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“Should call you the Ottawa Puppies,” says the Toronto centre, Svensson. As an insult it makes no sense, so Ilya ignores it, until he continues, “Hear Hollander keeps you on a short leash.”
Ilya is the captain, so if anything, he should be holding the leash. In English, you can be singular or plural, but he knows what Svensson is trying to say. He is saying Ilya Rozanov, you are Hollander’s bitch.
“Only sometimes,” Ilya replies, grinning. He wins the face off.
OR: Ilya trains himself to be a very, very good guard dog for Shane.
Series
- Part 1 of Dog
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Bookmark Notes:
Ilya is a good boy, 短打SMUT，挺不错
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*
************
Guard dog Ilya
************Ilya breathes for a moment. It takes him a second to come back to language, so he presses kisses along Shane’s jawline to tell him it is all right.
Shane’s voice softens. He runs his hand through Ilya’s hair, and lets Ilya breathe. “Okay. You don’t have to talk yet. Are you upset?”
Ilya shakes his head.
“All right. Good.” Shane’s hand smooths down Ilya’s neck to his shoulder blades, rubbing firmly, like a massage. Ilya melts under it. “Is it okay if, uh… well…” Shane swallows. “Can I call you a… good boy?”
Ilya puts his nose into Shane’s throat and smells him, to show how much he likes it. He kisses there too, in case he doesn’t get the message.
“Ha. Yeah. Okay.” Shane kisses his hair, and rubs along his shoulders. “Good boy, Ilya. Good, good boy.”
*************************“You fucking freak,” the other man snaps, and then yells, “Hollander, call off your fucking dog!”
Ilya slips into the car and slams the door, breathing heavily.
Rose, amazingly, is unbothered. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says, “I have no idea who leaked our location, that was so shitty—”
“Is fine,” Ilya says, not unkindly. He looks at Shane, who is sitting in the middle of the back seat and staring at nothing. “Shane.”
“I’m fine,” Shane says absently. His hands are twitching. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You drive to our house?” Ilya asks Rose. “We will come get our car another day.”
“Of course,” Rose says. She leans up to tell her driver the address, and Ilya pulls Shane in by his neck.
“I am here,” Ilya says, and Shane nods, relaxing. “I am here. They are nothing.”
“My guard dog,” Shane murmurs.
“Yes.” Ilya knocks his forehead against Shane’s once, very softly, before releasing him. “Your guard dog.”
*