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Scott brought his smoothie up to his forehead, rolling the cool plastic cup over his temple to ease the headache he could already feel building. This was going to be an agonizing six-hour flight. Kip plopped down into the seat next to him, fishing his headphones out of his backpack.
“You okay?”
“Why did I think flying anywhere with Ilya Rozanov would be a good idea?” Scott muttered, glaring across the cabin at the six-foot Russian who was deep in an animated conversation with Kyle. Probably about how he was going to send Scott to an early grave.
Kip rolled his eyes and gently guided Scott’s face to the side until their eyes met, “You should just get it out of the way and spank him.”
Scott’s mouth dropped open in shock. “W-what?” he stuttered out.
Kip shook his head, fondly giving Scott an appraising look before continuing, “Look. I know you like doing it sometimes, and I’m not always a big fan of receiving it, but let’s be real for a minute: I’ve seen the way the vein in your neck gets all bulgey when he’s around. And Ilya’s been practically begging for it for years. Why else would he constantly chirp at you?”
Scott paused, turning to look out the window as middle America whizzed past thirty-six thousand feet below. They were jetting off to the “Kink Capital” of the world, San Francisco. Two days surrounded by both communities he had denied himself for most of his life, queer and kinky. Five years ago, he never would have imagined that he would be proudly attending an event celebrating queer sexual liberation, never mind tying in his kinky side. Anxiety and excitement coursed through his veins in equal measure.
A bark of laughter echoed through the cabin, and Scott’s eyes snapped up to Ilya, who was waggling his eyebrows suggestively at his Ottawa Centaurs linemate, Troy Barrett. “Is a harness, Troy, not a leash, although I’m sure you could buy one at the fair,” Ilya said, waving his phone screen in the air, clearly showing off a photo of a recent purchase. Troy’s face was bright red, looking like he was one more explicit comment from opening the emergency hatch and flinging himself out of the plane. Shane, Harris, Eric, and Kyle were all laughing while Ilya loomed over Troy, looking far too satisfied with himself.
“Because he’s an asshole,” Scott finally answered Kip, his brain reeling.
Kip groaned, eyeing his husband as if he were missing the entire plot. “Scott, you are not that clueless.”
And Scott certainly wasn’t clueless, but the idea was simply too absurd to even consider. There was no world in which Ilya would even consent to going over Scott’s knee, even if the persistent brat pushed every single button he had ever found. Besides, Scott wouldn’t. He definitely had absolutely no interest in spanking Ilya fucking Rozanov. None at all. He needed to end this conversation immediately, before his brain conjured any extremely unhelpful images of finally shutting that smart mouth up.
“But we’re married,” Scott replied slowly, like that settled the matter, turning his eyes back on his husband.
Kip’s hand on his cheek was soft and reassuring, but his eyes were serious. “And so is he. You’re not going to fuck him. You are going to tame the brat that’s been a thorn in your side for years. All I’m saying is that he’s clearly asking for something, and you are probably the only person on earth who can provide it. And if it’s something you’d consider doing, I’d be good with it. And honestly, Folsom is the perfect place to explore this. Just think about it.”
Scott did actually take a moment to think about it before forming a response, “But what about Shane?”
Kip’s grin turned mischievous, “I don’t think Shane Hollander is as vanilla as you think he is. This whole trip was his idea for Christ’s sake!”
“Not being vanilla and letting someone else spank your husband are two very different things!” Scott shot back, trying to keep his voice down before they attracted the attention of the rest of the group.
“Shane is the subbiest submissive to ever sub in the history of subbing. Besides, I think he knows that Ilya needs it sometimes, but he can’t be that for his husband. Just like me. I don’t like being spanked. Shane doesn’t like spanking. You like to spank. Ilya needs to be spanked. It’s perfect!”
Scott sat there gaping at his husband, who looked as blasé about the topic as if he had just rattled off some sightseeing options, not dropped a bombshell. Scott’s face went stony. It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it once or twice in the years he had played against Ilya. There had been one game in particular during the Russian’s rookie season where two of his teammates had had to physically restrain him from grabbing Ilya by his jersey and bending the mouthy brat over the boards. Scott sighed and chewed on the inside of his cheek. But he couldn’t. There was no way Ilya would even want it. Besides, that would be crossing a line, wouldn’t it? His palms were becoming uncomfortably sweaty, and if he was being honest with himself, itchy.
When they finally landed at the Executive Terminal of San Francisco International Airport, Scott was thanking every god known to man. Despite there only being six of them on the flight, the 16-passenger private plane they had chartered from Westchester had been uncomfortably cozy for Scott. Ilya was relentless; a constant stream of chirps and backhanded compliments . Scott’s head was still throbbing as they disembarked one by one. Ilya, of course, insisted on being first down the small staircase, and it took Scott approximately one minute to figure out why. After Ilya had shaken the hands of the pilots and flight attendants, he stood to the side, one hand clutching the handles of both his and Shane’s suitcases and Scott’s bag in the other. Scott rolled his eyes, reaching for the strap of his favorite brown leather duffel bag, but Ilya took a step back with a shit-eating grin.
“Is heavy, Hunter. Do not want to shatter your brittle bones.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny, Rozanov. Give me my bag.” His voice unconsciously dropped an octave, the last sentence carrying a clear warning.
Scott narrowed his eyes, following Ilya’s step with one of his own and gripping his bag’s handle tightly. When Ilya attempted to take another step back, Scott yanked firmly. Ilya was not a small man by any measure, but Scott had at least three inches and fifteen pounds on him. With a huff of laughter, Ilya stumbled half a step forward and released Scott’s bag. It collided hard against Scott’s knee, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to show any sign of pain.
“Sheesh, Hunter. Relax. Is supposed to be a vacation. Was trying to be helpful!” But nothing in Ilya’s expression showed that he was helping purely out of the kindness of his own heart.
Before Scott could reply, Shane saddled up to Ilya’s side, wrapping his arm around his husband’s waist, “Ilya, stop being an asshole!”
“Was trying to be helpful!” Ilya repeated. “Helping the elderly is nice, Hollander. You are Canadian, aren’t you supposed to be an expert in nice?” Ilya defended, feigning innocence as he was steered towards one of the two waiting SUVs.
Scott hitched his backpack and duffle bag up higher on his shoulder, looking over to Kip, who was definitely saying “I told you so” with just his eyebrows.
There may be some credence to Kip’s theory. Scott shook the thoughts out of his head, consciously choosing the SUV that Shane and Ilya had not climbed into. Scott folded his large frame into the third row, grateful that the trip to the hotel was relatively short. Kip followed right after him, with Eric and Kyle settling into the two bucket seats in the middle row. They had barely made it out of the parking lot before Kyle was loosening his seatbelt enough to turn around and lock his icy blue, calculating gaze on Scott.
“What’s going on between you and Ilya?” Kyle asked with his usual lack of tact.
“What?”
“Come on, Scott! It’s like he’s purposefully trying to get punched in the face every time he interacts with you. What gives?”
Scott's mouth opened and closed a few times, his brow furrowing. “He’s just an asshole!” It was the same defense he had tried to give to Kip earlier.
“Yes, Ilya Rozanov is an asshole. No shit. But what is it about you that makes you his favorite target?”
Kyle pursed his lips, his eyes flashing over to Kip, who had snorted out a laugh.
“Kiiiip,” Kyle whined, batting his eyelashes at his friend.
“Don’t—“ Scott barely got out before Kip abruptly cut him off.
“Ilya wants Scott to spank him. Well, at least that’s my theory.”
Kyle’s grin split his entire face in half as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ooohhh!”
Scott looked helplessly from Kyle to Kip and finally over to his last resort, Eric, all three of whom were looking back at him expectantly.
“Oh my god. All three of you are unbelievable. That’s not what it is!”
Eric chuckled fondly, shaking his head, “Scott, dude, that actually makes perfect sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Scott tried, very anxious to be out of this car and maybe on the next flight back to New York!
“He has acted like an absolute brat to you from day one!” Eric shot back.
Kyle held up a hand, “wait this has always been a thing?”
Eric’s eyes lit up as he nodded eagerly, “Oh yeah! This one time during Roz’s rookie season, he asked him how much Boston had changed since the 1600s, and he proceeded to name specific colonial landmarks every time he passed Scotty on the ice. Was fucking hilarious, but by the end of the second period, Scott almost throttled him.”
Scott scowled at his friend, unable to stop himself from muttering, “wasn’t going to throttle him. Was going to tan his ass.”
“I fucking knew it!” Kip squealed gleefully, poking his finger into Scott’s shoulder over and over again.
“Alright! Enough!” Scott huffed out, crossing his arms over his chest and staring pointedly out the window.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kip furiously texting while Eric and Kyle whispered back and forth. He should have bought stock in Advil before leaving on the trip, based on the sheer volume he would have to consume to make it out of California alive.
At least he’d have a few hours alone in the hotel room with Kip before they were meeting everyone for dinner. Scott shuffled down to slouch in the plush leather seat, definitely not replaying every time Ilya had purposefully pushed him over the years. Why couldn’t the stubborn brat just ask for what he needed if that’s what it was all for? It would have saved Scott years of agita. He would have been more than happy to provide some well-deserved corrections. No. No way. Bad idea. It was such a bad idea to even allow his brain to wander into that territory. There was no chance that it was even Ilya’s goal. Ilya Rozanov was just a dick to everyone. That was all.
Scott let out a relieved sigh when they finally pulled up to the front of the Ritz-Carlton and piled out of the cars. He peeked over to see Ilya, talking a million miles a minute into Shane’s ear, his arms securely locked around his waist. It was cute until he noticed how deeply Shane was blushing and the way Ilya’s hips were pressed insistently into Shane’s ass. Scott shook his head, just hoping he wouldn’t end up in the room next to them. He had heard more than enough through the thin walls of room 1223 back at the All-Star Game in 2011. Not that he had known that it was Shane in Ilya’s room back then. The day he figured that out, he had been sorely tempted to bleach his brain.
The group of NHL players and their significant others made their way up to the front desk together, quickly sorting out room keys before parting ways. The moment the door to their suite closed, Scott flopped down on one of the couches with a sigh, grateful that his headache had finally seemed to ebb away. He let out a little oof as his husband settled on top of him. Kip pillowed his face in his hands on Scott’s chest, seeming to be silently waiting for something.
Scott groaned, “What?”
“I’m sorry we ganged up on you in the car,” Kip finally said, managing to look a little guilty.
Scott sighed, “It’s alright. I just think—I don’t know what to think. I don’t think you’re right, but I also don’t think you’re wrong, I guess. I just don’t know if I could do it.”
“Why not?” Kip asked, curiosity coloring his tone like he really didn’t understand why this would be a very bad idea.
“Because—well, because it would change things.”
“Change what?”
“Change chirping! It’s an integral part of hockey, and it would be weird after!”
In the back of his mind, Scott knew he was making an excuse. It wouldn’t actually change anything. This would be solely between them personally. Rozanov, the NHL All-Star chirping on the ice, and Scott taking his friend, Ilya, in hand were two completely separate things.
“Scott, listen, if you really don’t think it’s a good idea, I’ll lay off. Promise. And I’ll tell everyone else to back off too. But maybe this is something that would be good for both of you. And maybe being surrounded by a bunch of kinky queer people literally demonstrating implements and techniques would be a good segue to actually doing something about Ilya’s constant need to antagonize you.”
Scott sighed softly and brushed his fingers through Kip’s hair, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Can we stop talking about Ilya Rozanov now and test out that extremely comfortable-looking hotel bed?”
Kip beamed, inching forward to connect their mouths in a soft, sweet kiss.
***********
Four hours later, Scott, Kip, Eric, Kyle, Troy, Harris, Shane, and Ilya were sitting around a large table in a private back room of a gastropub in the trendy downtown area. Scott let his eyes travel over the assembled group and couldn’t help but smile. When he had made the split-second decision to kiss Kip in full view of the world, he never could have imagined it leading to this. An eclectic community of men who understood each other on a level that the rest of the world never would. A clearly star-struck waiter approached with a nervous smile, taking their drink orders before gesturing to two empty seats.
“Are we still waiting for more?”
“Yeah, they’re stuck in traffic. Should be here any second though!” Kip supplied helpfully.
Just as he had finished speaking, Ryan and Fabian were escorted into the room by the hostess.
“Pricey,” Ilya exclaimed excitedly, rising to greet the man in a tight hug.
Ryan and Fabian walked around the table exchanging hugs and introductions with everyone before settling into the two empty seats and giving their drink orders. Scott took a moment to admire Fabian. While he had seen pictures, seeing Fabian Salah in person was a whole other experience. Scott had to admit the man was stunning, and Ryan Price was a very lucky guy. Now that they were all present, the room settled into a relaxed atmosphere as they all broke into easy conversations.
The moment the drinks were delivered, Ilya stood up, glass raised, and a hush fell over the table. “I want to say thank you to Shane, Harris, and Kip for organizing this trip. But also thank you to all of you. I lived for so long afraid of being outed, but now I am very proud to be a part of this community. The closet is terrible place, and to be able to not only be with the man I love but to do so proudly in public, surrounded by friends, will never get old. And of course, thank you to the one who changed the whole game by kissing his boyfriend on the ice, Scott Hunter.”
A chorus of chuckles and “cheers” filled the air as they all clinked their glasses together. Scott smiled softly, leaning in to brush his shoulder against Kip’s. Pride bloomed in his chest, warming every inch of his body. Maybe Ilya wasn’t a complete asshole.
***********
When dinner wrapped up a couple of hours later, they all decided to walk the few blocks to the club where Fabian would be playing. Scott tangled his fingers with Kip’s as they trailed along at the back of the group. Fabian’s manager met them at the door, ushering them into the club, where a slew of stage crew were setting up for the event. Scott slid over to the bar, grabbed bottles of water for everyone, and passed them out.
“Thank you, Dad,” Ilya quipped with a smirk.
“Knock it off, Rozanov,” Scott shot back, frowning.
The Russian just grinned even wider, gesturing to one of the barstools.
“Hunter, you should sit down, yes? I can hear your knees cracking from here. Was a long walk.”
Scott’s blood boiled, and his right palm itched incessantly.
***********
From the VIP balcony, Scott could see Fabian just behind the stage right curtain, sharing a quick kiss with Ryan as he waited to be announced. He was actually excited to see the show Ilya, Shane, Troy, and Harris hadn’t been able to shut up about. He turned back to the table behind him to grab his water bottle, nearly running into Ilya.
“Do you need to put hearing aids in, Hunter? You do not want to miss the show. Fabian is very good!”
“Hollzy, can you please control your husband!?” Scott bit out, gesturing wildly.
Shane just shrugged, calling back, “If I could, I would!”
Scott let his head fall into his hands, groaning lowly.
Ilya immediately chimed in, “Oh no! Grandad is falling asleep. Is past his bedtime anyway. Can you find your way back to the room alone so that Kip can stay and party, or did you forget where it is?”
“Shut up, Rozanov,” Scott bit back, his voice just barely above a growl, his head snapping up to glare directly at the brat.
“Hmm,” Ilya hummed with a pleased grin before strolling back to the railing to press his shoulder to Shane’s.
Scott dropped his hands to his thighs, digging his nails into the denim to restrain himself.
***********
The next morning, Scott strolled into the gym promptly at 8 am, completely unsurprised to see Shane and Troy side by side on two treadmills.
“Morning, guys,” he called, receiving friendly smiles back.
Scott settled onto one of the mats and started stretching.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” Troy asked, slowing his treadmill down to a walking pace.
“I think just walking the street fair today. We wanted to keep the schedule open.” Shane responded instantly, a little out of breath as he slowed his own machine down.
“Nice,” Troy replied before turning to Scott, “Kip doesn’t work out with you? I’m surprised. Your husband is jacked.”
Scott felt himself flush with pride because, hell yeah, his husband was hot as fuck.
“He’s sleeping in this morning,” Scott answered with a shrug. “And where is your husband, Hollander? Shouldn’t he be in the gym?”
Shane rolled his eyes and put on an atrocious Russian accent, marking every word with air quotes, “gyms do not exist on vacation, Hollander.” He switched back to his normal Canadian accent while Scott and Troy laughed at the imitation. “He’s upstairs in bed with Harris.”
Troy made a little choking sound, and Scott looked absolutely horrified.
“What?” Scott stammered out.
Shane immediately turned an adorable shade of bright pink, waving his hands frantically in the air. “No! No, no, no! Not like that! They’re watching a movie and ordering room service!”
“Jesus, Hollander!” Scott wheezed.
Troy was struggling to breathe through his laughter, “No fucking way, Scotty.” He took a deep breath. “First of all, Harris is mine, and I don’t share. Second of all, I have seen Shane Hollander plot the murder of no less than five people who have propositioned threesomes with him and Ilya.”
“Not murder,” Shane grumbled. “Maybe bodily harm, permanent disfigurement, but not murder per se.”
Troy waved a hand at Shane, “See?”
Scott dropped down into a low lunge, stretching out his hamstrings. So that’s that then! Kip was completely wrong! When he looked up at Shane, though, he was sporting a rather mischievous grin.
Shane shrugged his shoulders. “Although,” he paused to chew his lip for a moment. “If there was someone we both trusted who could give him something I cannot. I would be okay with that. Someone who’d help him out. Platonically.”
Scott’s sneaker slid out, sending him tumbling to the mat while Shane slipped out the door.
***********
“You’ve done that?” Troy exclaimed, looking at Ilya like he had grown a second and maybe a third head.
They were all crowded around a small stage where a man was standing in a jock strap, his hands behind his head, legs spread, while a flogger rhythmically fell over and over again on his back and ass.
Ilya shrugged, “Yes, a few times. Before I was locked down by Shane.”
“Wait, you were the one doing it or having it done to you?” Troy asked, a deep red blush expanding from his cheeks to the collar of his shirt.
Ilya’s smile was downright predatory. “Both.”
“But you’re a top!” Troy said. His brain was clearly struggling to wrap itself around this new piece of information about his captain.
Ilya gave Troy an offended look, “I am both a top and a switch! Do not be so close-minded, Troy. Harris, you seem kinky, no? How does your boyfriend know nothing?”
Harris snorted around the sip of water he had just taken.”
“What the hell is a switch?” Troy asked, his gaze flicking frantically between Ilya, Harris, and the stage.
Ilya rolled his eyes dramatically, “It’s like bisexual but for BDSM. I like both.”
Okay, so that answered that question. No! Don’t go there, Scott! You can’t!
***********
After four hours of walking around, Scott was finally starting to relax. Everyone who had recognized the group had been incredibly nice and respectful. Well, everyone had been respectful with one minor exception.
Ilya excitedly pointed to a convenience store they were passing, “Do you need to stop at CVS, Hunter?”
“What? Why?” Scott replied, already knowing he did not want Rozanov to answer either of those questions.
“They sell hair dye. You can cover up grays. Not that I would know anything about them, seeing as I am so much younger than you.”
***********
“Hunter, look, they have tantric sex loungers over here! Would be great for your back pain!”
“I don’t have back pain!”
“No? But you are so old! Think of your poor spine.”
Scott ground his teeth together, squeezing Kip’s hand so tightly his husband let out a little gasp.
***********
After the fifth person they passed on the street whispered a sultry, “hi, Daddy,” Scott thought he was going to spontaneously combust. He whipped around to see Kip blushing a gorgeous shade of deep pink while Rozanov was completely doubled over, looking close to tears with laughter. This was definitely Ilya’s fault. Scott’s palm was absolutely on fire.
“Oh my fucking god,” Shane groaned with an exasperated sigh as he returned from grabbing them all waters from a street vendor. “Ilya, knock it off! Come here, Scott.”
Confusion drew across Scott’s face as Shane reached up, peeling a sticker from the back of Scott’s shirt. Scott’s face blanched when he saw the words “Call Me Daddy” emblazoned in a bold, cheerful print. He was going to kill Ilya by the time this trip was over.
***********
Eric wrapped an arm around Scott’s shoulder with a heavy sigh, “Scotty, I swear to god either you handle that immediately, or I’m going to sic Kyle on him.”
“Just ignore him, Benny.”
“He is being a brat. Practically begging for it,” Eric countered, waving a hand in Ilya’s general direction.
“He will get bored and find someone else to annoy,” Scott said, not sure if he even believed that himself anymore.
Eric scoffed and shook his head, “Have you ever met Ilya Rozanov before? No, he won’t.”
Kyle peeked out from around Eric’s massive chest, “If you really asked him to stop, he would.”
Scott responded instantly, without even thinking, “I know he would.”
“Why don’t you then?” Kyle asked, batting his eyelashes.
And Scott was not answering that question.
***********
Scott let his fingers brush over an absolutely gorgeous set of hand-carved wooden spanking implements. He paused on a rather small, round maple paddle with four evenly spaced holes drilled into it. It would offer the perfect amount of control for him and sting for the person on the receiving end. And there was certainly someone who very much deserved to be on the receiving end, standing at the other end of the table, handing over an array of items and his credit card to the vendor while Shane blushed beside him. Scott sighed and picked up the paddle, testing its weight.
“Hey, Hunter, I’m sure John here could carve a cane for you. You will be needing one soon, yes?”
Scott’s grip tightened around the handle of the paddle, and he made a decision. Fuck it. Enough was enough. He closed the gap to Ilya with three large steps, wrapping his hand around one massive bicep.
“Settle down, Ilya. Now.”
Underneath his hand, he could feel Ilya go rigid for a brief moment before relaxing, playfully tugging against the grip. “Or what, Hunter?”
“Or you will be standing on the plane ride back to New York tomorrow.”
“Promises, promises,” Ilya practically purred with an eyeroll.
Scott hummed, leaning in another half inch closer and lowering his voice to a whisper, “It was a promise. Last chance. Behave.”
If the glimmer of excitement in Ilya’s eyes was anything to go by, he was absolutely not going to behave.
***********
To everyone’s surprise, Ilya had actually managed to bite his tongue for the entire rest of the day. He hadn’t made a single snarky, bratty comment during the rest of the walk through the Street Fair, and had even earnestly complimented Scott’s outfit at dinner. In the back of his mind, Scott wondered if maybe all Ilya had needed was a stern talking to. He twisted open the cap of a water bottle and leaned one hip against the counter of the kitchenette, studying Ilya, who was spinning idly in one of the barstools while he nursed a beer. Kip had insisted Ilya and Shane come up to their room for one last drink before bedtime, and the air in the room was heavy with tension. Like they were all waiting for a bomb to go off.
“I am surprised, Hunter,” Ilya said, breaking the silence.
Tick.
“Surprised by what?”
Tick.
“By you.”
Tick.
“What about me?”
Tick.
“That your ancient body managed to keep up with all of the activities this weekend.”
Boom.
Scott rose to his full height, stepping directly into Ilya’s space. To no one’s surprise, Ilya didn’t even flinch, but one eyebrow did quirk. It was Ilya’s smug little smirk that finally stomped directly onto Scott's last shred of restraint. His gaze flicked over to the couch to see Kip and Shane sitting together, watching the scene play out like it was a Hollywood blockbuster. Two titans going toe to toe, but in this case, everyone in the room knew exactly who was going to come out on top from the opening credits.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Scott asked, his tone deadly serious.
“Do you think your bones might shatter, Hunter? I do have a very muscular ass.” And despite the jab, for the first time ever, Scott saw a crack in the Russian brat’s iron-clad shield, a flash of vulnerability reflecting in those blue eyes.
Scott shook his head, reaching up to cup Ilya’s chin gently, “No, Ilya. I need a clear answer. Yes or no?”
All four of them held their breath for a long moment before Ilya finally opened his mouth and breathed out the word, “yes.”
He broke his stare off with Ilya to meet Shane's eyes across the room “Hollzy, are you good with this?”
Shane held both hands in the air in surrender, shaking his head fondly at his absolute menace of a husband. “He made his own bed. He can lie in it.”
Ilya’s mouth settled in a disgruntled frown, “You dirty little traitor! You’re not even going to defend your husband?”
“Stop making yourself indefensible,” Shane quipped back without missing a beat.
“Kip?”
“Green light, Scotty.”
Scott snapped his eyes back to Ilya, pinching his chin firmly between two fingers. “Is the stoplight system okay?”
“Yes,” Ilya replied, his eyes going dark.
Scott let his hand fall from Ilya’s chin to grab the mostly full beer bottle and set it down on the counter. Ilya didn’t move, seemingly holding his breath, and Scott didn’t miss the way Ilya’s entire body shuddered. Scott stepped back and, in one smooth motion, grabbed Ilya by his upper arm and hauled him off the barstool. With a firm grip, he led the way to the couch opposite the one where Shane and Kip were sitting. Scott dropped down onto the middle cushion and looked up at Ilya.
“Belt off. Pants down. You can keep your boxers on.” He kept his tone calm and even, reaching over to grab one of the throw pillows and set it where Ilya’s head would be.
He could hear the telltale sound of a leather belt slipping free and clattering to the floor before the rustle of denim being pushed down. Scott looked up, unsurprised to see Ilya shifting from foot to foot, clearly nervous. And that was a bit surprising. In nearly fifteen years, he had never seen that expression on Ilya’s face. He wrapped his hand around Ilya’s wrist and guided him down gently over his left knee. Ilya went without any complaint, his massive torso sprawled out on the couch to Scott’s left, and his legs hanging between Scott’s. Scott adjusted him until his hips were perfectly aligned over Scott’s thigh and smoothed his hand over the tight boxer briefs. Scott had to admit, Ilya really did have the perfect ass to spank. He lifted his hand and let it fall once, the clap of skin meeting cotton-covered cheeks echoing through the otherwise silent room.
Ilya let out a little huff, “I have heard about muscle deterioration as you age, Hunter, but I did not know it would be that bad.”
Scott couldn’t help but chuckle. “Keep pushing, Ilya. You’re already in enough trouble.”
And clearly, Ilya took that as permission rather than a threat. That was fine with Scott. He could give Ilya what he was begging for.
“Is nothing to be ashamed of! You should ask Eric how he stays in shape. He will help when you retire this year.”
Scott shook his head and wrapped his left arm around Ilya’s hips, pinning him before he started laying in. His right hand snapped hard against the curve of Ilya’s ass with full strength. Ilya gasped, clearly surprised by the force. Scott was done playing around. He varied the strength and speed of the swats, working his way in a slow circuit around both cheeks. Once he was sure he had covered every inch, he lifted his knee and started working on the sit spots, smacking each one five times at full strength. Ilya hadn’t made a single sound, and Scott would have been worried if he didn’t catch the way the Russian’s breathing had sped up. Of course, a life in hockey bred a high pain tolerance, and it had been far too long since Scott had someone over his lap who could take a long, hard spanking. Scott turned his focus to the back of Ilya’s thighs, snapping his wrist right before impact to impart the most sting possible. He could feel the muscles in Ilya’s abdomen twitching against his thigh, but Ilya still remained stubbornly silent.
“I’m going to take your boxers down, Ilya. Color?”
“Green,” Ilya replied through clenched teeth.
Scott nodded and hooked his thumb into the back of the briefs, dragging them down to join Ilya’s jeans at his knees. He took a moment to admire the pink tinge to Ilya’s perfect ass, petting the slightly warm skin. The moment Ilya’s breathing evened out, Scott started spanking again, Ilya’s uncovered ass jiggling with every sharp slap. Scott settled into a steady rhythm, keeping a keen eye on the way Ilya’s body tensed, and his fists clenched and unclenched. He bided his time, watching the way a deeper shade of red started to bloom. On a particularly hard hit to the back of one thigh, he heard a hiss of pain. He repeated the spank on the other thigh, earning a choked-off groan. They were finally getting somewhere. He definitely had Ilya’s attention now.
“You have been pushing me your entire career, Ilya,” Scott said, punctuating each word with a spank. “You’ve been allowed to be an unruly little brat for far too long, and I’ve had enough. Is this what you’ve been asking for since your rookie season? Someone to finally take you in hand and spank the sass out of you?”
Ilya grumbled something into the pillow he had buried his face in, and Scott paused, letting his hand rest on one red cheek. Scott readjusted his grip on Ilya’s hip and shook his head fondly.
“I asked you a question, Ilya. Answer me.”
Ilya yelped when Scott let his hand fly, swiping upward from each sit spot.
“Fuck!” The word punched out of Ilya’s chest around a gasp.
“I can wait. You let me know when you’re ready to answer.” Scott said.
He made three more full circuits up the back of one thigh, up one cheek, over to the other, and down the opposite thigh before Ilya finally spoke. “Yes! Fine! Yes!”
Scott stopped mid-swing, switching to gentle rubs, “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Scott,” Ilya tried, squirming his hips slightly and panting for a solid breath. They both knew it wasn’t the response Scott was looking for.
“No. Tell me why you’re here, Ilya.”
Ilya’s response was an annoyed growl, but there was a noticeable sniffle at the end. They were close. For the first time since Ilya went over his lap, Scott looked up at Shane and Kip. Both were perched on the very edge of their seats, watching with rapt attention.
“Kip, do me a favor and grab me the paddle I got today. It’s in the bag over there.”
Ilya went completely stiff as Scott rubbed in slow, careful circles. While they waited, Scott gave Shane a look. It was a silent check-in, and thankfully, Shane seemed to understand. He knew Ilya better than anyone, and after giving an appraising glance, he nodded once. It wasn’t lost on Scott that this whole situation could have been negotiated a bit better, but he trusted Ilya to tap out, and he trusted Shane to keep his husband safe. Kip returned with the paddle, handing it over with a small smile before returning to his spot next to Shane. Scott placed the paddle down between Ilya’s shoulder blades and reached down to remove the jeans and boxers that had slid all the way down to Ilya’s ankles. He tilted Ilya’s body forward further and locked his right leg over the back of Ilya’s knees, effectively trapping him. Scott picked up the paddle and tapped it against one cheek.
“Color, Ilya?”
The instant reply of “green” settled Scott’s nerves.
His fingers flexed against Ilya’s hip, making sure he had a good grip, before he lifted the paddle and sent it into Ilya’s right cheek. The yelp mixed with a Russian curse word was the loudest reaction Scott had managed to drag out.
“I let it go once, and I know this is your first time getting spanked by me, but I do not allow naughty brats to use bad language during punishments. In any language. Am I understood?”
Scott smacked the paddle down with a loud crack on the other cheek.
“Okay! Okay!”
“Am. I. Understood?” Scott ground out, slowly tapping the paddle menacingly on Ilya’s right sit spot.
Ilya’s whole body shivered, every muscle bracing for the impact. When the paddle connected in four solid strikes, two to each side, Ilya howled. His back arched, his feet kicked up, and his hands gripped the couch cushion so hard his knuckles went white.
“Yes, Sir!” The moment the word came tumbling out of Ilya’s mouth, he froze.
“Good boy,” Scott supplied immediately, sensing Ilya spiraling because of the slipped honorific.
He gave Ilya’s hip a reassuring pat and lifted the paddle, knowing exactly how to refocus the brat. Scott got to work, a chorus of unyielding wood meeting an already sore ass with intermittent gasps and exclaimations. Surprisingly, though, not a single swear word was peppered in. Scott stopped the first time Ilya’s shoulders shuddered with a repressed sob.
“I am still waiting for an answer to my question, Ilya. Is this what you’ve needed since your rookie season?”
It was almost visible the way the tension coiled through Ilya’s body before he let out a shaky breath and melted. Scott patiently waited, letting the hand that was wrapped around Ilya’s body slide under the now sweat-damp tank top. He just rested his hand there with a steady, grounding pressure.
“Yes, Sir, it is.”
“There it is. Good boy, Ilya. I’m proud of you for admitting what you needed, and you are doing very well. But you have quite a few years of behavior to answer for, brat.”
Ilya shifted his hips nervously from side to side, turning his face back to Scott with watery eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
Scott smiled down at him for a moment before turning back to Ilya’s ass. He catalogued where bruising was already forming and where he needed to focus to get every inch to an even shade. He took his time, aiming carefully. Three more minutes in, Ilya finally let go. He turned his face back into the pillow and dissolved into hard, body-wracking sobs. Scott could practically see the tension bleeding out of every muscle, continuing until Ilya was left completely limp. With one final crack of the paddle, Scott finally stopped, placing the paddle down on the couch.
“There we go. We’re all done. You were such a good boy. Let it all out. It’s okay. I’m so proud of you. Let it out.” He rubbed at Ilya’s lower back in slow, soothing circles, just waiting.
When the sobs tapered off to little sniffles, Scott slowly maneuvered Ilya to straddle his lap and just held him. He brushed away Ilya’s tear tracks, keeping up a constant stream of praise and reassurance. By the time the tears stopped falling, Ilya had completely melted into Scott's body, soft and pliant. The difference between the Ilya he had always known and the Ilya in his arms was astounding, but Scott would keep that to himself. He chanced a glance over Ilya’s shoulder. Shane was squirming, clearly anxious to comfort his husband, but he was not Scott’s priority right now. He brushed his hand through Ilya’s sweat-dampened hair and dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead. Scott gently guided Ilya’s chin up off his shoulder until they could look in each other’s eyes.
“Shane, can you grab me a water bottle please? Kip, there should be some cold cream in my toiletry bag if you wouldn’t mind.”
As the other two moved away, Scott asked, “After I put the cream on, I was going to put your underwear back on, then would you be okay with Shane joining the cuddles?”
Ilya’s lip slipped between his teeth, chewing for a moment, “Kip too?”
Scott couldn’t help but smile. Ilya was adorable like this. “Only if you are okay with it.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ilya replied, letting his head fall back onto Scott’s shoulder. He looked exhausted.
Scott petted the messy curls for a moment before maneuvering Ilya back over his lap. Kip handed over the cream, and Scott carefully worked it into the inflamed , bruised skin, hushing the little whimpers of pain away. When he was done, he stood Ilya up and retrieved his boxers. He helped Ilya step back in on shaky legs and, avoiding letting the material drag over his aching skin, he tucked him back in. Once Ilya was settled back in his lap, Scott finally beckoned Shane forward and took the water bottle, patting the cushion next to him. Shane collapsed gratefully, grabbing one of Ilya’s hands and bringing it in for a kiss. Kip snuggled into Scott’s other side, rubbing Ilya’s upper back softly.
“Thank you,” Ilya mumbled against the side of Scott’s neck.
Scott coaxed his head up, letting their eyes meet before he responded. “Any time, Ilya. As long as Shane and Kip are okay with it, I will be there for you whenever you need.”
“Of course,” both Shane and Kip answered at once.
Ilya tried to duck his head back down with a shy smile, but Scott held his chin, not letting him retreat.
“But from now on, you get three warnings, understood?”
Ilya gulped, “Yes, Sir.”
Scott placed a soft kiss on Ilya’s forehead and guided his head back down. “Good boy.”
For what felt like an hour, they just rested together in silence with Scott occasionally tipping little sips of water into Ilya’s mouth. At some point, Ilya’s eyes had fluttered closed, and his breathing had evened out. Scott sighed happily, just letting the exhausted brat finally rest. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott watched Shane give an annoyed huff before digging his wallet out of his pocket with his free hand and smacking a hundred-dollar bill into Kip’s waiting palm.
“Thank you,” Kip sing-songed in a hushed tone.
“Shut up,” Shane bit back, looking grouchy.
They both looked up, managing to look bashful when they realized Scott had seen the exchange. He quirked a questioning eyebrow.
“I took the over on 24 hours,” Kip mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“You two made an over/under bet on how long it would take me to turn him over my knee,” Scott hissed out, careful not to jostle Ilya.
Both Kip and Shane looked back at him guiltily.
“I mean, he was really laying it on thick, and honestly, I’m impressed with your self-control, Scotty. I was sure you’d get there halfway through the flight.” Shane said with a shrug.
Despite being sore, Scott’s palm was getting itchy again.
***********
Scott settled into his airplane seat, keeping a watchful eye on where Ilya was standing in the aisle, looking nervous about having to sit down for takeoff. The moment Ilya’s ass connected, he let out a pained yelp, and the plane went completely silent.
Kyle peeked over the top of his seat, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “What did you get up to last night, Ilya?”
A blush spread over Ilya’s cheeks, but before he could answer, Scott was on his feet, looming intimidatingly over Ilya’s shoulder and glaring daggers into Kyle. “Sit, Kyle. Now. Unless you’d like to find out for yourself.”
Kyle squeaked and instantly dropped back down into his seat while the rest of the group laughed. Scott hummed, satisfied, brushing his hand through Ilya’s curls once before returning to his own spot. For the entire flight, Scott kept a careful eye out, but no one else commented, and by the time they were over the Midwest, Ilya seemed to be completely relaxed. Scott smiled down at Kip, who had been passed out on his shoulder for twenty minutes, wondering what he had done to get so lucky. Not only had he found the love of his life, but a group of friends he cherished so deeply.