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Summary
“Have you ever done a jimrob?” Jamie blurts, before his brain can catch up with his mouth and he can talk himself out of asking. He can feel his face heat; if he wasn’t pink before, he certainly is now.
Tyler tilts his head to the side and blinks slowly at him, but it only takes a second for the corner of his lips to quirk up and his smirk to widen, sharp and sly.
“Jameson,” he says, scooting closer until they’re pressed together shoulder to thigh. “Are you asking me if I’ve ever engaged in analingus?”
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Practice is another reassuring mix of faces Patrick knows, drills he understands, Coach’s calls from the side. It feels good, like he’s flexing muscles that had gone tired and unused while he was over in Europe. He and Jonny are put on opposite sides playing keep-away, and he feels easier and easier on the ice, his pads and helmet a familiar weight on his body. He is going to light it up this season.
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They weren't supposed to fall in love.
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And then there was Patrick, head turning, drawing Jon’s eyes in powerful magnetic flux, the slow smile dawning into a grin, and all Jon could think, as his heart burst in his chest, amidst the sound of the dagger and the cheers they hadn’t heard in far too long, was, oh. Oh.
Sometimes it takes being hit over the head with it to realize the most important things.
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“It could be nice. Right? We could get a cool house, and like, a dog. Or two, maybe. Have you seen those golf simulators? We could get one of those. And I want a pool.”
“Mack.”
Silence, thick and striking.
“Just imagine it,” Mack whispers, “Just pretend for a minute, okay? We aren’t getting married, I know, it’s fucking stupid. But just, like, pretend.”
“It’s really late, dude. We need to sleep.”
“What kind of mattress would we have?” He asks.
He can’t help it. He has to pry, he has to dig his fingers into the cracks and pull it all apart.