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“Jack?” Bitty’s voice rang out through the empty complex, reverberating off the smooth tile walls and down the hall. “Tater said you were still back here and—oh lord!” he gasped as he walked through the door. “Why are you naked!?”
Jack felt heat rising in his cheeks, embarrassment sweeping over him with a swiftness one wouldn’t expect given their year-long relationship. Bitty had seen him naked now on many an occasion—both intimate and otherwise—but Jack’s modesty still couldn’t allow for any comfort in his current situation and he shifted, attempting to cover more of himself with the tiny towel he’d been so graciously left with.
“I mean, I know this is a locker room, sweetheart, but… What is that?” Bitty questioned, voice raising another octave as his eyes fell on the garish tinfoil object resting in Jack’s stall. As he moved closer Jack shuffled, unsure if he should be hiding himself or his new trophy from Bitty’s discerning eyes.
“Uh, hi, Bits,” Jack managed after a moment, inching his way into Bitty’s direct line of sight. He noticed the duffle slung around Bitty’s shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief, the sharp edge his nerves had been honed to over the last twenty minutes softening. “Thank you for bringing my bag.”
Bitty’s eyes darted up to meet Jack’s and a small wrinkle furrowed his brow, brown gaze ever observant and intimately acquainted with every one of Jack’s idiosyncrasies as he took him in. “You’re welcome,” he responded simply.
It was evident Bitty knew he was uncomfortable, despite not knowing the reason why. It showed in Bitty’s immediate change in demeanor, the way he forgot all about whatever else was in the room and focused on Jack and Jack alone. The open and artless expression that Jack had fallen in love with suffused his features, ready to wrap Jack up in the kind of comfort and love and acceptance that felt like home. A home he’d realized long ago he’d been chasing all his life.
“Jack. Honey.” Bitty’s voice broke through the light ringing in his ears. “What happened? Is everything okay?”
Jack took a steadying breath, held it deep within his lungs until all the oxygen was gone, then exhaled, glassy eyes focusing on the man before him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry, Bits.”
Bitty took a tentative step forward and Jack nodded, granting silent permission for him to close the gap and fold Jack in his arms, hands stroking a soothing pattern along the bare expanse of his back. Jack hesitated for only a moment, the desire to curl himself around Bitty’s smaller body stronger than his need to hold the towel—and along with it the last shreds of his dignity—in place, and his fingers came up to scrape through the short hair at the nape of Bitty’s neck.
They held each other for a time, gently breathing the cool recycled air as it filtered through the vents and bit at Jack’s naked skin, making the heat radiating off Bitty seem all the warmer.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on, hun?” Jack’s skin prickled under the flush of Bitty’s humid exhalation. “Or we could get you dressed first.”
“No just, stay here. Please,” he requested, unable yet to face Bitty without the burn of embarrassment creeping back up his neck.
“Sure thing, honey.”
Jack squeezed Bitty a little tighter, screwing up his courage as he tamped down the last of his nerves.
“The guys were playing a joke on me,” he began, trying and most likely failing for lighthearted amusement. “Stole my clothes—well, all the clothes—and towels while I was in the shower. And I can’t just, go out there, and try to find anything. I know George is around today and some of the PR people were here earlier…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty sighed, unable to hide the bit of amusement Jack could feel plainly pressed against his chest in the form of a crooked pair of smiling lips.
“Which is why I asked for my spare bag,” he clarified unnecessarily. “I just hoped I’d caught you before you’d left.”
“My phone pinged right when I was leaving. Lucky for you I always check it.” Bitty hugged him reassuringly, the self-deprecating chirp a long-running joke between them. Jack chuckled, for once thankful for his boyfriend’s obsessive phone habits.
“I think they thought it’d be funny to leave me stranded here. Especially with you coming to pick me up.”
“Is that why Tater and Snowy’re hangin’ out front?”
Jack groaned. “Of course they are…”
A quiet minute passed before Bitty spoke again.
“Okay, but that doesn’t explain whatever the thing in you stall is.”
“That’s been their running gag all week,” Jack explained, exasperation dripping heavy with every word.
Bitty shifted a little and Jack allowed it, his heart speeding up in bashful trepidation.
“Is that supposed to be the Stanley Cup?”
“Yes.”
“Well they did a horrible job of it.” Jack almost laughed at Bitty’s overly apparent distaste.
“Tater’s never been one for arts and crafts.”
“I’ve seen the Falcs videos,” he responded, still not impressed. “What does the plaque say?”
Jack pursed his lips, ears pinking as Bitty leaned closer to the homemade trophy, and braced himself for the worst part of it.
“‘World’s Greatest Pie Eater’?” Bitty read out, incredulous. “Is that a euphemism?”
A bark of laughter escaped Jack this time, bright and unexpected, and then Bitty was giggling, burrowing back into the crook of Jack’s arm as they shook together, the absurdity of the whole ordeal made anecdotal now that the tension had come and passed.
“Probably is, now that you mention it,” Jack conceded through a toothy smile.
“So, your teammates made you this lovely trophy,” Bitty began, mischief floating in the lilt of his voice. “Then they steal your clothes and wait outside while your boyfriend walks in, unsuspecting.”
“That seems to be the long and short of it,” Jack said, curious as to where Bitty was taking this.
Bitty pulled back and looked up at Jack, his impish grin a delight and oh-so-sinful.
“You wanna give them what they came for, sugar?”
~*~