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"You're such an ass! Ugh!" Shane pushed away from him.
"You have such an ass."
"Fuck off."
Ilya grabbed Shane's arm and pulled him close again to grab his face. Practice had been rough, he could tell Shane didn't have his heart in it. Passes had gone wide, he had missed shots, Hayes had barely had to act to stop some of them. Something had gotten to Shane and it had him putting up walls, which meant he was too far in his own head to relax onto the ice. Ilya had kept it professional at the rink, in the locker room, with the team, trying to help jostle Shane out of this funk. He'd even played wing in scrimmage, just to try and keep lining up shots for him. It hadn't worked and not only did he know it, the team saw it. Every stopped shot had Hayes looking at Ilya. Troy had tapped his stick against Ilya's when Shane had taken a lap behind a goal after a particularly frustrating miss. Bood had made eye contact with him over Shane's head while he unlaced his skates in the locker room. Shane had even nearly bowled over poor Luca on his way back out to the car, with barely a sorry in response. Ilya had tried to help Shane relax a little in the car, had joked and teased him a little in the living room, leading to his outburst.
If he couldn't help snap him out of it on the ice, Ilya knew the other way to do it. With Shane's face in a stern grip, he tipped his chin up to look at him. "You are not being polite," he told Shane sternly. Shane froze in his hands, a little resistant to the movement, but he didn't immediately pull away. He was trying to turn his face away, but didn't bring his hands up or try to take Ilya's off of him. "Color?" Ilya murmured under his breath.
"...green," Shane breathed after a moment of hesitation, trying weakly to pull away from Ilya again.
"Hey." He pulled him closer by the arm again. "Are you listening?" Shane jerked his chin in Ilya's grasp and in retaliation Ilya shook him gently. "You are going to answer me or you will deal with what happens if you don't."
"'M listening." Shane's tone was petulant, like a child's, and he pulled his arm out of Ilya's hold.
"You've been rude all day. Do you have something to say?"
"Fuck. Off."
Ilya smacked him and took his face in hand again, fast enough that Shane didn't have time to move away. "You are being a brat." Shane was still squirming and pulling away, so he smacked him again. It was enough to make him still. "I said you are being a brat."
He whined. "I don't care."
"I care. Do you think I want rude, mopey little brat around here?" Shane ducked his head and Ilya made him look back up immediately. "Do you?"
"...no."
"No," he mocked with the same tone. "No, I don't think Ilya wants me to be little brat all day."
"Stop," he pushed at Ilya, who kept a firm hold on him. "You're such a fucking asshole, just leave me be. Let me go."
"Hey. If you want something, is that how you ask, huh?"
Shane had been steadily turning pink, but this made his face flush completely red. "No," he whispered.
"No what?"
"No, that's not how I ask," he repeated.
"You want something then you ask nicely," Ilya reminded him.
"Please let me go." It never took too long for Shane to submit to him like this, even in these moods.
"Ask better." Shane bit his bottom lip and Ilya noticed how red it was. In the center of Shane's bottom lip, he'd managed to make himself bleed and now had a scab. Ilya pulled his lip down to get him to stop chewing it. "Don't bite. Ask better."
"Will you please let me go?"
"Are you going to behave?" He nodded, but he kept trying to turn his head away. "Look at me." Shane's eyes fixed to his and Ilya could see they were brimming with embarrassed tears. Shane held his gaze for long seconds and it reminded him of his first encounters with him, when Shane had fought so hard to seem "normal". "Doesn't have to be in the eyes," Ilya assured him in a softer tone. He never asked that of Shane, but he wasn't shocked that it was coming out again now, in this mood. Shane relaxed minutely, breaking the eye contact but keeping his eyes on Ilya. "Good boy. Now are you going to behave?" Another nod. "I want to hear you."
"I'll behave," he murmured.
Ilya rubbed his thumb back and forth gently where he held Shane's face. "Do you have anything to say about today, then?"
Hot tears finally started dripping down Shane's face. He hated this. He hated that he could get so far into his own anxiety that he could fuck up his hockey game and be so terrible to his friends. He hated that he couldn't get himself out of it. He hated that he needed Ilya to be a little mean like this to get him to relax and get over it.
He loved that Ilya knew he needed it. He loved that his husband would see through the front to the fear and that he still loved Shane for it. He loved that even mollified in the middle of their living room, with a firm hand holding his face, Ilya made him feel safe and cared for.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed, pushing forward into Ilya's hold and reaching for him.
"Sweetheart," he murmured and pulled Shane into his arms. He cupped his cheek and moved his hand to the back of his neck. Shane buried his face in Ilya's shoulder and squeezed him in a tight hug. Ilya held him just as tightly. "My poor boy. What's got you acting so rude baby?"
Shane shook his head against him. "It's stupid, it's so stupid," he mumbled. "You'll think it's so stupid, I'm sorry."
"Hey," the stern tone was back and he squeezed the back of Shane's neck. "You don't get to decide that. What's the matter?"
"The blender is broken," Shane mumbled.
Ilya frowned. He knew that. Shane had tried to use it this morning and it had made terrible noises but never actually pulverized the produce in it. They had gotten ones from a shop they went to occasionally instead, one that he knew Shane liked. He'd already bought a new one and paid for two day shipping while Shane had gone into the shop to get their smoothies. "How did the blender do this, baby?"
"It was broken and the shop was packed so people were touching me and they were out of the unflavored protein powder and I left the new rolls of tape for my stick here at the house and Anya has a teeth cleaning and there's always a risk when you have to put a dog under for it and my head is killing me." The words came tumbling out of him in a terrible rush. The worst part was that no matter how stupid Shane thought the whole thing was, Ilya was rubbing his back, making soft little noises with each new problem to let him know he understood, and doing this had made him feel so much better.
"And you slept bad," Ilya added softly, kissing his hair.
"And I slept bad," he agreed, nodding into his chest. He had tossed and turned for a few hours the night before and roused Ilya with it twice before he forced himself to lie still.
"It is okay," Ilya promised, slipping a hand up his shirt to keep rubbing his back. "Why don't you take something for your head and get in bed. I'll make us some lunch, that should help too."
"You don't have to treat me like a kid," he objected, pulling back enough to look at Ilya.
"I'm not. You're feeling bad and it has been a hard day. I love you, so I want to make it better."
"I love you," he replied and leaned in to kiss Ilya. "I'm sorry for being so terrible. I was such an asshole all morning, fuck, I'm sorry."
"No, no," Ilya shook his head. "None of that."
"You're right," his head dropped back to Ilya's shoulder. "I was being a brat over a fucking smoothie."
"You're being a brat now," he joked. "It was a bad day. You can have a punishment if it will make you feel less guilty, but it will have to wait until your head is better."
Shane nodded a little. "Maybe. Maybe later."
Ilya kissed his temple and slipped his hand out of his shirt. "Go upstairs, I'll come get you when lunch is ready."