Archive of Our Own

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The first time it happens is jarring. He hasn’t had any accidents while big since he started properly regressing with Shane and Ilya, but now it seems the old problem is creeping back. At least this time he can blame it on the nightmare still clinging to the forefront of his mind when he jerks awake, sweaty and heart hammering away like a jackknife. He feels sick, shame crawling up his throat and making him nauseous.

The sheets and his pajamas are soaked, both in sweat and urine. His legs are sticky and gross and he’s so tired. He breathes hard for a minute, struggling to think. Deciding to clean himself first and worry about the bed later, he stands and moves into the en-suite bathroom. He showers quickly, probably less thoroughly than he should, but his anxiety is making him too paranoid with the evidence still all over his bed.

He blinks frustrated tears away as he strips the bed, silently thanking Shane for his forethought of putting a mattress protector on the bed. Normally that little fact is nothing short of humiliating, but it makes this job way easier at least. There are spare linens in the top of his closet which he grabs quickly to remake everything. His fingers tremble as he fixes the sheets. The only problem is his duvet is wet too, and it’s not like there’s a spare.

Quietly, he eases the bedroom door open, peeking into the hall. It’s quiet and dark, save for the little hallway nightlight they added incase he needed to ever find them in the middle of the night. Probably for instances like this, he thinks bitterly.

He tiptoes to the laundry room while holding his breath, only exhaling once the washer is loaded and started. Perfect. Easy. No problem.

He’s not really tired anymore, so he moves to the living room and switches the TV on at a low volume. Curling into the corner of the couch with the throw that Shane keeps draped over the back, he watches through half-lidded eyes. Nothing really good is on this late, just re-runs and cooking shows and things of that nature but it’s better than staring at the ceiling.

He must doze off there because the next thing he knows, someone is shaking him awake.

“Luca,” Shane murmurs.

His eyes peek open, whining a little. “What?”

“What are you doing sleeping on the couch baby? Are you okay?” Shane asks, concerned. He lifts a hand and presses his palm to Luca’s forehead, searching for a temperature.

“No, ‘m fine,” Luca grumbles, shoving at his hand. “I’m big,” he adds.

“Why are you on the couch?” Shane repeats, frowning.

Luca huffs, grumpy from lack of sleep.

“Spilled a drink in my bed so I had to wash my blankets,” he mutters, coming up with the lie on the spot.

He keeps his eyes closed, not sure he can lie while looking at Shane.

Shane makes a disapproving noise. “Thats why I say no drinks in your room without a lid,” he hums.

“I know, sorry. Won’t do it again,” Luca says, risking a peek. He flushes.

Shane offers a small smile, “Thank you. I’m about to go on a run, do you want to come?”

Luca declines, eyes fluttering closed again. “No, thanks.”

“You seem so quiet today Haasy,” Ilya comments later at lunch.

Luca freezes a bit, mind blanking.

“Uh, sorry,” he settles on, eyes downcast at the table.

“No sorries, just noticed. You are okay?” He asks.

Luca nods, cheeks warm. “Mhm.”

Things are still awkward, at least in Luca’s opinion since the whole nursing fiasco. Ilya and Shane probably wouldn’t phrase it as a fiasco, nor do they seem to find anything awkward but Luca DOES. It’s humiliating. Nursing is something only really little babies do, and now here he is wetting the bed when he’s big too. It makes shame clog his throat and turn his belly all sick.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” he suggests, then.

Luca shakes his head, “No I’m big.” He pointedly chooses not to acknowledge that he’s whining.

Ilya arches a brow. “Can still nap,” he says. “Me and Shane nap, we are not babies.”

Luca hums wordlessly, fork swirling through his leftover spaghetti. He’s too nauseous to eat.

Shane is standing at the sink rinsing out his glass. He turns, catching Ilya’s eye and gesturing towards the hallway with a slight tilt of the head. It’s a silent command, “let’s talk.”

Ilya catches on easily, standing to deposit his dishes in the sink and moving towards their bedroom. Shane finishes drying the plate in his hands before following, lowering his voice when he reaches Ilya.

“I’m worried about him,” he says, quiet. “He’s acting off, something is bugging him. Do you think he’s trying to repress regressing again?”

Ilya shakes his head minutely.

“No, I think he is embarrassed, of the nursing. It’s making him all… how do you say… squeamish?” Ilya’s lip quirks. “Is cute.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s more than that. You think that’s really all it is?” Shane wrinkles his brows, turning slightly to peek back at the kitchen where Luca hasn’t moved.

“Maybe,” Ilya shrugs. “Is okay, we will get it out of him eventually.”

———

To his horror, Luca wets the bed every night that week. It’s beyond frustrating and humiliating at this point. He’s tired constantly, frustrated and snappy almost everyday. It’s wearing on everyone, Shane, Ilya, the team….

They have practice today, but Luca has been nothing short of a menace since they woke up. He tried to refuse breakfast and then nearly threw a tantrum when Shane firmly reminded him that was not a choice. He didn’t like the music in the car on the way to practice, and his favorite water bottle had been dirty so he had to take a different one.

Now, he’s sulking on the bench as the team laughs and chatters around him.

“What’s up with your baby?” Bood asks, nudging Shane.

Shane blows out a breath, sighing. “We’re trying to figure that out. He’s been pretty testy the last week,” he admits.

Practice goes about as poorly as Shane and Ilya suspect. Luca is visibly tense and on edge, he misses shots he normally wouldn’t and his chirps seem a lot less friendly than usual. Which, is something everyone catches. Luca isn’t a good chirper in the first place, and he never wants to hurt anyones feelings. So the fact that he’s gone out of his way to say mean things is more than a little bit odd.

Ilya has enough when there’s only 15 minutes remaining, deciding to pull his kid from the ice early.

“Haas, come on, you’re done,” he calls, voice sharp after Luca checks Young into the boards abnormally hard.

“What? No, practice isn’t over yet,” he shakes his head.

“Da, is not. YOU are done. Come,” Ilya commands, voice frosty.

Luca balks, staring back with an air of defiance. “No.”

“I can come get you and carry you off ice like baby, your choice,” Ilya threatens, skating closer.

Luca can see his face more clearly now. The iciness to his eyes and the stern set of his mouth. He’s not joking, and there doesn’t seem to be much room left to push buttons.

“Put him in timeout cap, he’s throwing tantrums on the ice,” Young spits, still irritated with the younger boy.

Luca bristles.

“Shut the fuck up,” he seethes, whirling.

Ilya is on him in two seconds, hands gripping his arms firmly and dragging him back.

“Locker room, now,” he barks.

Luca struggles, still pissed, but lets Ilya manhandle him off the ice.

“You are acting like naughty little boy,” he growls against Luca’s ear, pushing him to sit on the bench in the locker room.

“You’re being a dick!” Luca snaps back, furious.

Ilya draws up straighter blinking a few times.

“Oh, you want spanking here? Is fine, I can do that.”

“What? No! You can’t spank me, I’m big!”

Luca struggles, cussing and fighting against Ilya as his gear is stripped off. It lands in a heap next to him on the bench, a problem for later. Naughty boys who need spankings is a problem for now.

“Stop it,” he shrieks, kicking wildly as Ilya pushes him over his knee.

Luca heaves in a couple breaths, back shuddering. “Let me up!”

Ilya tugs his boxer briefs down easily before laying down the first smack. The sound of skin on skin echoes through the locker room and stills Luca briefly out of shock before he’s back to fighting.

“Let me up!” He howls.

Ilya lays the spanks down in quick succession after that. Luca breaks faster than he thought he would, body going slack as he sobs.

“You’re a meanie!” He wails, squirming.

Ilya pauses, hand resting gently against his baby’s warm bottom.

“How old are you Haasy?”

Luca just cries harder.

“Is Papa’s sweet malysh back?” Ilya asks, sitting him up a bit.

Luca doesn’t answer, sobbing louder.

“I want daddy, don’t want you,” he shrills, pushing off of Ilya’s lap.

Practice must be over because that’s the moment that the rest of the team starts to trickle in. Nobody bats an eye at the naked and crying little boy. Nobody except Shane, who beelines for him.

“Daddy!” Luca wails, desperate.

He reaches up, letting Shane scoop him onto his hip so that he can burrow into his neck.

“Papa mean!” He says again, crying not letting up.

“Shhh, shh,” Shane murmurs. “Calm down baby, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“No! Noooo,” Luca hiccups, gagging once before the tears resume.

Shane bounces him, patting at his bottom gently but Luca squawks at that.

“No! Owwie, Daddy! Ow!”

The rest of the team is quiet, speaking amongst themselves and pointedly ignoring what’s going on with the baby.

Luca refuses to let Shane sit him down, forcing him to hold him in the shower. Once they’re out, he does have to sit him down briefly and Luca makes that displeasure well known.

“Up,” he whines, hanging onto Shane’s waist.

“Hold on sweetheart, almost done,” Shane soothes, brushing his fingers through Luca’s damp blonde hair briefly before resuming tugging his shirt on.

“All done,” he murmurs, lifting him.

Luca latches his arms on tight, squeezing.

“Are you ready to give Papa a little cuddle? I think he’s feeling sad,” Shane whispers to him, kissing his cheek lightly.

Luca whines, high pitched.

Shane carries him to the car while Ilya carries their bags. Shane can tell his husband is miffed about Luca refusing him, but he has a plan.

He straps Luca in carefully, the car seat is a new addition after a little someone attempted to open the door mid-tantrum one day. The baby hates it, of course. He scowls the entire time Shane is fastening the straps, mood visibly sour.

“I think,” Shane starts conversationally. “When we were get home we’re going to have a snack and then lie down for a bit in the big bed.”

Luca scowls harder. “No! No nap,” he turns his head sharply.

“I’m so tired though,” Shane says, climbing into the front seat to crank the car.

Ilya is already in the passenger seat, watching the two of them quietly.

Luca whines. “No!”

“Someone’s fussy,” Shane arches a brow.

The drive home is quiet, Luca pouting furiously in the backseat while pointedly ignoring them. Shane rushes for the bags in the trunk when they get home, leaving Ilya responsible for the baby.

He swings the car door open, bracing himself for the tantrum.

Luca blinks at him, mouth set in a hard line.

“I want daddy,” he whines.

“Da, I know. We see daddy inside. Papa is going to get you out,” Ilya tells him.

Luca lets him begrudgingly. Ilya settles him onto one hip, arm hooked around his hips to keep him in place as he walks up to the porch. He can hear Shane in the kitchen when they step inside, no doubt preparing Luca’s snack. Ilya slips both of their shoes off easily before moving to the kitchen.

Shane is plating apple slices with organic peanut butter for Luca, along with a handful of cheddar flavored veggie puffs which are a daddy-approved snack for little Luca versus regular Cheetos.

Luca sits quietly, picking at the apples. Shane and Ilya are talking, murmuring in low voices and casting him little looks that he pretends not to notice.

“Eat your snack baby, it’s almost nap time,” Shane encourages him after five minutes.

Luca scowls. “‘M not a baby, I don’t need to nap.”

“We are all going to cuddle and have a nap,” Shane says, calm as ever. He must get his parenting skills from Yuna, Luca thinks.

“You can nap, not me. I’m big,” Luca insists, voice tipping into a whine.

“You are Papa’s malysh though, yes?” Ilya asks, leaning against the counter to look at their baby.

Luca shakes his head, little curls flying. “No papa, that’s a baby.”

Ilya makes a wounded sound. “But why? Papa loves his malysh.”

“I don’t wanna be a baby,” Luca’s breath stutters on the last word before dissolving into tears.

Ilya is scooping him up in an instant, cuddling him close to his chest.

“What has got moy malysh so sad?” He asks mournfully, pressing gentle kisses to Luca’s tear tracks.

Luca sobs, breathing ragged. Ilya bounces and sways, cooing. The movements stop suddenly as Luca is passed to Shane, he cries out at first before catching on to what Ilya is doing. His shirt is off now, and he’s reaching back for Luca, hauling the baby up against his bare skin.

Luca hates how it immediately settles his nervous system. Hates the want, want, want running through his head. He shudders, flinching hard when Ilya guides his head closer to his chest.

“Noooo, big boy,” he cries, struggling.

Ilya changes his position, holding him a bit more upright. “Okay, okay. Papa thought that would help. What is wrong my Luca? Hm?”

Luca trembles, sniffling. He buries his head against Ilya’s throat, staying quiet.

“I think we should have our nap now, we can talk once we feel a bit more rested,” Shane says then, one hand splayed across Luca’s back.

Ilya frowns, but follows his husband to their bedroom.