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20:36
L: What happened? You okay?
L: I just saw highlights reel, but they didn’t say what happened.
L: Please tell me you’re okay.
21:02
Outgoing Call to Jane
L: Lyubimiy, please answer me.
L: at least tell me you’re okay.
21:28
Outgoing Call to Jane
L: Shane?
21:40
J: I’m fine.
J: Just got my phone back, sorry.
L: What happened?
J: Broken wrist.
J:
J: Going to be out for 4 weeks 😡
L: Mostly just preseason at least.
L: How did it happen? Hit didn’t look that bad?
J: It wasn’t.
J: Just hit at a bad angle.
L: Enough to break?
J: It may have already been fractured from last game…
L: You fractured your wrist last game?
L: And you didn’t tell me?
J: It was fine! Just a small hairline fracture.
J: Nothing I couldn’t deal with.
L: Da, so fine you now have broken wrist.
J: It was bad luck.
J: And you play with fractures and broken ribs all the time!
L: Yes, but you are still supposed to tell Daddy if you are hurt.
J: But it wasn’t really hurt.
L: Shane.
J: Fine, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you next time.
L: Good boy.
L: But no touching yourself until the cast comes off.
J: What? Why?
L: For lying to Daddy.
L: You can’t use hand anyway.
J: I can make it work with my left.
L: Does not matter. Naughty boys get punished.
J: Ugh. You’re such an asshole.
L: Brat.
“I can’t take it anymore!” was the first thing Ilya heard when he answered the call from ‘Jane.’
“Can’t take what?”
“Any of it. I made one comment about things being difficult with only one hand and now my parents won’t leave me alone and keep trying to help. My mom cut my dinner into tiny pieces, Ilya! Then she asked if I wanted her to feed it to me!”
“I don’t see what the problem is. I cut your food into pieces and feed it to you all the time, malysh.”
Shane sputtered on the other end of the line. “That’s different,” he muttered eventually. Ilya was grateful that Shane couldn’t see the smirk spread across his face.
“Okay, so tell them to go home. Simple.” Ilya replied.
“Not simple. I’ve tried. But…”
“But?”
“I’m fine, okay, but I don’t have use of my dominant hand; of course I struggle sometimes. However, my mom sees that and uses it to justify why they shouldn’t leave. But I don’t need help 24/7.”
“Okay, so you leave. Come to Boston.”
“I can’t—I can’t do that.” Shane stammered, sounding genuinely shocked that Ilya would even recommend such an idea.
“Why not?”
“It’s preseason. You’re playing.”
“Exactly, you get to have me take care of you, and every once in a while, you get some alone time when I travel. Unless you’re scared of being in Daddy’s house by yourself?” Ilya teased, trying to hide just how excited this idea made him. He had a feeling Shane desperately needed it too.
“I’m not scared,” Shane protested. “What would I even tell my parents?”
“That you’re going to Boston?”
“Yeah. Cause that will go over so well and won’t prompt a bunch of questions.”
“Fine, tell them Rose invited you to LA or something.”
“Ugh, and have my mom ask if we’re dating again? No thanks…” Ilya’s jealousy flared at this statement. He knew Rose was just a friend, but the rumors of them being a couple that circulated every time they hung out together were frustrating. The fact that Shane’s mom fed into these rumors and Shane couldn’t correct her with the truth only hurt a little bit.
“You have ten minutes to buy your ticket to Boston, or I’m buying it for you.” Okay, so maybe that jealousy made him a bit brash. So what?
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Ilya worried briefly that he had actually pushed too far for once in his demands.
“Well, I’m not buying a ticket.” Oh, his bratty boy is going to pay for that one.
“Is that so?” Ilya asks, dropping his voice into a dangerously husky register.
“Y—Yes,” Shane responded breathily.
“Fine.” Ilya put his phone on speaker so he could look up what the earliest flight from Montreal to Boston would be. “I’m reserving you a middle seat right by the bathroom then.”
“Wait, Daddy, no,” Shane started to backtrack. “I’ll buy it. Okay?”
“Too late, you wanted Daddy to do, so I am. Keep bratting and I’ll make you wear a plug the whole flight too.”
Silence filled the line again, but Ilya just kept navigating the airline website, finding a flight for first thing the next morning (with a middle seat by the bathroom still available just like he promised).
“I’d like to see you try,” Shane eventually says. Oh, so his boy wants to play? Ilya can play.
Shane rushes through the front door to Ilya’s place and is greeted by the sight of his boyfriend standing shirtless in the hallway. He looks as if he’s about to devour Shane; he hopes that’s actually the case and not just some hallucination his brain made up due to lack of blood flow (it all currently residing in his dick). Once fully inside, Shane is close enough to kiss Ilya—which he does immediately, grateful that Daddy allowed it.
A strong hand wraps the front of his neck and cups his jaw. Fuck, yes. Then Ilya breaks the kiss, holding Shane in place. Fuck, no. Shane tries to chase his Daddy’s lips with his own, just wanting a little more, but the hold on his neck doesn’t budge. The further he tries to push forward, the more his air supply gets cut off. That’s fine; he doesn’t need to breathe if he’s kissing Ilya, but the distance to reach him is too great now. He thinks a whine may have left his mouth, but he’s not too sure about that.
“Were you offered first-class upgrade?” Ilya asks. It takes Shane a bit to register the words; he thought he was about to be fucked, not have a conversation.
“Yes,” he replies with the seconds of coherence he manages to pull together.
“Hmm. Did you take it?”
Take what? What are they talking about again? Daddy’s dick? He’ll take Daddy’s dick right now. He so badly needs it.
“Yes,” Shane answers; yes, he does want to take a dick right now, thank you very much.
“Yes?” The hand around his neck squeezes ever so slightly. Shane realizes he may have fucked up. Shit. “You did not sit in seat Daddy assigned you?”
“What? No—I mean, yes! Yes, I sat in my seat. I promise, Daddy. The middle seat in the back of the plane. Right—right where you put me.”
“Hmmm. Good boy. I take it your neediness is because you followed your other instructions?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Ilya’s eyes raked his body up and down. He’s sure he’s in a desperate state right now, but he stopped trying to hold off the erection the second he made it to Ilya’s place. The mix of only having use of one hand and not being allowed to touch himself anyway, meant he couldn’t easily make any adjustments to hide what was happening in his shorts. His hoodie sat in his lap for the entire flight just in case; each jostle of turbulence edging him closer and closer to losing control.
Shane was so floaty being held by Daddy’s hand around his throat as he was inspected that he didn’t notice Ilya had taken hold of his casted wrist. The grasped hand moved into Shane’s vision, and he stared at the blue fiberglass. All his pent-up pain and frustration around the thing had left his brain over the last several minutes to the point he’d forgotten it was even there.
Ilya held him in place—firmly by the neck and lightly by the wrist—as he leaned forward to whisper in Shane’s ear.
“I do not like it when my toys are broken.” If Shane’s dick was able to get harder, it would have. The growl in Ilya’s voice both terrifying and arousing. “I cannot play with them when they are broken.”
It took Shane a moment to process the words again. When they registered, his heart sank.
“No, you can. Daddy, you can. Please.” Shane was not above begging.
“I think no. Not unless my toy can be very still. Wouldn’t want to break it further… especially if it’s hiding other fractures.” Shane was out of his mind with need, but the point still got across. He’d tried to skirt around their number one rule, and Ilya wasn’t having it. He wouldn’t do that again.
“No other fractures, I promise. I won’t hide it again. I can be still for you. So still. Won’t move. Please, Daddy.”
Ilya gently lowered his arm back to his side, pulling him forward by the jaw into another consuming kiss. Snaking his now-free arm around his waist, Ilya’s hand moved lower and pressed on the base of the plug inside him. Shane almost blacked out in pleasure but held himself together to keep from coming right then and there; he wouldn’t get fucked if he broke another rule.
“Well, since you’re already prepared… let’s get you to the bedroom and Daddy will undress you.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” Shane exhaled.
“You still don’t get to come”
Shane whined again but wasn’t surprised. Daddy wasn’t likely to back down on his decision this time.
A few hours later, Shane was seated at the kitchen island, feeling floaty and boneless while Ilya made them lunch. Ilya had dressed him in a pair of his little pjs and left a soska on the counter nearby; a promise of getting blankie and a stuffie after eating. But even being so close to headspace, Shane was hesitant to fully drop. He couldn’t fully articulate why, but the feeling that he would be too much lingered.
He hadn’t felt that way in a while, at least not when it came to dropping into headspace. When Ilya introduced something new to his little world, it usually crept back in, but being in little space didn’t scare him anymore. Until now, apparently.
Lost in his head, he startled when Ilya set down his panda plate in front of him. Chicken, rice, and broccoli, all divided into the different sections on the plate so as not to touch. His little hockey fork and a sippy cup of water followed. It was too much. Pushed him closer to that precipice he was avoiding.
“Daddy, can I have a big cup, please?” Shane asked in the biggest voice he could muster. Ilya gave him a look but moved toward the cabinet to get him a plastic cup to replace the sippy. Shane wanted to ask for a big fork too but worried he would struggle to eat with that more and didn’t want Ilya to see him struggle. He didn’t want Ilya to feel burdened with taking care of him more than usual.
They ate mostly in silence, both starving after their long and strenuous morning. Shane tussled with his fork on more than one occasion and apparently caught Ilya’s attention. He reached over, taking the fork right out of Shane’s hand to spear a piece of chicken. He held it to Shane’s mouth, which he kept resolutely closed, shaking his head no.
“Shane,” Ilya said in a warning tone.
“No thank you, Daddy,” Shane replied, keeping his chin tucked down so Ilya wouldn’t have access to his opened mouth.
“All done?”
Shane nodded. He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to take Daddy away from his own meal. Ilya placed the fork back down, grabbing Shane’s jaw instead. Rubbing a thumb over his cheek—Daddy loved to touch his freckles—he scrutinized Shane’s eyes; maneuvering him to maintain eye contact when Shane tried to glance away.
“Okay,” Ilya said, eventually letting him go. He held out the pacifier to Shane next, and once again he denied the offer.
“No thank you, Daddy.”
Another inquiring look was directed his way before Ilya gave a small nod. “Okay.”
Thankfully, Daddy didn’t offer anything further as he finished his meal. Just like Shane wanted. So why did he hate it so much?
Ilya was tempted to drag Shane over his knee and spank him into submission. But as fun as that sounded, he didn’t think it was what his boy needed just this moment. Shane was fighting little space for some reason; he’d been so far into subspace when arriving, Ilya had assumed the transition would be seamless, but apparently not.
He understood now why Yuna had been hesitant to leave her son’s side. Shane didn’t seem to be aware of the little grunts and groans of frustration he was making constantly. Angry kitten face on full display; a face that was only cute when Ilya put it there.
Still, Shane refused to eat when Ilya tried to feed him, whined that he could do it when Ilya went to unpack his bags, then whined some more every time one of his shirts would unfold itself when being put in the drawer. Ilya caught him pawing at the cast frequently as if it hurt or itched or annoyed him in some way, but when he asked Shane where his pain meds where got an it doesn’t hurt, Daddy, in response.
I’m fine and I can do it became Shane’s favorite phrases through the afternoon, but he was clearly not fine and often could not really do it. Ilya decided to let it go for today (Shane wasn’t technically being bad, just pouty) and concocted a plan for the next day that would hopefully get Shane to accept the help Ilya had brought him to Boston for. He hated to watch Shane suffer, but that was sometimes the only way he learned.
“Good morning, Melissa!” Ilya sang out in his most charming voice as he entered the team physician’s office.
“Ilya,” Melissa greeted warily, scanning up and down his body, checking for injuries. “Where does it hurt?”
“Ah, no, I’m not hurt,” Ilya chuckled. “But I was hoping you might be able to do me a favor?” He pulled Wing out of his bag, holding it up for Melissa to see. “Are you able to put a cast on the wing?”
“You want me to put a cast on a stuffed animal?”
“Da. Please. My um—my niece broke her arm, and she’s having tough time with cast. Was hoping to make her feel better.”
Melissa’s features softened, and she held out a hand for the toy. “That’s so sweet of you, Ilya. Let's see what we can do.”
“The right wing, please, if able. So it matches.”
“Of course. Is she right-handed? That must be so tough if yes.”
“Yes, she’s been a real nightmare about it.”
“I can imagine. Alright, let’s get…”
“Wing”
“Wing, cute, let’s get Wing all healed up.”
Arriving home, Ilya found Shane in the kitchen grumbling over a meal prep container, the jeans he had insisted on wearing sitting low on his hips. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, pulling him back from the counter; feeling that the button was undone on his jeans and they were staying up by the zipper and fate alone.
“Malysh, let Daddy open that for you.”
“I can do it,” Shane grumbled, attempting to pull on the plastic tab again.
“Is okay if you can’t.” Ilya rushed on before Shane could protest again. “Besides, I have important task for you.”
“What task?”
Ilya turned Shane around and lifted him to sit on the counter. “Wait here, da?”
Shane nodded and patiently waited while Ilya retrieved Wing from his bag. “Wing got hurt at nighttime practice and needed to see Doctor Melissa this morning.”
Shane gasped when he saw his penguin, a matching blue cast now covering his right wing. “Wing hurt?” Tears welled up in Shane’s eyes at the sight of his stuffie.
“Da, but he will be okay. Although we need to help him so he can heal fast and get back to playing with his team. Can you help me with that?”
Shane nodded again, pulling his stuffie in for a hug. The drop into little space finally taking hold.
“Good. He doesn’t want to take his medicine. Can you be good boy and take yours to show him is not scary? That way he can stop being in pain?”
“M’hmm,” Shane hummed in agreement. Finally! Ilya took the liquid Motrin and a syringe from his cabinet, measuring out the appropriate dosage.
“Open up, malysh,” Ilya said, bringing the syringe to his lips. Shane eyed the medicine cautiously, looking down at Wing, before opening his mouth and closing it again around the tip. Ilya depressed the plunger, making sure Shane swallowed; he did. “See, Wing, not so bad.” Ilya pretended to add more medicine to the syringe, then held it up to Wing’s beak. Shane held tight to his stuffie, petting his head as Ilya depressed the plunger again.
“Good job, Wing,” Shane whispered.
“Very good. Shane, will you let Wing sit in your lap while Daddy feeds him? I think he’s very hungry.”
“M’hmm.”
“So sweet of you. Here,” Ilya lifted Shane down off the counter, squatting to pull Shane’s half-undone jeans down. “How about you take these to the room and get your shorts from the playroom, da? That way Wing has a comfy place to sit.”
“Okay.” Shane toddled off, dragging his jeans behind him, Wing held to his chest by his casted forearm.
Ilya quickly opened the meal prep containers and got them in the microwave. They finished cooking right as Shane returned, cotton pj shorts in hand in lieu of the jeans. He held them up to Ilya, shoving his face into the top of Wing’s head.
“Thank you, malysh. Hold Daddy’s shoulder and let me help you get them on.” Shane did as asked, lifting one leg at a time for Ilya to slide the shorts on. A light tap to his behind when finished had Shane giggling. “Good boy, let’s go to the table to eat.”
Shane allowed Ilya to pull him onto his lap, placing Wing in his own lap. Ilya stabbed a carrot with Shane’s small hockey fork, holding it out to Wing. “Mmmm, is good? Right Wing?” Ilya asked. “You want to share with Shane is so good? That’s nice of you, Wing.”
Ilya brought the bite up to Shane’s mouth next, and he happily accepted the food. Chewing slowly enough that Ilya has time to take his own hurried bite before repeating the process. “Feed” Wing, give Shane a bite, then take his own. It’s slow going, but Ilya is happy to have Shane accepting his care at last.
“Daddy, Wing says he full,” Shane whispers quietly when they’ve gotten about halfway through the meal.
“Okay, good job eating Wing. How about you malysh? You full too?” Shane nodded, leaning in toward Ilya’s neck.
“Wing is Thirsty.”
“Okay, let's get him some juice?”
Another nod as Shane wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck. A request to be carried that Ilya will never deny. He fills a sippy cup with Shane’s favorite kale and carrot juice while Shane holds on like a clingy koala; Wing’s cast scraping across Ilya’s back as the stuffie dangles from his boy’s good hand.
“Does Wing want to drink juice while snuggling on the couch? Maybe take nap with Daddy and Shane?”
“M’hmm,” is all Ilya gets as Shane burrows deeper into his neck.
“Okay, let’s go get under a blankie and snuggle.” Ilya will deal with the leftovers from lunch later. There are more important things at the moment.
Wing shares his juice with Shane just like he did with the food, and they settle into a peaceful quiet tangled together under a throw blanket. Ilya thinks Shane drifted off to nap when a tiny voice reaches his ears.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, malysh?”
“Wing is worried?”
“Why is Wing worried, malysh?”
“He needs lots of help. He doesn’t want us to get tired of him.”
Everything clicked into place for Ilya: his poor boy, no wonder he’s been fighting his little space so much.
“That’s quite a scary feeling, hmm. But that’s not going to happen. You want Wing to get better, da?”
“M’hmm.”
“Same, malysh. And you don’t like it that Wing is struggling, da? Want to make things easier for him?”
“M’hmm.”
“Same. I love Wing, and do not mind taking care of him. Is a lot sometimes, yes, but that does not mean I do not want to do it or will love Wing any less. I like taking care of him and making him feel better.”
“Like it?”
“Yes, malysh. Very much.” Ilya kisses the top of Shane’s head, and his boy deflates into him—settling his weight and snuggling closer.
“Daddy, Wing says he loves you.”
“I love Wing too… and I love you, malysh.”