Archive of Our Own

Usually Mack knows when it’s going to happen–

Like when he and Will are alone, when it’s safe, when the TV is playing a movie neither of them are watching, when he’s three beers deep, when he’s in Will’s arms, when he works a thumb into his mouth, when Will kisses his temple and goes “that’s it, Macky, it’s okay; you can be my baby.”

And when Mack feels that soft-fuzziness tug at him, like a blanket for his brain, he allows himself to slip under. Even if it feels humiliating; it also feels so good. And Will makes it easy for Mack, knows exactly how many times to kiss Mack’s cheek, how many words to whisper against the shell of his ear to get Mack into that special head-space.

But sometimes Mack can’t control it.

After they lose a game, Mack starts to feel like he’s all of five years old, and he can’t help the childish way he kicks off his gear.

Mack wipes at his face as he tries to keep the tantrum from bursting out in the middle of the locker room.

The rest of the Sharks team knows to ignore Mack when he’s gone non-verbal. They give him a generous bubble of space— usually for their own protection.

Will just keeps giving Mack worried little glances out of the corner of his eye.

Mack pulls his hoodie on and chews at the strings, something to suck on and soothe himself. Because it’s not like he’s allowed to suck his thumb, not in public.

Will drives them back to their apartment in silence; Mack’s arms are tightly crossed over his chest, and he doesn't want anything. No touches. No gentle words. He just keeps sucking at his hoodie string like it’ll fix this.

Will reaches over for his hand and Mack feels like the worst boy in the world when he shoves Will’s hand away. He’s horrible and awful and- and-

And all prickly-bad.

Mack knows that sometimes he’s too much, sometimes he’s not easy to take care of, and Mack tears up at the thought, remembers being little, remembers his Daddy lecturing him after they lost. Not offering up Mack any hugs. Because Mack didn’t earn it. He remembers being little but not getting to be held, not when they didn’t win– because he doesn't deserve the goodness of being babied if he does not score goals. Mack curls up on himself a little in the passenger’s seat as they pull into their building parking garage.

“Mack, it’s not all on you-”

“Stop,” Mack whines and presses his face to the cold car window, can’t receive the kind words right now.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“Mack, please, let me help,” Will begs, reaching over again to touch his arm. “Let me-”

“No,” Mack snaps, pushes Will away, unable to let himself be taken care of, not when he’s worked himself up like this, not when he’s this prickly-bad. He does not deserve to be Will’s baby; he didn’t earn Dada’s love. He didn’t score any goals.

“Mack-”

“Leave me alone, ‘m not good,” Mack says, bottom lip wobbling; tears threaten to spill down his blotchy-red cheeks.

“Do you…you want me to give you a minute?”

“Go away, just go away,” Mack says, not meaning it, but he can’t control this. He feels all of five years old, stomping and kicking his legs in his Dada’s car because he lost a game and he didn’t score and- and-

And he doesn't want Will to see him like this.

“I’m going to give you a minute here by yourself to calm down,” Will says, soft but firm. “And then I’m going to come back, and we’re going to go upstairs together, okay?”

“...okay. Just go away.”

“Okay, I’m going to go, and then come back in a minute.”

Mack curls up on himself and lets the tears spill down his cheeks. They’re big and fat and wet. He feels so humiliated. All of twenty years old and crying like a little baby.

True to his word, Will gives him a minute and then comes back to open Mack’s car door.

Mack shoves his arms around Will, hugging him tight around the middle, rubbing his wet face into Will’s shirt; Mack knows he doesn't deserve to be comforted, but Will isn’t going to let him get out of the car until he stops crying; he knows that. So Mack just inhales the soothing scent of his best friend and roughly exhales into the damp fabric of his shirt.

Will silently rubs his hand up and down Mack’s back.

They stay like that until Mack’s not crying anymore. Until he’s all done. Until his eyes are all red, stinging, but there’s no more tears to cry.

Will’s still rubbing Mak’s back, occasionally squeezing the nape of his neck.

Mack whimpers, mouthing ‘Dada’ into Will’s stomach, wouldn’t dare say it out-loud, not here. Sure, their building’s parking garage is pretty private, but they’re still in public.

“All better?” Will finally says and then claps him on the back when he feels Mack nod against him.

“Okay, we’re going to go– up, up,” Will says.

Mack looks at him and sticks out his bottom lip. He wants to be carried.

Want upies, a little voice says in Mack’s head. He manages to swallow it down, but Will seems to hear it anyway.

“I know; I wish I could. You know I want to,” Will says softly. “But you’re too big, remember? And then my shoulder could get hurt again.”

“Right, whatever,” Mack says, grumpy, even though he knows logically that he’s a bulky almost six foot something hockey dude and Will can’t carry him, no matter how much they both wish that Will could. Sometimes he wishes that his body would match his brain. That Mack could be physically little again and Will could carry him home.

Mack keeps his arms crossed and his hoodie drawn up over his head as they walk over to their building elevator.

He feels a warm hand on the small of his back, guiding him. Mack allows the soft touch, even though he still feels all prickly. All grossed out at himself for being so needy.

Back in their apartment, as soon as their door is closed, Will is pulling him in for a big, deep-pressure hug; the kind that Mack needs.

Mack melts into Will’s arms, slumping against him with a grateful little “thanks” and then a softer “‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay; you’re okay; don’t be sorry” Will says, voice soft, just right as he runs his hands up and down Mack’s back. “You’re allowed to be upset, baby.”

“M not,” Mack says, voice thin and dangerously wobbly. “Not supposed to be a baby. Supposed to be big outside.”

Mack feels shame burn his cheeks as Will presses a paternal kiss to the back of his neck, right to the nape– “Here, sit; let me take off your shoes.”

And Mack obediently sits down on their dining table chair and sticks out his foot as Will kneels in front of him. He flushes at the image of Will on his knees for him. Remembers when he was so tired that his Dada used to take off his skates for him.

Mack opens his mouth to protest but then closes it. Instead, he lets himself be taken care of, allowing Will to unlace his shoes one by one. He feels the usual flush of humiliation at being babied, hears his Dada’s judgemental ‘tch’ in his head. Mack squirms in his chair.

“There. All done,” Will says and squeezes his foot a little, looks up at him with big, loving eyes, like he’s looking at something beautiful.

“Didn’t earn it,” Mack says and crosses his arms.

Will is still massaging his feet— “You don’t have to earn it, Macky. I’ll do this whether or not you score, okay?”

“...okay,” Mack says down to his lap.

Not that he believes it. If he wasn’t a superstar, Will wouldn’t be here taking care of him, wouldn’t be rubbing Mack’s feet like he’s the most precious little thing in the world.

Will lets go of his feet and slowly moves his hand up to rest on Mack’s knees and squeezes.

“I’m going to make some hot cocoa, you want hot cocoa?”

Mack shakes his head, arms still crossed.

“No?” Will asks gently, hands moving up to massage Mack’s lower thighs.

“‘M not hungry.”

“Okay, you want to go to bed, Macky?”

“Mhm,” Mack says as he wiggles under Will’s loving touch, feeling so guilty that he’s this way. “Can go to sleep all by myself. ‘M a big boy, not little.”

Will rubs his thumbs into Mack’s thighs: “I know you can go to bed all by yourself…but is that what you really want?”

Mack shrugs and goes, “Yeah, ‘m tired.”

“You sure that’s what you want? You don’t want to stay with me?”

No, of course Mack does.

Mack wants Will to make him hot cocoa and microwave one of those chocolate chip cookies they had the other night until it’s all warm and chocolate-y. He wants Will to hold him on his lap and kiss his red cheeks and tell Mack that he’s been so good, even if he hasn’t. That he loves him.

Mack wants to be worthy of all the love that Will has to offer, but Mack isn’t. Because if he’s not a superstar, he does not deserve cheek-kisses, chocolate chip cookies, hot cocoa, and massages.

“All by myself, can do it all by myself,” Mack insists, as he pushes Will’s hands away and goes to change in his room.

Will lets him go, eyes on his back, but he does not try to stop him. Mack wishes that Will would. Even though it’s unreasonable— Will’s just confused about how best to take care of him. 

Still, Mack feels awful, all prickly-bad.

Mack changes into a night shirt and soft pajama bottoms. The one Will got him with little teal sharks on them for his birthday.

Then Mack curls up under his big blanket, all little and alone in the dark and wishes that he could have stayed in the kitchen light. He loves when Will puts whipped cream on top of his hot cocoa. Mack works his thumb into his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, wishing that the pillow he was hugging was actually Will instead.

He kinda has to pee, but he does not want to get up. So Mack just curls in tighter, sucks his thumb harder, lets sleep take him, snuggled up sadly against his pillow.

Mack dreams of being strapped into his little car seat. It’s an old memory. Their old car. Mack’s feet kicking in his fuzzy pajamas. He’s got his pacifier in his mouth, and he’s sucking rhythmically. Dada’s driving and playing country music. There’s a hand rubbing his tummy, and Mack makes a contended noise when he realizes it’s his big brother’s Aiden.

“I love you, Macky,” big brother Aiden says, and he’s kissing Macky’s soft red cheek, but then the voice changes and Mack realizes that it’s Will’s voice saying “I love you.” And those are Will’s lips against his cheek instead. The hand continues rubbing. Mh.

Iloveyou, Iloveyou, Iloveyou, and Mack feels so content and warm. If he was a cat, he’d purr. Instead he makes a contended noise around his paci. Outside the sun is streaming through the open windows. His pacifier is going in and out of his lips. Aiden or Will is still rubbing his tummy. Mack stretche, feels nice and relaxed sucking on his paci. He doesn’t need to think about anything.

Then Mack feels all warm. Too warm. Mack squirms against his car seat. The sun. His red cheeks. The hand is still on his tummy but now it’s pressing down. Just a little too hard, not comfortable. Ah. Pushing down. Mack soothes himself by sucking harder against the pacifier, and he whimpers as he recognizes what this feeling is…oh, he’s…he’s going to…

Mack squirms again, trying to resist, trying not to-

But then a firm voice, Will’s voice, soothing him, telling him— “That’s it, baby. You’re okay. Shhh, come on, Macky. I’m right here. You’ll feel better if you stop holding on.”

Mack squirms and whimpers, still trying to resist.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, come on. Let it all out.”

So Mack does.

Because Will told him to.

The relief is immediate. The pain goes away. And he exhales noisily around the pacifier as he releases, warm and wet and good and-

Mack blinks himself awake, sits up, and realizes that he’s still wet.

He lets his thumb fall out of his mouth.

Oh.

Humiliation burns Mack’s face.

He…all over himself. Not just in the dream. But in real life too.

Macklin, you’re too big for that, his inner Dada chastises him.

Such a baby, Mack, Aiden teases him for wetting his bed, just like he used to.

Uh, now what?

Mack’s brain is still fuzzy with sleep, but, even if it wasn’t, Mack’s not really good at using their washing machine– Will usually does their laundry. He sits up and stares at the wet stain on the pajamas Will got for him, feels shame race icy-hot through his veins as he realizes he’s going to need to wake Will up. Mack rubs uselessly at his eyes as the hot tears threaten to spill down his red cheeks.

He tries to tug off the sheets, but he’s not sure what he’s doing and his brain is still little, and he need- he needs-

“Will,” Mack whimpers, sniffling.

Mack pads over to Will’s room, feeling all squirmy in the dark. 

“Will,” Mack says and gently shakes his best friend. It’s dark. He didn’t want to turn on the lights, too embarrassing.

“Wh- what is it, Mack?” Will says when he startles awake, reaches for him.

“Sorry” is all Mack says as he reaches for Will too, reaches for warmth and comfort.

And even though Mack knows he’s still wet and icky, he crawls up into Will’s big, strong arms anyways; Will pulls him in immediately, no hesitation with a gentle “shhhh, what’s wrong, baby? What’s wrong?” But Mack is beyond words, can’t admit what he just did. It’s too humiliating to say. Mack just wants to be little and held.

“M sorry,” Mack repeats as the hot tears finally spill down his cheeks. Will’s here. Mack can let go.

He rests his head onto Will’s shoulder. Because as ashamed as Mack is, he knows Will’s going to make it all better now.

“Sorry for what? What’s wrong?” Will asks as he reaches over to flick on his bed light.

Will looks down at him, at the wet stain on Mack’s pajamas, and goes silent. Realizes.

“Didn’t mean to, promise. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“Sh, Macky,” Will says as he rubs his back, pulls Mack in closer. “Nothing’s wrong, it’s all okay, baby.”

Baby.

I’m still his baby.

“Was an accident,” Mack confesses into Will’s neck, and he knows he’s not in trouble, but he feels like he is anyway. He’s holding his breath as he wipes the tears on Will’s shirt, clutching onto him, waiting for Will to scream at him, tell Mack that he’s too old to be wetting his bed. That he’s not allowed to play hockey anymore if he does.

Instead, Will holds Mack, keeps rubbing his back in soothing circles, and says, “I’m sorry, Macky. It’s on me. I shouldn’t have let you go to sleep alone, not when you’re like this.”

“‘M not bad?”

“Of course not,” Will repeats and kisses him on top of his head. “You’re so good, Macky.”

I’m still good, Mack realizes, warmed by the thought, and he presses his damp cheek up into the softness of Will’s neck, loving the feeling of skin to skin.

Mack closes his eyes and allows himself be held and comforted, something that was denied to him all those years ago. When he was five and woke up after peeing himself, his Dada had been mad at him. Screamed at him. Mack flinches at the memory and buries himself closer to Will, finding there the softness and warmth that he wasn’t allowed.

“I’m good,” Mack mumbles, even though he still feels all sticky and wet. But it’s okay because he’s still good. 

Will runs a big hand up and down Mack’s back and reassures him, “You are, Macky. You didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I know you didn’t mean to. You’re just a baby– couldn’t help it, could you?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Mack agrees and presses a grateful kiss to Will’s neck.

Will is silent for a moment like he’s thinking about something. He just holds Mack to him, rocking him a little, and then presses a kiss to his hair likes he’s decided-

“I’m going to take of this. Are you going to let me?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Okay, here’s what’s going to happen– I’m going to change you, okay? Can you help me with that?”

“M’okay,” Mack says simply, thumb pressed to his bottom lip, just wanting to stay curled up here in the safety of Will’s arms, where everything’s okay. Even if he is still uncomfortable in his wet undies and ruined pajamas.

Will rewards him with another kiss to his head, runs a soothing hand up and down Mack’s back as he keeps going: “First, we get changed, then put the bedsheets in the laundry, and then we can go back to bed again. Together.”

“Together,” Mack repeats, relieved. “And- and can I go to bed with you after?”

“Yes, of course,” Will says as he helps him get up and get changed out of his wet clothes. He dresses Mack in Will’s dry clothes, and Mack likes that. He feels nice and safe and clean with Will’s scent hugging him.

“There,” Will says as he smoothes the new sleep shirt over Mack, resting his hand low on Mack’s belly. “All better.”

“All better,” Mack agrees and hiccups.

He looks down at where Will is still resting his hand on Mack’s tummy; he looks up and catches a different expression in Will’s eyes. 

“Will?” Mack asks, and he watches Will flush and pat Mack’s core before ripping his hand away.

“All better, let’s go do the laundry, okay?”

“Okay,” Mack says as he obediently pads after Will, trying his best to help him with the covers, but Will tells him “it’s okay; I got it, baby. Don’t need to worry about anything,” so Mack just watches Will load the sheets into their washer.

Mack hugs himself, swaying back and forth as he hiccups and waits for Will to be done.

“All done?”

“All done,” Will confirms and opens up his arms with a gentle, “Come here.”

Mack immediately buries himself back into the safety of Will’s open arms, allowing himself to be held. Mmmm.

Will supports the weight of Mack’s body and mummers soft words that sound like “there we go, all better, all better, Macky; I’m going to take such good care of you. Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take care of everything. You don’t ever need to be embarrassed. I got you…Dada’s got you.”

And Mack gratefully leans into Will as he kisses his neck with a grateful– “Thank you, Dada.”

But thinks to himself— better than Dada. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Mack. I like taking care of you,” Will reassures him.

Yeah, much better.

And Mack makes a wounded little noise, something like a whimper as he lets the comfort wash over him.

“Why?”

And Will thinks about it for a minute before he finally says, “I don’t know. I just do. Because I…you’re my baby, right?”

Oh, right.

For a moment he thought Will was going to say something else. 

“‘M sorry for not letting you take care of me,” Mack apologizes. “Wanted you to.”

He had wanted those hot cocoa and kisses so badly.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry for not coming to get you,” Will says softly, and his hands linger on the small of Mack’s back. “You know I love you, right?”

That’s it. That’s what he’d wanted to hear. 

“I know,” Mack says but he shivers with something he’s not sure what. Because he remembers Will just standing there, gazing at Mack after he’d changed him. Mack’s aware somewhere in the back of his brain that most best friends don’t do this. They don’t take care of one another the way that Will and Mack do. 

Mack replays the ‘I love you’ and wonders how Will had meant it. Like the way that his real Dada and Aiden loves him? Or different? Somehow Mack knows that it’s different.

“Love you too,” Mack finally says because he knows that’s what Will’s waiting to hear, and he shifts and feels that Will’s hard against his leg. Oh. Mack hadn’t expected that. It’s okay, of course, that happens, sometimes.

Doesn't mean anything. 

Especially since it’s been months of living together and neither of them are pulling girls, neither of them are swiping on dating apps, neither of them even mention it.

Back in bed, Will lets Mack cuddle up onto his chest; Mack happily tucks his face into the familiar crook of Will’s neck. Mh. Heaven. He can feel that Will’s still hard, and Mack’s breath quickens as he shifts against it, pressing his own half-hard bulge against Will’s.

Mack works his thumb into his mouth, closes his eyes, and lazily shifts his hips, fucking himself down into Will. He hears Will’s breath hitch in his ear.

“My baby,” Will simpers, syrupy-sweet, as he curls his hand around the nape of Mack’s neck and squeezes.

He loves me, Mack thinks to himself as he works his finger in and out of his mouth, loving that Will never gets mad at him for sucking it, never makes fun of him. Will loves him. Holds him. Cleans up Mack’s wet face. Takes care of him. Always takes care of him. On the ice, off the ice. Everywhere. Will gives him permission to be like this– to be his little baby.

“Wuv you,” Mack says wetly around his thumb.

Mack shifts his hips, pressing their bulges together through their clothes, and Will presses back, meeting Mack’s thrusts, allowing him to take his pleasure. Mack shivers at the electricity of rubbing off on one another.

Will squeezes the nape of Mack’s neck and whispers, “I love you more. Going to take care of you for a long time, Macky. You don’t even have to ask. I’ll take care of you. No matter what.”

Mack feels something inside him tighten at the words, cock twitching against Will’s bigger cock, and he sucks down around his thumb, drooling on it a little, whining from the goodness. Tears sting his eyes as he ruts, seeking release.

Will’s thumb rubs his neck and his voice rumbles in Mack’s ear with a gentle, “That’s it…come on, baby. That’s it. Just let go. Let go for me.”

”But- but I’m gonna make a mess,” Mack whines, even as he keeps moving his hips, keeps getting closer and closer to-

“That’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Mack feels tears spill down his red cheeks: “Don- don wanna make a mess.”

Will kisses his forehead and promises, “It’s okay I want you to.”

Ah, Mack exhales noisily around his wet thumb, and he shifts his hips one last time. He lets himself make a big mess, lets himself wet his undies again. Because Will told him that he wants him to. He wants him to make a big mess. He’s allowed, allowed to feel good, allowed to release, let it all out.

Because Will-

Because Dada said he could. 

“There you go, baby; there you go, Macky, let it all out,” Will soothes him through his orgasm, and Mack hiccups around his thumb as he feels his cock pulse one last time.

“‘M sticky again, Dada,” Mack whines, red-cheeked, even as he feels that Will is still moving under him, seeking his own release.

“Give me a minute baby, okay? Going to make it all better in a minute,” Will pants into his ear as he shifts under him, grinding his own hard-on into the wet stain in Mack’s sweats. “Love- ah, love taking care of you, so much. Fuck, feels so good. Making it all better for you. Love cleaning you up, love- I love you. Iloveyousomuch, loveyousomuch.”

And Mack obediently holds still, cock twitching again in his spent undies as he feels Will cumming against him, using Mack’s body weight and bulk to finish all over himself.

Mack kisses Will’s red cheek after he’s done: “Thank you, Dada.”

“For- for what?”

“For taking such good care of me,” Mack says and means it, settling happily into the crook of Will’s neck. His home. Where he belongs.

“And- and can we have hot cocoa tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, course, and chocolate pancakes with maple syrup?”

“Mh, and chocolate pancakes,” Mack agrees as he gets his thumb back into his mouth.

Mack’s soothed by the thought– even if I regress by accident, Will’s always going to take good care of me.