Chapter Text
the first time they kissed was an emotional rollercoaster.
it was trevor’s idea, as everything was, but he couldn’t really be blamed. jamie was just sitting there, cross-legged on the other side of the bed from trevor, and he was in his boxers and a team hoodie, looking so inviting and warm. he was fiddling with something on his phone-- the wordle, judging by the way his tongue was peeking out from between his lips in concentration and he had a little furrow in his brow.
he and max were in an intense competition over wordle, waking up at ungodly times in the morning to solve them as soon as the website was updated. (trevor suspected that max was just typing five green square emojis into the group chat every morning to fake his scores, because nobody gets that many on the first try).
“what’s a five letter word that has ‘y,’ ‘c,’ and ‘n’ in it?” jamie asked, shoving his phone in trevor’s face. he looked legitimately desperate.
“i can’t help you. that’d be cheating.” trevor waved his phone away, even if he’d already googled the word a few hours ago. jamie was close, anyway, he’d already guessed ‘cyans.’ trevor had faith in him. “you’ll get it, though,” he said, already going back to watching game tape on his laptop.
“that was the least enthusiastic cheerleading ever.” jamie frowned.
“it ends with a c.”
“you said you weren’t gonna help.” jamie grinned, typing furiously for a moment before his face split back into a victorious grin.
“i lied.”
“thanks.” jamie crawled up the bed until he was a few inches from trevor’s face, breathing onto his cheek. trevor went stock still and pretended he wasn’t staring at the miles and miles of exposed skin, the little mole a few inches above jamie’s knee, or the sun-spots he was getting, because he wasn’t. he turned his gaze resolutely back to the screen, willing the beginnings of an emotional and physical hard-on away. fortunately enough, it melted while he re-watched brendan lemieux bite brady tkachuk’s bare hand.
“what would you do if that happened to you?” jamie asked, turning his entire body to face trevor as if they weren’t two inches away from each other.
“i guess i never really considered it before,” trevor shrugged, still watching. brady was staring in comical disbelief between lemieux’s mouth and the tooth marks on his palm, like he had yet to connect the dots. jamie gave a contemplative hum.
“what if i bit you? just, like, in the middle of a fight, and then bam. teeth.”
“first of all, we don’t fight,” trevor pointed out, “second of all, you have full-on fangs, so it would hurt like a bitch.” third of all, it’d be kinda hot, but he left that point unsaid. jamie hummed again, and they watched in silence for a few more minutes before he shifted even closer, just watching the side of trevor’s face. kind of like he was expecting something to happen just by staring hard enough. trevor turned his head about three degrees, because if he turned it any further they’d be nose-to-nose. jamie’s eyes looked a lot bigger and bluer from this close up, practically begging for trevor to kiss him. maybe trevor was seeing what he wanted to see, though.
he was never one for self-control. he rushed forward, not that there was much ground to cover, and just pressed his mouth to jamie’s, quick, quick, quick. it was sweet; jamie tasted like the rest of the tiramisu he’d had for breakfast, and that definitely wasn’t included in the meal plan.
“you ate the rest of the tiramisu?” trevor accused, pulling back about a millimeter. jamie fixed him with a watery glare, effect lost due to the way he already looked dazed, even if they’d only been kissing for a few seconds.
“don’t tell hamp,” jamie mumbled, and then they both leaned together again. trevor barely slid his hand onto jamie’s hip, pushing his hoodie up a bit.
he pulled away, after a long moment, or maybe it was a year. jamie’s eyes were wide and fixing him with a nervous, doe-eyed look that gave trevor a bit of a god complex (as if he hadn’t had one before). he was shockingly pretty, in a boyish sort of way that trevor had never even noticed before.
“i don’t like boys,” trevor said, and watched jamie’s expression go through the five stages of grief before settling distinctly on depression. jesus christ, why did he say that. trevor wanted to punch himself in the kidney. “like, habitually, i mean. fuck, dude, i didn’t mean it like--”
“um,” jamie said, getting up from trevor’s bed. his hoodie was still riding up his waist and trevor had to perform an impressive amount of self-restraint to keep from lunging off of the bed after him and biting the pale strip of skin on his hip. “thanks for letting me know, i guess. sorry.” he shuffled out of the room, still just in the hoodie and his cliche heart-print boxers, and trevor wanted to hire a hitman for himself. jamie had had the courtesy to shut the door behind him, but it made trevor feel like he was in timeout. he probably was.
--
the second time wasn’t much better, and jamie was still grumpy afterwards.
trevor had been aiming for the apple of his cheek but miscalculated. he ended up pressing his lips to his cheekbone, feeling it surprisingly shallow under the skin. he pulled away and looked at it for a moment while jamie was still stunned, frozen with his toothbrush still halfway to his mouth.
“have you been eating enough?” he asked, and jamie fixed him with a glare very similar to the first time they’d kissed, also similarly watered down by the toothpaste bubbles sort of dribbling down his chin.
“is this your weird way of staging an intervention?” he asked, looking at the tip of trevor’s nose like he did when he was lying and didn’t want to make eye contact.
“intervention for what? why would you need an intervention?” trevor asked, worriedly poking his cheek, and jamie shuffled his bare feet on the tile.
“it’s just the diet. and quit that,” jamie ducked away and went back to dutifully brushing his tongue. trevor squinted at him through the mirror. “quit it,” jamie said, unusually shifty under trevor’s gaze. trevor just looked harder, of course, and jamie bumped his hip on his way out.
“hurry up, or we’ll be late.”
/
they both play startlingly bad, like, genuinely, shockingly bad. not that they’d forgotten how to play, everything just felt distinctly disconnected. out of wack. max fixed them with a look that said a thousand words before they went home, and they both disappeared into their separate rooms.
trevor and jamie usually needed about an hour to themselves after a bad game to get out of their moods. trevor’s mood is one of the i-will-not-hesitate-to-throw-a-tantrum-if-you-even-approach-me varieties, where he stays holed up in his room more to keep himself in than keep other people out. jamie usually sulks like a normal person, drifting around the house from the kitchen to the couch in a precise routine of eating cold ravioli that he’s too lazy to microwave and taking excellent naps.
jamie, while he’d sulk, reminded trevor quite a bit of the spirit with no face from spirited away, haunting the lower floor with his fluffy black blanket cocooned around himself. trevor doesn’t so much haunt the upper floor as he does terrorize it when he’s in moods like this, feeling like he could astral project if anyone asked.
trevor was in one such mood, except amplified, like he was going to fall out of his skin and just turn into a vengeful ghost to haunt hamp’s house for the rest of time. he kicked at his mattress before remembering jamie was just downstairs, and available for him to bother.
he jumped down the stairs two at a time and hopped over the back of the couch, landing (allegedly accidentally) squarely on jamie, who’d obviously been sleeping. he made a little punched out noise and then just… fell back asleep, hip digging into trevor’s kidney and breathing straight into trevor’s ear, making him squirm. trevor stayed there, in the same position he’d landed in-- elbow at an uncomfortable angle, face-down in the couch, legs splayed around jamie’s-- for as long as he could stand it.
“i’m getting up,” he whispered, and started getting up. jamie woke up and made a humming noise that sounded, somehow, dejected. god, trevor was already in too deep if he could decipher jamie’s little hum language. he stopped halfway, holding himself up over jamie’s face, and pressed a tiny, barely there kiss to the tip of his nose.
jamie squinted up at him. trevor wouldn’t tell whether it was an i-was-sleeping-and-you-woke-me-up squint or a the-lights-are-too-bright squint, but trevor did it again and reached to turn off the lamp to avoid facing jamie’s scrunched up face, sticking his entire armpit in jamie’s face in the process.
“you stink,” jamie giggled (did boys giggle, or chuckle? trevor hated the word ‘chuckle.’ jamie definitely giggled rather than chuckled), bleary with sleep, and for a terrifying moment, trevor realized that this was more than a casual crush on a teammate. it was, admittedly, a weird time to come to that realization, but this entire… situation was weird. “off,” jamie ordered, breathless and still laughing a bit, and trevor rolled off of him and onto the floor, banging the back of his head on the coffee table.
“are you okay?” jamie asked, not even watching trevor’s incredibly theatrical reenactment of someone dying.
“hard no.”
“you’re not gonna die, though, right?” jamie asked, and that was a stupid question.
“no, baby, this is how it all ends for me.” jamie giggled again. his whole face scrunched up. trevor loved it. “i’m actually going to die, right now, right here, while you watch. it’s all going dark, jameson, there’s no light at the end of the tunnel--” jamie rolled off of the couch after him, narrowly missing the lethal corner himself, and pressed a kiss to trevor’s mouth mid-sentence. trevor stared at him for a second.
“would you look at that. i’m cured.”
“shut up,” jamie grumbled, corners of his mouth turning up a little before he forced them back down. “you’re so dramatic.”
“says you.” trevor got up and flopped onto the couch. jamie nudged his legs.
“let me up.”
“no.” jamie frowned and promptly fell on top of him. “is this, like, comfortable for you?”
“yeah,” jamie said, peering up at him. he must’ve seen trevor’s doubt on his face, because he defended himself. “i read about it, okay? it’s like, primal. or whatever.” he tucked his face down, presumably to hide, and ended up just shoving it into trevor’s armpit.
“having a good time down there, bud?”
jamie made an indiscernible noise into trevor’s skin which made him jerk, not unlike a ragdoll, and elbow jamie in the side of the neck. he made a much less pleased noise and hit trevor back, and then their impromptu cuddling session devolved into a wrestling match that only ended when hampus came downstairs and tugged jamie off of him.
“you’re going to break the couch,” he scowled, still holding jamie in place with one giant hand around the back of his neck.
“i’m innocent,” trevor said immediately, and then both of them were scowling at him.
“he started it,” jamie said, and hampus nodded. so much for friendship.
“i did not,” trevor retorted, sitting back down on the couch very stiffly if only to prove to hampus that he could sit like a normal, not unhinged, person.
“you definitely did.” hampus released jamie with a little shove and headed for the kitchen. “what d’you want for dinner?”
“i don’t really care,” trevor and jamie said at the same time.
“you two are nightmare children.”
--
trevor woke up after a long practice to someone puttering around downstairs. arming himself with a golf club from his closet, he crept downstairs, still wrapped in his blanket. even if he’d have to sacrifice a bit of mobility, at least he’d be warm while he fought off the potential burglar.
this burglar fucking sucked at their job though, because they were moving around in the kitchen with the grace of a semi truck. trevor’s confidence in his ability to fight them off immediately skyrocketed.
he rounded the corner, wielding his golf club. he found himself face-to-face with jamie, in his pajama pants with an open jar of something halfway to his mouth.
“dude,” trevor said, dropping his weapon with a violently loud thunk. jamie startled, dropping the open jar. “fuck. shit, man, uh.” trevor picked up his golf club and held very still, praying that by some miracle hampus’s dad instincts hadn’t been triggered. he could still hear him snoring. very cool. jamie was still just standing there, leaning against the counter but still swaying back and forth very slowly.
“jamie. jams. jameson, buddy.” trevor reached out and grabbed the side of jamie’s neck. he nearly jumped out of his skin, flinching backwards and snapping his eyes open all the way. jamie looked positively lost, blinking around the kitchen, then at trevor.
“let’s get you back to bed, alright?”
“i’ve got… jam everywhere,” jamie slurred, staring down at his hands.
“gross, dude. wash it off; i’m not letting you in my bed with that.”
“m’kay.” jamie shuffled over to the sink and shoved his hands under the faucet, wildly uncoordinated. “done,” he announced, nowhere near done but wiping the rest of it off on a dishcloth. the shards of glass from the jar was still on the floor, and he stared at it for a second before looking up at trevor, then the golf club in his hand, then back at the jar.
“i’ll clean it in the morning. c’mon, i’m tired. thought someone was breaking in.”
“sorry,” jamie shuffled upstairs after him, nearly tripping on the back of trevor’s comforter dragging behind him.
“does that happen a lot?”
“that was the first time i, like, woke up. so as far as i know, yeah.”
trevor made an appraising noise and waited for jamie to lay down first so that he could lay on top of him. “gotta make sure you don’t get out again.”
“i’m not, like, a dog that’s gonna tear up the pillows if you leave me alone.”
“i know. you’re just a fiend with strawberry jam, apparently.”
“it’s good. and on the diet plan,” jamie wriggled under trevor and settled down for sleep, breathing into trevor’s ear again. “g’night.”
“night,” trevor settled his hand on jamie’s hip (just as a precaution), and fell asleep.