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Shane sat in the stands as close to the ice as possible while Ilya’s team practiced. Ilya had settled him near the hall where they exited, so that he could leave the ice and talk to his husband if he needed to. Shane had a huge Centaurs blanket wrapped around his shoulders, wearing a Rozanov Centaurs jersey under his jacket, because Ilya thought he was too cute in it. In the seat to his left sat his stuffed loon named Zacharie, also in a Centaurs jersey. He had his backpack full of things to keep him entertained and busy open between his feet, but nothing he found in there was as appealing as watching players skate around.
He should be on the ice, too. His sprained wrist was mostly healed, anyway. He could play on it. He knew he could. So he was more than a little grumpy to be in the stands versus on the ice with his husband.
Shane watched his husband skate around with the other players on his team, his frown growing. Someone sat in the seat next to him, long legs stretching out. Shane turned, a glare still on his face.
“Whoa, Shane, it’s just me,” Scott Hunter said, raising his hands.
Shane let the glare drop from his face, sighing heavily as he turned back to the ice. “Hi, Scott.”
“What’s with the doom and gloom?”
“I wanna be on the ice,” Shane said, sighing again. He reached over to his left and grabbed Zacharie, leaning back in his seat and settling the sturdy weight of the stuffed animal on his lap.
“Isn’t it fun to watch your Papa?” Scott asked, smiling at the other man. He was painfully adorable. His freckle-speckled nose and cheeks were rosy from the cold air in the arena.
“I wanna be on the ice,” Shane repeated, firmer this time. He hugged Zacharie to his chest, glaring out at the rink. Ilya was skating toward them, stepping off the ice so he could walk the short distance to them.
“Ah, Scott Hunter is here to bother you?” Ilya asked, grinning. He took his helmet off, his curls damp with sweat underneath. Shane pouted. He wanted to be sweating on the ice, instead of freezing in the stands. “This is closed practice, Hunter,” Ilya teased.
“Being a former Captain has its benefits.”
“And so does being one thousand years old. They could not say no to the grandpa asking to watch the practice.”
Shane wanted to chirp. He should be on the ice. He tucked Zacharie into his open backpack and shrugged the blanket off his shoulders, standing up.
“Where are you going?” Ilya asked, giving up on making fun of Scott Hunter so that he could look at his grumpy husband.
“Restroom,” Shane said, all but stomping his way down the aisle, toward the restrooms. Ilya watched him go with a smile.
“He’s pissed,” Scott said casually, leaning back in his seat.
“Yes, he would like to be on the ice. He has said so many times to me. I would like to be off the ice, with him. Since he is dropped right now.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him if you want,” Scott offered, after he noticed the pinch between Ilya’s eyebrows. He could tell that Ilya would rather be next to his husband versus skating at a practice for an All-Stars.
Ilya nodded. “Yes, that would be good. I could concentrate on the game. His parents would be here, usually, but they couldn’t this year.”
Scott nodded. “It’s no problem. I like Shane.”
Shane returned a few moments later, still wearing a tight expression. He sat down in his seat, wrapping up in the blanket again. Ilya tapped his stick against the wall between them, getting Shane to look at him. “Scott is going to watch you during practice. You are going to be good, yes?”
“No, I don’t need to be watched. I’m fine,” Shane insisted, taking Zacharie out of his backpack to hug him. “I have Zacharie.” Shane realized this would be the perfect time to switch to French. Ilya didn’t like when he did it just so that Ilya couldn’t understand him. Shane didn’t like that he wasn’t on the ice for the game. It was equal. “Zacharie and I are going to go to the concession stands with your credit card and feed every person that walks by. Then we are going to rent a car and drive around the city without you, because you’re playing a game without me, and it isn’t fair.”
Ilya looked unimpressed as Shane went off in French. He was called for by someone on the ice. He leveled a look at Shane. “You will be a good boy for Scott Hunter. He is old, but he can probably still spank. Be good, or consequences,” Ilya emphasized, switching to Russian, a sign that he was serious. He turned and walked back to the ice, skating off. Shane glared at his husband’s retreating back.
Scott watched the interaction with mild amusement. Shane Hollander, Canada’s Golden Boy, was a brat. He had no idea what Shane had gone on about in what he assumed was French, nor what Ilya said in Russian, but it was entertaining, nonetheless.
“I’m not that old, and yes, I can still deliver a spanking just fine,” Scott told Shane, leaning back in his seat to watch the players on the ice. It was said casually, but Shane knew a thinly-veiled threat when he heard one.
Shane glared at Scott for a second, stewing in his frustration. He should be on the ice.
“That’s not a nice look to give someone,” Scott said, glancing over at Shane. He looked down between Shane’s feet, nodding to the backpack. “Wanna tell me what you have in there to keep busy?”
Shane’s face softened slightly. Scott was right. He wasn’t mad at Scott; he was mad at Papa. He set Zacharie in his own seat and pulled his backpack onto his lap, digging through.
“I have two coloring books. They’re special; Papa had someone make them just for me. And I have crayons and markers.” Shane pulled out one of the coloring books. It was hockey-themed, cartoony, and adorable. Scott smiled.
“What else do you have?”
Shane tucked the coloring book back into his backpack. “I have a big book and a small book. My big book is about hockey, and my small book is about animals. I also have another jersey for Zacharie in case he needs to change clothes. And my tablet for watching movies. But I don’t want any of those right now. I wanna be on the ice.”
Shane set his backpack between his feet again, grabbing Zacharie to hug him. He looked out onto the ice, watching Ilya speed around the rink. “Will you take me on the ice? Papa has my skates in his bag.”
“They’re practicing. That’s very dangerous for a little boy.”
Shane scowled, glaring at the rink with his arms crossed over his chest. The move trapped Zacharie to his middle, so he squeezed the loon in a hug to self-soothe. No one understood him. He wanted to be on the ice.
“Maybe your Papa will take you on the ice after the practice, if you ask him nicely. Especially if you’re a good boy while he’s busy.”
Shane heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m hungry.”
“You don’t have snacks in your bag?” Scott asked.
“They’re in Papa’s bag. We forgot to put some in my bag,” Shane said with a frown.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back with a snack, okay?” Once Shane nodded and murmured an ‘okay’, Scott stood up. He headed toward the concession stands, keeping an eye on Shane for as long as he could. Shane stayed in his seat, so Scott felt confident enough to run to get a few snacks.
Shane stayed put for a couple of minutes, but that was a couple of minutes of staring longingly at the skating players. He stood up, tucking Zacharie in his seat. He made his way down to where Ilya had been, going down the hall toward the locker room that Ilya had brought him to earlier.
He entered the empty locker room, going to Ilya’s bag. He sat down on a bench, pulling the bag closer. He started going through it, bypassing his favorite snack in favor of his skates. Papa was going to see him on the ice and realize that he was okay and that he could play. His wrist was fine.
He had one skate on and was working on the second when Scott Hunter burst through the door.
“Shane!” Scott exclaimed in relief, taking a deep breath. “You said you’d stay put.” Scott was going to say more until he noticed that Shane was putting a second skate on. “Oh, absolutely not.”
Scott crossed the locker room in long strides, sitting on the bench next to Shane. He set Shane’s backpack down, Zacharie sticking out of the top. Scott pulled Shane’s foot into his lap, undoing Shane’s work so he could pull the skate off. “Hey! Stop it,” Shane whined, wiggling in protest.
“Stay still. You’re already gonna get a spanking for running off,” Scott told him, a stern look on his handsome face. He got Shane’s other skate off, putting them away in the open bag with ‘Rozanov’ on the side.
“I don’t want one,” Shane told the older man, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I didn’t ask if you did,” Scott replied calmly, spreading his legs so that Shane could bend over one thigh. He patted his leg, raising an expectant eyebrow at the other man.
Shane turned his body away. Scott sighed. “You’re gonna make me drag you across my lap? C’mon, Shane, don’t make this harder.”
Shane shook his head. “Don’t want.”
“You want your Papa to know that you weren’t cooperative?”
That gave Shane pause. Ilya always tacked on extra swats when he had to haul Shane over his lap instead of Shane going willingly. Mean extra swats, not that the regular swats were nice. Shane huffed unhappily, standing up so he could stand between Scott’s legs. He bent over one thigh carefully, grabbing the bench for balance.
Scott tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down, Shawn squawking in protest. “No! Not bare!” Scott pulled his briefs down next, settling both around his knees. Shane whined, hiding his face against his bicep.
Scott smacked one cheek sharply, wrapping his arm around Shane’s middle securely. Shane jerked at the smack, yelping at the second that came quickly after. “Tell me why you’re being spanked, Shane,” Scott instructed between hard swats, alternating cheeks methodically.
Shane shook his head, whining when Scott’s palm landed over the place where his ass met his thigh. Scott didn’t move on from that spot until Shane cried out, “Because! Because I left my seat,” Shane said, gripping the bench tighter.
Scott leaned over him, digging his blanket out of the backpack. He tucked it under Shane’s face, letting the younger man make a suitable pillow before he continued swatting. “That’s right. You agreed with me that you’d stay in that seat until I got back. I had to try to find you in this big arena.”
Scott’s hand never stopped, covering Shane’s ass in hard smacks. His backside was already glowing pink under Scott’s hand. “Then, when I find you, you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, doing something you shouldn’t be.”
Shane cried out, gasping sharply. “I’m sorry!”
Scott hummed, pausing for a second to let Shane catch his breath. “Thank you for apologizing. Twenty more, then you can have your pants back up. Okay?”
“Uh-uh,” Shane protested around a whine, shaking his head. “No more, please!”
“This is how I finish spankings. Twenty at the end. You don’t have to keep count.”
Shane bundled the blanket up tighter, tucking his face against it. The sooner that Scott spanked him, the sooner it would be over, and maybe Papa wouldn’t have to know about it. They could leave the locker room and go back to their seats. “Okay,” he mumbled pitifully.
Scott gave him a second to breathe before he started. The last twenty were a lot harder than the ones before them, searing slaps landing on Shane’s pink skin. Red handprints bloomed after each connection, Shane squirming hard. Scott used his other leg to trap Shane’s before he could really start to kick. Scott was used to this; Kip never handled the final twenty well either.
Shane sobbed a few times, tears slipping down his cheeks as Scott finished up. Scott rubbed his hand along Shane’s lower back, where his shirt had ridden up and exposed the warm skin. “All done, you’re okay,” Scott soothed softly, carefully pulling Shane’s underwear and sweatpants up after a moment.
Shane shook a little as he cried, rubbing his face against the soft material of the blanket. His tears smeared, soaking the blanket. It made for an unpleasant sensation. He pushed himself up and off of Scott’s lap, rubbing at his face with balled up hands.
Scott stood up, standing in front of Shane so he could use the soft material of his shirt to wipe away Shane’s tears. Shane swayed forward a little, obviously wanting a hug but too shy to ask for one. Scott opened his arms, letting Shane step into an embrace. Scott rubbed his hand up and down Shane’s back, humming softly. “Let’s go back to our seats, alright?”
Shane nodded. Scott released the hug after another moment, turning so he could pack the blanket back into the backpack. Scott slung the backpack over one shoulder, offering his hand to Shane.
The locker room door swung open, a few players coming in. They greeted Scott and Shane like nothing was off, despite Shane’s red face and watery eyes. Ilya came in next, head tilting in confusion.
“Are you okay?” he asked, going to stand in front of Shane. “You have cried. Why?” He took his gloves off and dropped them on the bench, cupping Shane’s face. He rubbed his thumb below one of Shane’s eyes.
“I had to spank him just now,” Scott explained. Shane jerked his face out of Ilya’s hold, glaring at Scott.
“Traitor.”
“I was never going to not tell him,” Scott pointed out.
Ilya looked unamused. “Why did Scott Hunter have to spank you?”
More players were filing into the locker room, Shane glancing around with an ever-growing blush. Scott gave Shane a few moments to respond, but Shane remained silent.
“He snuck in here and was putting on skates when I found him. After he agreed to stay in his seat while I went to get a snack.”
Ilya sat down on the bench, bending to take off his skates. “Ah, I see.” He continued to remove his gear piece-by-piece.
Shane shifted his weight from side to side, nervous. He wanted to get out of the locker room now, back to their room, before Ilya decided that he wanted to spank Shane for being naughty for Scott. Shane slipped his shoes back on slowly, watching Ilya cautiously.
“Thank you for watching him, Hunter. Did he apologize for being a naughty, naughty boy?” Ilya asked, the second ‘naughty’ aimed at Shane. Shane stared at the ground, but he nodded, just in case Ilya wanted an answer from him.
“He did apologize. We were about to go back to our seats. Do you want me to take him?”
“No. I will handle him now.” Ilya was out of his hockey gear now, wearing his compression leggings and no shirt. Shane didn’t like the sound of ‘handle him now’. He glanced at the door. Running was a bad idea, but he really didn’t want this locker room of All-Stars to see him get his butt spanked by his Papa. Running would mean an even worse spanking, but Shane was fairly confident that he could make it outside and to their hotel before Papa could catch up.
Ilya snagged the wrist that hadn’t been sprained while Shane was considering his options, pulling him closer so that he was standing between Ilya’s spread legs. “That is very bad idea,” he murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the locker room. He could see the desire to bolt on Shane’s face.
“We can wait,” Shane tried with a soft whine, putting on his cutest face.
“You wanted to be here, in locker room, so bad. You are here now. We handle it now.”
Shane found himself pulled over one of Ilya’s thighs, just like Scott had spanked him. He started squirming immediately, his hips twisting instead of settling like Ilya expected of him. “Papa!”
The locker room had grown quieter. Shane knew all attention was on them, now that he was sprawled over their team captain’s lap. Ilya ignored the protest, tugging Shane’s sweats and underwear down in one go.
Shane’s ass was still burning from Scott’s hand, bright pink, splotched red in a few mean places. Ilya admired Scott's handiwork for a moment. He nodded at Scott in approval before he started, laying down a sharp swat over Shane’s upper thigh.
Shane jerked, gripping the bench again. “Papa, please!”
Ilya adopted a quick pace, covering all of Shane’s backside in hard smacks. Shane jolted every time he landed one at the crease of his ass and thigh, crying out in the otherwise quiet locker room.
Shane threw his hand back to protect his butt, whining. A low murmur of disapproval came from their audience. Shane wanted to melt into goo and slip down the drain in the center of the room. Ilya sighed softly, gently taking Shane’s hand and moving it to his lower back. “You know better, especially with injured wrist.” Ilya pinned his hand there without touching his wrist, his hand wrapped around Shane’s forearm.
“It’s not injured,” Shane protested. “It’s not! And I should be skating!”
Shane was still frustrated at the injustice of it all. He kicked his feet, which got him nowhere, but it helped release the frustration a little bit. Ilya trapped his kicking legs with the one that Shane wasn’t bent over, tilting Shane’s ass into a better position. Tears burned in Shane’s brown eyes.
Ilya waited until Shane was done squirming about, resuming his prior, fast pace of spanking his husband. “You need this,” Ilya told him calmly, focusing on Shane’s upper thighs and lower cheeks. Shane hated that part of his butt. It was the worst.
Shane let out a little sob, tucking his face against his bicep. “D-don’t want it,” he cried out, giving in to the urge to cry. Tears slipped down his face, smearing across his bicep as he shook his head.
Ilya finished with a few of the meanest smacks Shane had ever received, he was sure of it. He was sure that his ass was covered in bruises in the shape of two different hands, the skin burning brightly. Ilya pulled Shane’s sweats and underwear up carefully, untrapping Shane’s legs after.
He helped his husband to his feet, standing so he could pull Shane into a tight, full-body hug. Ilya rubbed his hand along Shane’s back, humming softly to soothe the other man as he cried softly.
The normal noise of a locker room resumed now that the show was over. Shane sniffled softly, tucking his face against Ilya’s neck. He smelled like his deodorant and sweat, a touch of cologne, like the shampoo he used. He smelled like home. Shane shuffled as close as he could, hugging Ilya tighter.
“I need to get dressed, then we will go to our room, yes? I won’t even shower here; I will shower at hotel.”
Shane nodded, still hiding against Ilya’s neck. He took a few moments to collect himself before he stepped back, wiping at his face roughly. Ilya took his hands gently, pulling them away from his face. He wiped the tears away with careful fingers, leaning in to press a kiss to Shane’s forehead.
Ilya turned to Scott, who was on his phone, typing a message. “Will you take him out to the hallway? I will be there soon.”
Scott put his phone in his pocket, nodding. “No problem.”
Shane grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. Scott offered his hand, and Shane took it after a moment, allowing the older man to lead him out of the locker room and into the hallway.
Scott leaned against the wall. “Do you need another hug?” Shane nodded immediately. Scott opened his arms, Shane stepping close so that he could be wrapped up in warmth. Scott smelled good, too, warm cologne and mint, for some reason.
“I bought candy at the concession stand for you. Kip likes something sweet after he gets spanked. He likes sour sweets afterward, actually. They shock your system a bit and help you regulate.”
It wasn’t part of his diet, but the idea of a sweet after a spanking (two spankings!) was incredibly tempting. “What kind?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a few different things. They’re in your backpack, side pockets. You can try Kip’s trick. There are sour gummies, regular gummies, some chocolate, and a PayDay, in case you wanted salty.”
“Thank you,” Shane whispered, taking a moment to appreciate Scott Hunter for being a good person. He stepped back and pulled his backpack to his front. He dug into the side pocket and pulled out the sour gummies, setting the backpack down.
His hands were still shaking slightly, so Scott gently took the package and opened it for him, offering it back with a smile. Shane popped a candy in his mouth, chewing slowly. The sourness made his mouth flood with saliva, but he liked the flavor.
“Usually takes two or three before he feels a little better,” Scott told him kindly. Shane chewed on another gummy, surprised when he started to feel a little less… foggy.
“Thank you,” Shane said softly, tucking the candy away after a third piece. That was all he could allow himself, but he did feel a little better, a little more present instead of stuck in the gloom of being spanked, being naughty.
Ilya came out of the locker room, his bag slung over his shoulder. He walked over to the other two men, pressing a kiss to Shane’s cheek. “We can leave now.” He looked at Scott and offered his hand, the two exchanging a handshake. “Thank you for taking care of him while I practiced.”
“Anytime. I don’t mind at all. I’ll see you guys around.”
Ilya took Shane’s backpack from him, slinging it over his other shoulder. He offered his hand to his husband, Shane taking it immediately. They walked out of the arena. Their hotel was two blocks away. Ilya led the way, keeping Shane close the entire walk.
They made it to their hotel room without incident. Ilya set their bags down, watching as Shane went to lie on the bed immediately, on his stomach.
“Butt hurts, Papa,” he complained, muffled by the pillow he had his face pressed against. Ilya started stripping, stepping into the bathroom to start the shower.
“You should have been on best behavior, if you did not want sore butt,” Ilya told him, peeking into the room. Shane had pushed his sweatpants and underwear off, his punished ass on display. He looked too cute with a red bottom while wearing a Rozanov jersey. “Do you want to join Papa in shower?”
Shane looked over at his husband, a pout on his pink lips. He did want to join. “The hot water will hurt my butt.”
“Alright. I will be quick.”
Ilya disappeared into the bathroom again, coming out a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around his hips. Shane was still on the bed on his stomach, his eyes closed until he heard Ilya moving around the room. He looked at his husband, pouting again. “Want cuddles.”
Ilya grabbed a pair of clean underwear from his bag, pulling them on. He dried his hair a little more, leaving the damp towel hanging over the back of the desk chair before he joined the other man on the bed. He laid down next to Shane, who immediately shuffled over to drape himself over Ilya’s chest. Ilya wrapped him up in a secure hug.
“I’m sorry I was naughty. I just…”
“Want to be on the ice?” Ilya finished playfully, stroking his fingers through Shane’s soft hair. Shane nodded.
“I will take you skating before the game tomorrow. Okay?”
“Really?”
Ilya nodded, pressing a kiss to Shane’s temple. “Yes, sweetheart. I am not a mean Papa. Was not safe for my baby on ice today. Too many players.”
“Not a mean Papa,” Shane agreed, rubbing his cheek against Ilya’s pec. “I love you.”
“I love you too, my Shane. Nap before dinner?”
Shane nodded, letting his eyes close. Wrapped up tight in his husband’s arms, it was easy to let sleep take him.