimpered into the worn fabric, then dutifully twisted his right arm behind his back for Ilya to grasp. This was their agreement after Shane had reached a hand back to stop his spanking one too many times. Ilya didn't have to worry about smacking his husband's hand, and Shane didn't receive the extra mean smacks to the meaty part of this thighs that always followed such a transgression.
"Good boy," Ilya cooed again. Then, he raised his hand and started spanking.
The first ten quick smacks had Shane relaxing further into the sofa. Maybe this really was just a warm-up. He had taken much more severe punishments. The sharp sting was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Except...after twenty or so spanks, Ilya turned up the temperature, his hand landing with a bit more intention. Soon, the burn lingered after each collision of palm to butt, building a tapestry of pain that had Shane squirming.
"Ilya," Shane whined, his right hand squeezing even as the smacks kept raining down.
"Shane," his husband replied, not an inch of sympathy or lenience to be found in his voice. In fact, Shane thought he sounded almost amused, the asshole. He kicked legs impotently against the loveseat, receiving a censuring tut and a few extra sharp spanks for his efforts.
"I thought you were going to be good for me, hm? What is this kicking and squirming when your bottom is barely pink? We have just gotten started. And if you keep up these bratty little kicks, maybe I will decide you need a firmer hand. Yes?"
"Yes, sir." Shane whispered into the sofa, squeezing his eyes shut and vowing to stay still. They didn't have much time before they needed to leave, and Ilya wasn't even dressed yet. It was best to let his spank-happy husband finish this little ritual and then get moving. Shane would prove this exercise was futile. Maybe he would be a brat at dinner, just to prove his husband's so-called helpful hint had been useless. Except—ouch—then he would be back over this loveseat later tonight. Or worse, bent over the bed for a taste of the belt. Shane had much better ideas of how they could occupy themselves after the gala.
"This is dumb," he argued weakly. "I didn't even-ow! Do anything wrong."
"Hm, but do I need a reason to smack this naughty bottom?" Ilya mused. He paused, rubbing his heavy hand across both cheeks, prodding at the especially sore bits as Shane gasped. "Nope. I do not think so." He patted the stinging skin and hummed to himself. "Besides, I know my husband is not questioning me while over my lap. That would be very bad decision, da? Complaining about how he is disciplined when his very sexy ass is in the perfect place for us to have this conversation." A smack exactly centered on his ass. "Isn't that right, Shane?"
"Yes, sir," Shane whimpered.
Ilya squeezed his trapped hand in agreement, then picked up the spanking again while Shane struggled to keep his writhing to a minimum. During some sessions, Ilya liked to follow a pattern up one cheek and then down the other, but today he moved around his canvas randomly, layering a few swats on top of each other before shifting to a new spot. Shane blinked back the tears threatening to spill and gripped the sofa fiercely with his free hand. When Ilya shifted his focus to the undercurve of his bottom, the skin he would spend the majority of the night seated on, Shane could no longer hold back the tears. Getting spanked fucking hurt, even when there wasn't an implement in sight. His husband was an accomplished athlete, capable of incredible feats on the ice and in the gym, and Shane's poor, defenseless bottom was no match for his heavy hand.
"That's my good boy," Ilya praised as Shane started crying in earnest, even as he kept up the heavy swats to his sit-spots. "We are going to have a nice evening, aren't we? You will be my nice, sweet boy. You won't even think of being naughty when your bottom is still sore, will you?"
"No, no. Ow, please, sir!" Shane wiped his tears against the soft fabric of the sofa.
"Hmm." Ilya sounded unconvinced and kept the smacks coming.
"I swear, I'll be good. I promise, Ilya. Please, sir."
"And what will happen if you do decide to be naughty?" Ilya landed a few sharp slaps to his upper thighs. "What will happen to this bottom, which is already so pink and sore?"
"Ilyaaa..." Shane groaned, kicking his legs as he felt a blush climbing up the back of his neck. He hated when Ilya did this. When he made Shane verbalize the consequences that would be coming his way if he disobeyed. But he knew from experience the onslaught to his poor ass wouldn't stop until he acquiesced. So he whimpered, barely above a whisper, "I'll get 'nother spanking."
"Yes, you will. My good, smart boy." And he was rewarded with more swats. "But I don't think that will be necessary, do you?"
Shane shook his head fervently, more tearful promises spilling from his lips.
"That's right. So good, kotenok. My perfect boy." Shane sniffled, tears still streaming down his face, as he basked in the alternating Russian and English compliments. He eventually realized that his husband's calloused palm was no longer building the sting but just resting across the roundest part of his butt. Ilya released his right hand, and Shane instinctively reached to rub at the pain, even though he knew he wasn't allowed.
"No, Hollander." Ilya squeezed one well-spanked cheek firmly, causing Shane to cry out and withdraw his wandering hand. "We have talked about this tonight already, I think. This perfect pink bottom belongs to me, da?" Ilya released his mean grasp on Shane's skin to land one more searing swat that had his whole body convulsing. And then, like Shane hadn't been chastised at all, Ilya returned to his soft caresses. "You will not be rubbing away all my hard work. I took the time to give you such a nice spanking, and I intend for you to feel it all night long, unless you want a refresh later, okay?"
"That was a 'nice' spanking?" Shane grumbled into his crossed forearms, tensing a moment later for more swats. But his husband just laughed and scooped Shane's pliant body into his arms to cuddle. Shane always melted into putty after a spanking, eager to soak up all the affection and praise he could get. Not that Ilya was ever withholding. They both liked this part the best, the afterglow when Shane would float someplace safe and comfortable, occasionally sucking on his husband's fingers or nuzzling into his neck. Usually, after a more intense spanking, Ilya contorted his body so Shane's punished bottom was spared any additional pressure. Today, he seemed just fine when Shane's chastened skin pressed firmly into his thigh, causing a stream of hisses and whimpers to escape from his husband.
"I think that was a very nice spanking," Ilya whispered as Shane squirmed uncomfortably in his lap. "No bruises or marks for my good boy. Just a nice even sting to keep you on your best behavior. You will be thinking of me all night long, won't you? Everyone will be admiring my beautiful husband, thinking how perfect he looks. But only you and I will know about the sore bottom keeping you sweet for me."
After that little speech, Shane's entire face was flushed to match other parts of his body. Yet, despite the humiliation, his body pressed further into Ilya's seeking friction somewhere else.
"Ah, ah. No. I have heard we are late for a very fancy event. Up." With a not-so-gentle pat to his behind, Ilya helped Shane to his feet, straightened his shirt, and then redressed him with soft hands. "I will be ready very fast. Five minutes, okay?" Shane nodded, one arm still wrapped around Ilya. "Does my good boy need to wait in the corner?"
"Nooooo, Ilya!" Shane whined, attaching himself even more firmly to his husband's torso.
"Okay, okay. You stay with me, da?"
Shane clung to Ilya as they moved through the bedroom and bathroom, putting the finishing touches on their looks for the night. He massaged his forearm on the drive to the hotel venue. He let Ilya guide him around the room with a steady hand on his back, then ate every bite of his three-course meal while his bottom ached and Ilya smirked beside him. And much later that night, after they had both come twice and Ilya was spreading cool cream across his bottom and legs, Shane could only mutter a half-hearted denial when Ilya declared that the anonymous internet people were geniuses.