Chapter Text
It had been a long season and having it end the way it did was part of the reason they were in this current predicament.
Making the playoffs was always the goal but being in the post-season didn’t leave much space for what they had dubbed “Papa Time”. Ilya had tried in the last few weeks to initiate it but Shane had brushed him off, with an increasing shortness every time.
Now though, it was July which meant a full 31-day uninterrupted stretch at the cottage. Ilya hoped that being able to relax in a safe environment might help Shane to finally drop.
They are supposed to stop at Yuna and David’s for dinner tonight but Ilya has half a mind to call and cancel. They would understand and it’s not like the bottle of vodka they’re bringing with won’t keep. Ilya would like to note for the record, that he’d offered to cancel tonight’s dinner and just head straight to the cottage. They’re here all month and there will be plenty of family dinners.
It started small, with Shane side-stepping a hug and a kiss from his mother. It wasn’t particularly unusual, not even enough to be commented on at least but, Ilya noticed. He noticed the way his boyfriend barely participated in any of the conversation and slowly became agitated by the second.
Right before dessert, it happens. Yuna is talking about updates they want to do around the cottage and the merits of wallpaper and then, “Mom, will you please shut up, Ilya doesn’t care about wallpaper” Shane snaps the words out of his mouth before he can stop them.
The room goes silent, everyone else too shocked to speak and that’s when Shane takes the opportunity to get away. Standing up from the table and leaving the house, letting the front door slam behind him.
Ilya doesn’t go after Shane, he is too upset at the moment. All the blogs say you shouldn’t punish tiny ones when you’re upset. They also say, you shouldn’t reward tantrums. Ilya apologized on his boyfriend’s behalf and then helped clean up from their now ruined dinner. When Ilya does leave the house a half hour later, it’s with a bag of portioned leftovers and a paper bowl of cookies and cream ice cream.
Upon approaching the car however, Ilya is not too pleased to see Shane sitting in the front seat. He stores the leftovers in the backseat and then opens the driver’s side door, holding his hand out for the keys and reaching around Shane to put his bowl of ice cream in the empty cup holder.
“You know rules, tiny Shane sits in backseat” Ilya says as patiently as he can manage.
“I’m not tiny” Shane argues, his cheeks heating up. He hates when Ilya uses words like that.
“Oh, so big, polite Canadian boy yells at mama?” Ilya questions with a raised eyebrow.
“Is okay, papa will fix at home, backseat now” Ilya adds, tone firm leaving no illusion that this is some sort of suggestion.
Shane of course, his beautiful, stubborn boy digs his heels in and refuses to move. Fine, the even harder way it is.
“If papa has to count and has to get to three, tiny Shane will be even sorrier” he warns, the final warning.
“Odin”
“Dva”
“Tri”
Since Ilya is a very generous papa, he gives his tiny Shane a moment after the last number falls to comply.
When that doesn’t happen, he picks the boy up and carries him to the backseat, not caring in the moment if Yuna or David can see them. Ilya reaches over Shane and buckles him in, ignoring the patented “angry kitten glare” he’s given.
Ilya is glad they’re only a short distance away from the cottage. When he glances back at Shane through the rearview mirror, he’s met with crossed arms and the most angriest kitten glare he’s seen, like if he focuses hard enough he can explode Ilya with his mind.
When they arrive, Ilya parks and retrieves both the leftovers and tiny Shane from the backseat, carrying them into the house. He drops the bag of leftovers on the kitchen counter and Shane on the bench in the corner that has “Penalty Box” painted across the back panel.
“You can’t put me in time out, I’m not a child” Shane protested, springing back up from the bench.
“You act tiny so, I treat you like are tiny, is no problem” Ilya returned calmly, sitting Shane back down on the bench.
Shane stands up again, his mess of freckles scrunched in anger. “Papa est un connard” he yells, stomping his foot for good measure and dramatic effect.
Ilya has to bite his tongue to keep himself from giving Shane the reaction he wants. You must stay strong, even in the face of adorable tiny versions of your boyfriend cursing you out in flawless French.
“Such big feelings for my Tiny Shane” Ilya says when it seems his boy has exhausted himself and is back to “kitten death glare” and a face of scrunched up freckles.
Ilya picks him back up and carries him down the hall to their en-suite bathroom. He flicks on the lights and sets the tiny one down on the countertop, busying himself with locating a clean washcloth and a fresh bar of soap.
“I don’t want a bath” Shane protests as he watches papa break the seal on and unwrap a bar of soap.
“Is good it is not bath time, then” Ilya answers simply as he runs the washcloth under the sink’s tap and then does the same with the bar of soap, letting it lather.
“Filthy words want to live in mouth, is okay papa will get them out” Ilya promised as he rubbed the bar of soap over every inch of the wash cloth.
Ilya is rewarded with another quite adorable glare but, when Shane opens his mouth to protest, Ilya takes his opportunity. He scrubs every inch of the baby’s mouth with the sudsy wash cloth.
Dropping the now used washcloth in the sink, he carries Shane back out to the living room and deposits him back onto the penalty bench.
Shane stares up at papa in disbelief, soap is icky and he’s supposed to be able to rinse his mouth out. That’s what he’s heard anyway.
“Papa, rinse now, please” Shane tries, appealing to his papa the way that always works out the way he wants. His bestest Canadian manners and a few well placed tears that are threatening to fall.
“After ten minute penalty, papa does not negotiate with tiny terrors, even the adorable ones” Ilya says, dropping a kiss on Shane’s head before going to sort out the leftovers in the kitchen. When that’s done, he busies himself with laying out a set of pajamas for after bath time and then, digging the dreaded hairbrush out of the designated “tiny” backpack.
Ilya hates having to spank and he hates having to use anything other than his hand but tonight is definitely making a highlight reel of Tiny Shane’s brattiest moments.
He sets the hairbrush on the couch right where they’ll be sitting and then goes to retrieve the baby from his imprisonment right as the timer goes off.
Tiny Shane looks absolutely distraught and in a rare move, holds his arms out to be picked up. That just makes Ilya feel like the worst papa in the whole world but, it only takes him a moment to remember the behaviors that got them here in the first place.
“All done, we watch puppies and cuddle, papa?” Shane asks, handing back the plastic cup when he’s finally done rinsing all the soap out of his mouth.
“No, malysh I’m sorry, we aren’t done yet” Ilya says as he carries Shane out to the couch. Though in fact, Ilya would’ve liked nothing more than to cuddle on the couch and watch the polite Australian dogs that Tiny Shane could never seem to get enough of.
“But…but, you gave me a ten minute penalty AND you put soap in my mouth, it was very icky papa” Shane argued and Ilya had to force himself to remain stern, he couldn’t give in no matter how much he wanted to.
“Yes, you were a very naughty boy tonight, even after papa gave you many chances” Ilya reasoned, if Shane kept going he’d crumble like a house of cards.
“What is saying…you dug grave, now you must lie in it” Ilya adds as he finally makes a move to bring the tiny one over his lap.
“No…no spanks, papa” Shane protested, trying a desperate attempt to wiggle away.
“You wanted to be rude at dinner, throw tantrum, be rude to papa so, you get spanks. Is very simple, tiny math” Ilya reminded patiently before he brought his hand down for the first spank.
“Is not fair, I can’t help it when my brain is too big, papa,” Shane cried out, kicking his legs in protest once he realized the iron grip papa had around his middle.
“No but, we do have choices over our words and how we choose to use them, made bad choices and hurt feelings. Is ok, papa will give you the attention you need” Ilya assured, as he kept up a steady pace of swats.
Shane lets out a whine, the cute one that usually gets his Papa to give in but, this time instead of the smacks stopping and cuddles commencing, the smacks continue.
He begins to wiggle again in earnest when papa reaches around and pops open the buttons on his shorts, lowering them and his underwear in one fluid motion.
Shane knows what this means, Papa is going to use the stupid, evil hairbrush. He says he has to be able to see what he’s doing so he doesn’t hurt Shane, as if the stupid evil hairbrush doesn’t hurt.
No, papa, not bare…All done” Shane cried out as he reached out blindly, closing his hand around the stupid evil hairbrush and throwing it across the room.
It hits the wall and bounces off, making a very satisfying sound as it hits the floor. For a moment, Shane is very proud of himself. Who has a weak backhand now, Papa.
Ilya sighed inwardly, he knew a tantrum was coming but he didn’t expect it to be “global disaster” level. Sitting Shane down on the couch, he gets up to fetch the brush from where it landed, he also notes the small chip in the paint from where it hit the wall.
It’s becoming increasingly clear by the millisecond that this isn’t just a regular tantrum from his Shane. He wishes the tiny one would just use his words and let him fix whatever is wrong.
Ilya doesn’t say a word as he returns to his spot on the couch and pulls the tiny one back over his lap. “Is very naughty to throw things in house” Ilya lectures before laying down the first few strokes of the brush.
Shane whines as he begins wriggling again, the stupid brush hurts and papa won’t stop. He isn’t even making Shane count and that means big big trouble. Papa is mad at his Shane and that is the most awfulest most terrible feeling.
Finally, he lets out a sob as all the fight goes out of him and he collapses boneless over Papa’s lap. Once the flood gates open, Shane can’t get the tears to stop. His tummy hurts and his heart hurts, he’s pretty sure his bottom has fallen off, the way the perfectly red, overripe apples fall off a tree.
In his mess of tears, Shane can feel as Papa stops spanking and instead scoops him into his arms so he’s sitting upright. Shane blindly throws his arms around him and clings like a baby kolala. It’s not fair, he wants Papa all the time. He wants dinners and trips to the park to feed the ducks, he’s sure Papa would even push him on the swings if he used his bestest manners and pretty eyes.
Sometimes, he wishes he was a girl. At least then they could go out on dates, he could hold Papa’s hand and kiss him whenever he wanted. But, no they have to be stupid boys and play stupid hockey so, they aren’t allowed to do any of that. It’s just not fair and it’s not fair that he probably, maybe, definitely loves Papa more than he loves Hockey.
Loving Papa more than he loves hockey is scary. He’s not supposed to love anything more than he loves hockey. If he does, that means having to choose and he doesn’t want to choose, choices are also scary. No choices, not right now, just papa and cuddles and his puppy show.
Once he’s finally calmed down enough, papa helps him put his underwear back on and then wraps him up in his special blanket, it's decorated with teddy bears in hockey jerseys and has just the right amount of weight in it. It was a special gift from his Auntie Rose.
“Papa, I want Stanley, please” Shane pipes up after quite a bit of time cuddling in silence.
“Is in car, you stay here like little hockey bear burrito” Ilya says as he shifts Shane just a bit so he can get up.
Stanley, legal name “Stanley Cup” is Shane’s loon stuffed animal, a special present from papa and one of Shane’s most treasured possessions.
Shane waits until he hears the door click shut and then he reaches for Papa’s phone that sits innocently charging. He takes it and bypasses the code with a few taps. (122308, really papa?) Opening the Facetime app, Shane finds his auntie Svetlana’s contact and clicks on it. While the video connects, he works the tears back up. Papa spanked him too hard and too long, auntie will be hearing about this.
Shane can hear the thump of club music before he even sees his auntie or takes in her surroundings. She’s in a large bathroom stall and maybe someone is with her because he can hear another lady giggling.
“Tetya” he greets, rather cutely in somewhat good Russian.
“Tiny Shane” His auntie cheers with a smile and then she moves just a bit to reveal that the girl he heard giggling is in fact his Auntie Rose.
For a moment, Shane forgets why he was calling in the first place because, how dare his aunties go do something without him. He hates clubs but he can be big scary hockey player and protect his aunties from gross men who do not even deserve to breathe their same air. They are nice, pretty ladies and they deserve very nice, very polite boys.
“You are having fun without me?” He asks with a pout.
“You wouldn’t like it honey, it’s very loud and there’s no ginger ale” Auntie Rose tells him and she’s probably right.
“Sounds very boring, Auntie” Shane returns, trying to imitate his Papa.
“Aunties, why do you haves sugar under your nose, you have secret dessert without your Tiny Shane” He demands to know, finally noticing the matching white smears on their faces.
Before he can get an answer, Stanley appears next to him just as Papa’s hand plucks the phone out of Shane’s. Papa takes one look at both aunties and his face morphs into a “you’re in trouble” look that is usually reserved just for Shane.
Papa goes into the kitchen, probably thinking Shane won’t be able to hear the conversation. It doesn’t matter though because Papa is talking in Russian, though he does sound very unhappy. He thinks he can decipher something about “naughty brats” and “cars” but he isn’t sure. At least he isn’t the one Papa is calling naughty right now, he’s practically an angel compared to aunties.
When Papa comes back into the living room with the bowl of ice cream from earlier, Shane immediately perks up. He wants ice cream and cuddles and his puppies on the tv.
“Puppies now, please” Shane requested sweetly as soon as papa had sat down on the couch and pulled him close.
“Yes, now we may watch polite Australian dogs,” Ilya says, dropping a kiss to the top of Tiny Shane’s head before turning on the tv and finding the requested cartoon.
“Is called Bluey, Papa” Shane corrects, suppressing a yawn as he reaches over, picks up Ilya’s spoon and takes a big bite of the ice cream.