Chapter Text
“Come on, let’s watch this movie,” Shane tells Ilya one day, out of the blue, while he’s finishing up the dishes.
Shane waits for him patiently from the couch. He’s planned this moment well in advance, and nothing can go wrong. They’d both woken up in great moods that day. It was Saturday, they had the day off from practices and games, and they weren’t planning on going out. It was just going to be the two of them, at home.
They still hadn’t had sex, but only because the night before they’d both come home exhausted from practice and all they’d wanted was to fall asleep wrapped around each other. Throughout the day they’d stolen kisses and touches while doing their own things, but it hadn’t gone any further. Shane had been saving himself for this moment. He hoped the movie they were about to watch would lift Ilya’s mood a little.
They were going to watch Fifty Shades of grey. Thinking about it, it was strange for Shane to want to watch that kind of movie, but he had a purpose. Some time ago, in a conversation with Rose, she’d told him she was going to have to share a scene with Dakota Johnson, who’d starred in those daring BDSM movies, and that she wasn’t sure she’d have the nerve to do something like that. That conversation had stayed with him.
BDSM. Shane had heard of those practices before, but he’d never really stopped to look into them. He didn’t know why that time his curiosity had hit him so hard. That night he stayed up late reading articles, specialized pages, looking at images, until he came to a single conclusion: how incredibly hot Ilya would look in a dominant role.
That’s when the thought first settled in. Some things about their relationship—things he’d never questioned before—suddenly made sense in a new way. Not because they were strange or wrong, but because they’d always felt so natural that he’d never thought to name them.
As he kept reading, certain descriptions made his chest tighten with recognition. That floating, distant feeling. The way his body sometimes seemed to drift away while his mind softened around the edges. He’d felt that before—many times—and realizing that it had a name made his breath hitch. What struck him even more was remembering how Ilya had always known exactly what to do afterward: grounding him, holding him, making sure he came back gently.
Other moments surfaced too. The times Ilya had slowed everything down on purpose, keeping him right on the edge until every nerve felt awake, until wanting became almost overwhelming. Shane hadn’t known that had a word either. He just knew how intensely it made him feel, how deeply it trusted Ilya to hold him there.
Little by little, Shane realized how much of that was already woven into them—how many of those unnamed things had always existed between their bodies, unspoken but understood.
Now that he could finally recognize them for what they were, he wanted to go a little deeper. To understand them. To lean into them. He knew Ilya wouldn’t judge him—not even for a second—but the wanting still made his face warm. Wanting more. Wanting something just a little deeper than the loving, familiar rhythm they already shared.
Ilya hops over to the couch and drops down beside Shane.
“What is this movie about?”
“Just a couple. Rose recommended it to me a few days ago,” Shane replies, staying deliberately vague, not giving too many details. He wants to see Ilya’s reaction.
“Mm, okay,” Ilya answers, a little intrigued by the short reply. He knows something’s up, but decides to play along with his husband.
The movie starts, and at first it doesn’t fully hold Ilya’s attention. He throws out a few offhand comments like “he’s hot” or “he has some issues, yes?”, but then he falls silent, watching the screen. Shane keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, searching for some reaction, some sign of what he’s thinking.
The red room scene comes and goes, and even though Shane doesn’t notice anything different in Ilya’s expression, in his own head Ilya has already figured out where all of this is going. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Partly because he wants Shane to be the one to say it first, to put into words what he really wants, and partly because he enjoys teasing him a little.
Ilya feels the weight of Shane’s gaze more than anything happening on the screen. Shane isn’t looking at him directly; he’s watching him from the corner of his eye, as if he doesn’t want to give himself away. Ilya, on the other hand, is far too still. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t move, barely blinks. That silence is more unsettling to Shane than any overt reaction would have been.
Shane swallows. His face burns, and he doesn’t know if it’s from embarrassment or anticipation. Every time the movie turns more explicit, Ilya tilts his head just slightly, as if he’s thinking something he won’t say out loud. And that omission—that refusal to ask, to react—makes the air between them grow thick, charged with something that doesn’t yet have a name.
More than an hour and a half passes, and they’re both focused on the first scene where Christian ties Anastasia up on the suspension bar. Shane isn’t particularly interested in the naked woman on screen, but in Christian. He can’t stop imagining Ilya in that position, with that kind of control. He’s so absorbed in the thought that he doesn’t notice the movement until Ilya pauses the movie.
“What—” Shane barely gets the word out before Ilya interrupts him, shoving him back against the couch and forcing him onto his back, pinned beneath Ilya’s body.
Ilya settles over him, arms braced on either side of Shane’s head.
“Why are we watching this movie?” he asks, trying to catch Shane’s eyes.
Shane, feigning innocence, replies, “Nothing special… it just caught my attention.”
Ilya smiles, but he doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Sure. It just caught your attention?” he adds. “You’re a really bad liar, you know that.”
Shane exhales heavily. There’s no point in lying anymore. He clears his throat and, in a barely audible whisper—so quiet that Ilya has to lean down to hear him—says:
“I wanna try… what they’re doing.”
“You want me to tie you up and whip you?” Ilya replies sarcastically, trying to ease the tension, even though deep down the question is entirely serious.
“Yes…? I don’t know,” Shane answers, unsure.
Ilya brings a hand up to Shane’s chin and gently forces him to lift his head. Shane, nervous, had been avoiding his gaze, staring downward. Ilya doesn’t need him to say anything else. He understands.
He’s no stranger to BDSM practices, nor is he naïve about the dynamics that already exist in their relationship. He’s wanted for a while to go a little further, to explore limits, to understand Shane in every way. He wants to know all of him: not just the everyday things he loves—like his eighty-step skincare routine—but also the things that irritate him, like when Ilya uses the washing machine wrong. And, of course, he wants to know him in bed.
Years together have taught him every detail, every exact spot where Shane likes to be touched, squeezed, or stroked. But the fact that Shane wants to explore something new now, something beyond what they’ve already been doing, sends a thrill through his entire body. Knowing he gets to be the first to accompany him in this new experience, to discover what else he likes, what else he wants, fills him with a delicious anxiety. It takes him right back to how he felt the first time they were together: anticipation, nerves, and an excitement that’s hard to contain.
Ilya has experimented plenty in other areas. Teaching Shane what he knew had always been pleasurable—and, if he was honest, good for his ego too. But this was different. This was new territory even for him. He wasn’t an expert in this side of BDSM, and the idea of discovering it alongside Shane—of learning together what they enjoy and where their limits are—excites him in a completely different way.
The very thought of trying something entirely new with Shane is almost impossible to ignore, and it makes his whole body react: restless, expectant, ready for whatever comes next.
So if Shane wanted Ilya to tie him up and put a blindfold over his eyes, even if what he was really asking for was the most vanilla kind of sex, Ilya would do it. He would do anything for Shane. And that’s exactly what he tells him.
“I’d do anything you ask.”
And it’s ironic, really—because he’s supposed to be the dom. But that’s how it’s always been between them.
Shane bites his lip, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Really?”
“Yes. If you want the wildest kind of intimacy, if you want me to tie you up in a net or make love to you for hours, I’m in. I want to do everything with you. What we’ve already done, what we haven’t, and anything you can imagine.”
Shane doesn’t know what to say. Ilya has that power over him—always leaving him breathless, words slipping away. So instead of answering, he leans in and crashes their mouths together in a hungry kiss. All the want he’s been holding back all day pours into it, and Ilya meets him with the same intensity.
Ilya doesn’t hesitate for a single second. He takes Shane’s hands from his face and pins them above his head, already putting into action exactly what they’d both been wanting.
“Go to the bedroom and wait for me naked on the bed,” Ilya orders, a dangerous simplicity in his voice. He leans in just enough to place a chaste kiss on Shane’s lips before pulling away and giving him space to stand.
Shane doesn’t hesitate for a second. He’s more than excited; he can’t remember the last time something new thrilled him like this. He practically runs upstairs, heart racing, a smile he can’t hide spreading across his face.
Ilya stays on the couch, watching him as he walks away. He leans back, a slow smile forming on his lips. He loved that man with his whole life. And if Shane wanted a Christian Grey in his bedroom, he was going to give it to him.