Chapter Text
Ilya had a good life in Canada. He had a well-paying job he could do from home, a big, beautiful house in the suburbs, a beautiful wife with her own life and ambitions. Really, he had only one issue in his life. His bratty, disrespectful, obstinate stepson.
Shane still lived in his mother’s house. He walked around like he owned the place, like he’d been paying off the mortgage all these years. And he hated Ilya, treating him to curt, one word answers and surly disdain, even rolling his eyes when Ilya spoke to him.
“After the summer, he’ll be away at college,” Yuna told him, trying to soothe his obvious irritation. “He’s just struggling with having another man in the house, that’s all.”
Always the excuses for her precious son. Shane is so stressed with college approaching, with his hockey and everything. Shane had such a hard time with his parents’ divorce. Shane had always been a sensitive boy. Shane struggles with change.
All Ilya could think, with disgust, was how soft and indulgent the west truly was. If Ilya had ever dared to be half so rude as Shane to his own father, he’d have been beaten black and blue. Ilya had spent his childhood expecting the back of his father’s hand for the smallest indiscretions and Shane had the audacity to bitch and moan at Ilya simply living under the same roof, all while enjoying the privilege and comfort of his family’s wealth, spoiled and babied into ruin.
It didn’t help that Ilya had a suspicion that his stepson was a deliberate tease. He was always going for early morning jogs, returning to the house right when Ilya was having his breakfast, sweaty and glowing, wearing the tiniest shorts and clingiest little tank tops. He had his mother’s golden skin, her dark hair and soft brown eyes. On him, they were like the eyes of a baby animal. Big and dewy, like a cartoon deer. Unlike Yuna, he had freckles. Pretty speckles dappled across his nose and cheeks, adding to the innocent woodland creature look.
But if he was so innocent, why did he parade himself around the house wearing practically nothing? Ilya looked up from his scrambled eggs and saw Shane bending over as he retrieved a cold gatorade from the fridge, tiny white shorts stretching over his pert ass. His tank top hung loose, sticking to his skin, shining with perspiration. Cut so low on the sides that Ilya could see the outline of his pecs, the intends of his dark nipples.
“What have I told you about wearing shoes in the house?” Ilya said coldly.
Shane barely glanced at him. He still wore his sneakers from his jog and he’d left a trail of gravel from the driveway through the kitchen. The line of his throat undulated as he downed the gatorade. Instead of answering, he just curled his lip. As though Ilya’s very presence disgusted him.
Ilya ground his teeth. Shane’s lips were remarkably pink, plush and full. His lower lip was especially pillowy and he was always using it to sneer at him.
“I asked you a question, Shane.”
Shane just rolled his eyes. “My mom doesn’t care about shoes in the house,” he said.
“I do. It’s rude. You have left a mess.”
“Whatever.”
Ilya dropped his fork with a clatter. Briefly, he indulged a fantasy of grabbing Shane by the back of the neck and shoving his face onto the floor. Make him feel the gravel bits against this smooth cheek. Give him a few spanks for good measure, so he’d really feel the pain. Ilya’s cock twitched in interest at this mental image. Shane forced to his knees, ass smarting from Ilya’s palm.
In reality, Shane turned around, reached into the cabinet for a protein bar. His shirt lifted slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin. He had adorable dimples on his back, right above his ass. Ilya breathed hard through his nose. This brat was really testing him.
Ilya abandoned his half-eaten breakfast, throwing his napkin onto the table. His hands itched to close around Shane’s neck as he turned his back on him. Instead, Ilya blocked his path, leaning against the doorway to box him in.
“We are not done,” he said in a low voice.
Shane looked stunned for a moment, blinking at him dumbly, mouth slack. But in half a second, his expression hardened to his usual annoyance.
“What’s your problem?” he said.
“You are my problem, at this moment,” Ilya said, getting close to his face.
Shane leaned back, eyes widening. Ilya was close enough to see his throat work as he swallowed. Fear, that was good. He could count every freckle. His cheeks were pink, flushed with anger.
“Why are you such a fucking asshole?” he spat.
“You leave mess on my floor and then act like brat about it.”
“It’s not your floor,” Shane said. “This is my mother’s house.”
“Mama is not here right now, is she?” Ilya said idly as Shane visibly fumed.
“I’m an adult,” he growled. Like an angry little kitten. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
And he went to push past Ilya, checking him against the doorway. At this obvious insult, Ilya may have lost it a little. He grabbed Shane’s shoulder, swinging him around until he was back in the kitchen and boxed him hard in the ear. Shane shrieked in pain and shock, clutching his ringing head as Ilya shoved him hard against the counter.
“What the fuck!”
“Language, Shane,” Ilya said, tsking.
“I’m gonna —”
“You will what? Tell mama that I hit you?”
“Yes!”
Ilya had acted without thinking. He’d never hit Shane before, as much as he’d wanted to. Yuna would be so angry with him. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He went to grab Shane again, crowding him up against the kitchen counter. This time, Shane was ready to fight back. He was strong, athletic, but Ilya was stronger. Shane tried to twist out of Ilya’s grip, hands closing around his wrists. It became a tussle as Ilya strong-armed him until he was bent over the counter, huffing and puffing with indignant rage.
“I will teach you some manners,” Ilya said through clenched teeth.
Bent over the counter, Ilya’s hand planted on his back keeping him pinned, Shane could do little but wriggle helplessly. Ilya could hear his blood rushing in his ears as he looked down at Shane’s ass, barely contained by his tight little shorts. The first slap made him go still instantly.
“The fuck —”
“This is proper discipline, Shane,” Ilya said, striking him again with all his strength. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
Shane squealed in pain and then tried all the harder to get free. Ilya held him against the counter firmly as his eyes fell on the drawer containing wooden spoons and other cutlery. He jerked it open and selected the longest and thickest implement. Shane was grunting softly as he tried to free himself. He went rigid as Ilya roughly pushed down his shorts and underwear.
Ilya took a moment to admire his bare ass. Perfectly round, faint silvery stretch marks, those delicious dimples, one cheek still beautifully red with his handprint. The flesh quivered as Shane reached back, trying to pull his shorts up. Ilya grabbed his wrist and twisted it around to the small of his back, holding it firmly in place as he kept him pinned to the counter. Shane whimpered softly in pain. The side of his face Ilya could see was bright red, teeth bared. Like a wild animal. It was only correct for Ilya to take him in hand, attempt to tame him.
The wooden spoon made a satisfying crack against Shane’s bare ass. He jerked at the contact, clearly trying not to let any cries of pain escape. Ilya enjoyed the bloom of redness it left behind. He hit him again and again, over his whole butt and upper thighs, until the entire area glowed with aching red. Try as he might to keep silent, Shane started letting out little grunts and groans of pain, bitten off moans and whimpers. Ilya could see tears forming in his eye that wasn’t pressed against the counter, wetting his dark eyelashes.
Ilya only dropped the spoon when his hand began to hurt. He was panting, sweat on his brow as he admired his handiwork. Shane’s cheeks were cherry red sore looking and as Ilya palmed one, he felt the heat emanating from his abused skin. Shane cried out, tensing as Ilya stroked the sore cheek. He squeezed, enjoying the way Shane whimpered through clenched teeth. Ilya was hard as a rock. He took a moment to adjust himself, hissing softly as he palmed his erection.
But he let it be. For now. Breathing hard, Ilya let go of Shane’s pinned arm and let him slump bonelessly against the counter. Ilya watched him push himself to stand, hands shaking as he groped at his shorts to cover himself.
“What do you say, Shane?” Ilya said, with all the calmness he did not actually possess.
“F-fuck you,” Shane stuttered out, shoulders hunching as he turned away from him.
Sighing, Ilya grabbed the back of Shane’s neck and turned him bodily around so he could look him in the eye. His expression radiated bratty obstinance. Even with tears in his eyes, cheeks red with humiliation, hair a mess. Ilya’s eyes raked over him, settling on his crotch.
“Oh —”
“Fuck — that’s not —”
“I see now why your punishment did not sink in, yes? It wasn’t really a punishment at all...”
Shane tried to twist away from Ilya’s hand clutching the scruff of his neck. But he couldn’t hide the obvious bulge in his shorts. The shorts were so small that they did little to conceal the shape of him, the head where it pressed against the fabric, how it leaked through his underwear to make the white fabric translucent.
“Fuck off, perv,” Shane seethed, face glowing with embarrassment.
“I am not perv that got hard from his stepfather spanking him,” Ilya said, amused.
He cupped Shane’s cock through his shorts, even as Shane tried to bat his hand away. He couldn’t suppress his sharp intake of breath, a slight whine at the end as Ilya fondled him. Ilya smirked, rubbing Shane’s wet cock head harder through his shorts, crowding him against the counter. He bit his lip hard, visibly fighting against pushing his hips into Ilya’s hand. He looked so pretty like this, head bent submissively, tears in his eyes, damp eyelashes brushing his cheeks, flushed red all down his chest. His freckles stood out against his blushed skin, lips parting as he huffed out desperate little moans.
Ilya grunted and moved the hand clutching Shane by the back of his neck to his jaw. He cupped his cheek, thumb outlining the plush curve of his lips. His other hand did not stop stroking his cock as he pushed his thumb into that soft, wet mouth. Shane let him press his thumb against his pink, at first. Then his eyes flicked open, as though remembering that he fucking hated Ilya. He bit down savagely and Ilya’s hand flew without thinking. He slapped him hard on the mouth, the hit reverberating through his body.
Shane glared at him with rage burning in his eyes, lips swollen from Ilya’s hand. But when Ilya returned to touching his straining cock, he did not move. His eyes fluttered closed in obvious pleasure as Ilya squeezed the head of his cock, the two layers of fabric soaked through with pre-come. He could no longer control the thrust of his hips as Ilya worked him, squeaky moans rising in his throat.
“Are you going to come, malysh?” he said, unsure where the pet name came from. Sometimes he called Yuna malyshka when they were alone together. Her son whined as he squirmed against the kitchen counter where she had her coffee that very morning, face red as Ilya rubbed his cock, squeezing his ass with his other hand.
“Fuck — hnnng —” Shane moaned and Ilya squeezed his handful of cheek harder, knowing how sore and tender he must be.
“Come for me, malysh,” Ilya instructed, delighted at how responsive he was.
At the words, Shane threw back his head, the hard muscles of his stomach tensing as he came in his shorts, spilling hotly against Ilya’s hand. Ilya continued to idly play with his softening cock as he shook through his orgasm, shorts and underwear soaked with come and clinging to his skin.
Hands still shaking, Shane rubbed his eyes, face twisted with evident embarrassment. But Ilya didn’t let him dwell for long as he pushed him down onto his knees. Shane looked up at him blurrily, eyes glistening with tears as Ilya pulled out his cock. His hand was shaking too, so turned on he thought he might burst. Indeed, he only gave his cock a few rough strokes before he was coming, erupting all over Shane’s bemused face. Globs of come landed on his pink mouth, lips still parted, on his freckled cheeks and even in his hair. Ilya panted as he admired the masterpiece he had created. Shane on his knees, eyes shining, face painted with his slick come. Ilya drew his softening cock through the mess on his cheek, pushing it toward his slack mouth.
But Ilya had only a few moments to enjoy himself before Shane recovered himself, pushing Ilya away and getting shakily to his feet, spitting onto the floor.
“Careful, you will have to clean that mess up too,” Ilya said with a chuckle, tucking himself back in his pants.
“Fuck you,” Shane spat, wiping his face.
Ilya smiled to himself. Even as Shane’s obstinance returned, Ilya would always know how he looked when he came, how easily he submitted once Ilya had his hands on him. Of course, he couldn’t have been teasing him for nothing. Swaning around in his slutty little shorts and bad attitude, what else could Ilya have done?
“You have floor to clean, Shane,” Ilya said, hand on his shoulder. “And I have meeting to get to. So be quick about it.”