Chapter Text
Shane was being a brat.
Shane was also leading the entire NHL with seven goals at the halfway mark of the playoffs, an especially impressive feat considering the Centaurs swept their first series and just won their second series against the Admirals in five. It was a historical run for the Centaurs, who were relatively new to playoff hockey, and both Shane and Ilya wanted to bring the Cup back to Ottawa badly.
Still. Shane was being a brat. He was snapping at Ilya, huffing and rolling his eyes whenever Ilya suggested a break from watching tape or reminded him that it was meal time. His husband was laser-focused on the ice, just like always, but his demeanor in the locker room and at practice was starting to worry their teammates. Everyone knew Shane was intense, and that intensity dialed up even further during the playoffs. But Shane was always kind to his teammates, supportive and understanding, even when he was overly harsh with himself. So when he snapped at Luca for asking a simple question, Ilya knew it was time to help his husband relax. Even if that help meant Shane wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for the rest of the evening.
“Sorry, Hollander,” Haasy was mumbling, red-faced and embarrassed that a his friend and mentor—a man that he basically worshipped—had just bitten his head off. “I just thought, you know, we have the afternoon off…”
Ilya bit back a groan. This was his fault. He should have dealt with his grumbly husband before it started to affect the locker room. Beyond a few swats in the privacy of their home and a bit of corner time one night in their hotel room, it had been too long since Ilya had taken Shane in hand.
Perhaps he had been worried about throwing off his game, disrupting his routine during this final stretch of the season. But obviously the tension and anxiety was harming Shane much more than a sore bottom would. Ilya would be fixing that this afternoon.
“You are right, Haasy,” Ilya said firmly, stepping between a glaring Shane and a humiliated Luca. “We have the afternoon off. Going out with the team is a great idea. It will help moral, da? Maybe we invite everyone to our house tonight. Order pizza. Watch the other games.”
There was an grumpy noise behind him at the suggestion of carbs and company, which only solidified Ilya’s resolve to host the team tonight. If Shane still wasn’t in the mood to be nice, he could spend the evening bare-bottomed in the corner of their bedroom while Ilya played host downstairs. But he had a few ideas for how to relax his husband over the next few hours.
“I will text group chat with details, yes?” Ilya asked. “You boys go have fun this afternoon. Do not do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“So doing shots on top of a moving minivan is fine?” Bood chirped from across the room.
“Nah, let’s go skinny dipping in the St. Lawrence.
“We could get high and cry about how cute dogs are.”
“Da, yes. Your captain is very interesting and makes your lives much more exciting. Now go home, assholes.”
The room devolved into chaos with more shouted insults and ridiculous suggestions for how the team could waste their free afternoon. Ilya settled a stern look on his face before turning to face his husband, though his resolve melted away when he found Shane speaking quietly with Luca, a comforting hand on his back.
Well. Perhaps Shane already realized that his behavior meant he was already in for an unpleasant afternoon. More likely, his husband couldn’t handle seeing Luca upset any more than Ilya could.
A few minutes later, Shane and Ilya were waving goodbye to a much happier Luca, then walking in silence to their oh-so-practical Jeep.
“In.” Ilya said with a swat to his butt. The command was unnecessary, with Shane already climbing into the passenger seat, but he watched his husband shudder nonetheless. So maybe a little bit necessary.
The first few minutes of their drive passed in silence, Ilya focused on the road and Shane chewing on the string of his hoodie. “I apologized to Luca,” Shane blurted eventually. “I shouldn’t have snapped at him.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Ilya said simply.
They lapsed into silence for another minute as Ilya gathered his thoughts. Really, he blamed himself. He took great pride in helping Shane manage his anxiety, but he had fallen short these past two weeks. Too focused on the team and the playoffs, much like his husband. But they were lucky. Handling their first two series quickly meant the team had a week off for certain, possibly even longer if the Columbus and Tampa Bay match-up went to Game 7. Plenty of time to settle his husband even amongst all their other commitments.
“Okay,” Ilya finally said. “First, we talk as captain and alternate, da?” Sometimes, Shane found it hot when Ilya pulled rank. Other times, it pissed him off, the reminder that moving to Ottawa meant he had given up his captaincy. Either reaction was fine with Ilya at the moment, but Shane just offered a resigned nod.
“You are a good leader, Shane. Always leading by example, so focused and hardworking. All the guys look up to you, want to impress you. The great Shane Hollander.” Ilya’s lips twitched, unable to help teasing a little. “But right now, the example you set is stressed out hockey player and grumpy teammate. The other guys are walking on seashells around you.”
“Eggshells,” Shane said with his own little huff of laughter.
“Whatever. They walk on little shell pieces, their feet getting poked by your bad mood. It may not be affecting chemistry on the ice yet, but it will.”
“I know,” Shane said softly. “I’ve played in so many postseason games, so I should be used to the pressure. This year just feels different.”
“Hm.” Ilya flipped on the blinker to turn into their neighborhood. “Maybe because you care more, yes? Good team, good people. You want to win for them more than you wanted to win for the Voyagers.”
“Maybe.” Shane inclined his head.
“So we are in agreement,” Ilya said. “You are too stressed, too anxious. Need calm your pretty little head. I have excellent plan to help.”
“I’m not certain I’m going to like your plan,” Shane said.
“Da, probably not. But you need it.” Ilya pulled into the driveway, then waited until the garage door crawled shut behind them. Then, he reached over and squeezed Shane’s chin, just on the edge of too much. Shane squirmed in response. “Okay. You will go inside and wait in the corner for me.”
“I assume you’re not speaking as my captain right now?” Shane muttered while sinking further into his seat. “Because that would be inappropriate.”
“Hmm, we will fix this naughtiness soon, I think.” Ilya tightened his grip on his husband’s face. He was secretly pleased that Shane was already relaxed enough to get mouthy with him, but he wasn’t going to give an inch. Not when Shane needed a firm hand more than anything. “Go. To the corner. Your bedroom corner, please. I will not ask again.”
Ilya watched with satisfaction as pink crawled up Shane’s neck. While it was true that Shane had a time out corner in each room of their house, he hated the reminder. He wriggled out of Ilya’s grip, whispered a reluctant “yes, sir,” and scurried into the house.
After Ilya wasted twenty minutes unloading their gear bags, cleaning the already clean kitchen, and straightening the living room, he finally made his way upstairs to Shane. While he was pleased his husband was actually in the corner—the one time Shane had been bold enough to ignore the directive altogether, Ilya had addressed his defiance with a few licks of his belt before restarting his time—there was just one issue.
“We have talked about this I think, zaychik. When you are in the corner, your pants are down. I expect to see that naughty bottom when you are waiting for spanking.”
Shane whined and kicked his foot at the baseboards, which was not an acceptable response. Ilya crossed the room in quick strides, secured Shane with a firm grasp on his shoulder, and delivered five quick smacks to the seat of his pants, amping up the force to ensure Shane felt his displeasure through the fabrics.
“Ilyaaa,” Shane whined.
“You need some more? Okay. Is no problem for me. I can give.” He delivered another set of of five spanks, smiling a little as his little bunny bounced from foot to foot.
“Sorry, sorry, sir.” Shane gasped when Ilya was done.
“That is a bit more respectful, yes. But we still have a problem, no?” Releasing his grip on Shane’s shoulder, Ilya took a step back and watched in wry amusement as Shane fought between the desire to avoid more smacks and his shame at baring his own bottom in the corner. In the end, Ilya’s looming presence behind him won, and Shane pushed his sweatpants down just enough to reveal pink cheeks. It wasn’t what Ilya usually meant by pants down, but Shane was so adorable in the corner with his naughty bottom peeking out from between his t-shirt and bunched sweatpants that he let it slide.
“Good boy,” Ilya praised, then rolled his eyes as Shane’s hands immediately crept towards his bare ass. “Uh-uh. Hands on head, please. No fidgeting.”
Shane complied with a groan that should have earned him a few swats. But Ilya was feeling lenient today, at least for the duration of this conversation.
“Okay moya lyubov, let us talk. You have been very stressed, very anxious. We know this. Playoffs, new team, lots of pressure. This all makes sense. What does not make sense is my good boy being rude all the time, snapping at teammates, complaining when people try to help him. This is partially my fault, yes? There was lots of bratty behavior during the first series that I ignored. I should have turned your bottom red the first time you talked back, but I didn’t want to jeopardize your play. This was a mistake. My husband has plenty of experience playing with sore backside, yes?”
When Shane stayed quiet, just sniffling in the corner, Ilya clarified: “I want a response, kotenok. I am asking your thoughts. How is your hockey performance when you have been punished the night before? Does a tender or bruised bottom make you worse at hockey?”
A long pause followed, but Ilya just sat on the bed and waited. He knew the answer. That meant Shane more than knew the answer. His husband tracked every shift and trend in performance across the team, but especially his own. If they kept statistics on well-spanked hockey players, Ilya was confident Shane’s game would show a positive correlation. It only made Ilya feel worse for letting his behavior spiral for so long.
Finally, finally, Shane answered. “No, sir. It doesn’t affect my hockey.”
“This is what I think too. I am sorry that it took me so long to handle your bratty behavior, but we will be fixing tonight. Since you have been such a good boy, I will give you a choice in how you are punished, though.” Ilya watched as Shane stiffened in the corner. He knew his husband enjoyed their dynamic because he got to turn off his brain completely and sink into a submissive role. But with playoffs on the line, with the Cup on the line, Ilya thought this was a decision they needed to make together.
“You have two options.” Ilya said. “One, you will get two spankings tonight. You’ll get my hand right now before the team comes over, then a whipping with my belt at bedtime.” Shane whimpered against the wall “Your behavior has been too bad for too long, zaychik. You will be hurting for a few days, but it is deserved I think. You will remember how you are supposed to act.”
Ilya paused, let that sink in. “Or option number two. You will have spanking every single day until first game of the next series. Might be five days, might be seven days, might be nine days. Depends on other teams. But I will keep your bottom sore the whole time. No marks, but you will have constant reminder to be a good boy.”
Shane whined a little, slumping with his nose pressed firmly into the corner. When he didn’t answer immediately, Ilya rose to his feet and approached his husband. He pressed one hand firmly against the bare pink bottom that was his to chastise. “Your choice, Shane.”
“Um…” Shane’s backside squirmed in his grip. “No belt, please.”
“Okay,” Ilya agreed easily. This was what he expected. They both preferred the closeness that a hand spanking allowed. He did note that Shane hadn’t actually asked for the daily spankings, instead clarifying what he didn’t want. Ilya smiled. He would fix that. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching his boy squirm.
“Here is the plan.” He swatted Shane’s butt once, then backed away. “A little longer in time out for you, I think. I want you to think about how you ended up here. Every bratty comment, every time you snapped at someone on the team. When you are ready, you can leave the corner and come find me. You will politely ask me for a spanking, just like you will do every single day until next series. Understood?”
“Ilya…” Shane whined. “I can’t…that’s…” He huffed and kicked at the wall.
“You can and you will.” Ilya declared. He knew Shane hated talking about his punishments. But Ilya also knew that nothing helped his husband relax into a submissive mindset faster. And really, he should be allowed to have a little fun. Watching Shane flush and stumble over his words was too cute.
“You do not know what to say? How about, ‘Sir, I am ready for my spanking now, please.’ Or, ‘Ilya, my incredible husband, please help me be good boy but turning my bottom red.’ You will come up with something I’m sure. Da?” Just to ensure compliance with what he knew was a difficult order, Ilya reached forward to squeeze that bottom in the corner.
“Yes sir,” Shane whispered.
“Good. When you are ready, I will be downstairs.”