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It’s pouring by the time the plane finally lands at Dulles and ejects them onto the tarmac, and no matter how fast Sasha moves, or how much stuff the dry cleaners have sprayed on his suit, he’s soaked by the time he gets to his car, his hair plastered wet to his forehead like he never dried off before he got dressed after his post-game shower.
He rubs his hand across his face, wiping excess water away. He’s considering shaking his head like one of his dogs when the back door opens and a heavy bag thunks into the seat, slamming shut seconds before Philipp flings himself into the passenger seat next to Sasha.
He’s soaked through as well, maybe more wet than Sasha, because Sasha didn’t have to waste time standing in the rain to throw his bag in the back seat. Sasha doesn’t even complain when Philipp reaches out to adjust the temperature to be warmer. Sasha’s pretty sure it was spring when they left DC, but it’s definitely not now.
Philipp huffs a laugh without Sasha having to say anything out loud. Sasha reaches out and links their fingers together. Touching Philipp sends a wave of warmth through him that drives out the cold that’s started to settle into his bones between the cold and the rain.
Sasha can’t explain it, and he never would have expected it. Everyone expects him to be soul-bonded to Backy - even he kind of expected it for a while, but it never happened. And Sasha loves Backy, truly, but it just isn’t like that. Sasha can’t control what his soul wants, and his soul is intertwined with a German goaltender who, by whatever twist of fate, has been on the ice for so many of his major milestones.
In spite of their soaked clothes, Philipp is half asleep when Sasha pulls into a service station, and he lifts his head from where he has it resting against the window, surprised.
“Fuel light,” Sasha says, squeezing Philipp’s hand once before letting go and cutting the engine. “Think warm thoughts for me.”
Philipp laughs sleepily and runs a hand over his hair, which is drying in strange spikes around his face. There’s an awning keeping the rain from re-soaking whatever parts of Sasha have dried, and while the tank fills, Sasha zones out, letting the low hum of Philipp’s thoughts fill his brain instead of his own. It’s been good for him, having Philipp - it’s made things easier to take when they haven’t gone the way he’s wished they would, even when he’s worried that Philipp won’t always be there.
It would have been easier, if it had been Backy with his ten year contract and a no move clause. Instead it’s a backup goaltender who would be any other team’s starter, and year-by-year extensions offered to a restricted free agent. But nothing Sasha has ever done has been easy. Well, except for playing hockey.
Being connected to Philipp is easy.
The pump clicks and Sasha puts it back and gets back into the car. It’s still warm inside, thankfully, because the cold outside has made his wet clothes feel worse. He starts the car again, glad the heat blows warm. Once he’s got the car in gear, Philipp’s fingers reach out and wrap around his, warm against his cold skin.
The rest of the drive home is quiet, Sasha’s techno muted and mixed with the soft sound of the windshield wipers and the rain. They’re safe from the rain in Sasha’s garage, and Philipp leaves his bag in the laundry room and follows Sasha upstairs to bed.
Sasha turns on only the lamp at his bedside, familiar enough with his own home to walk through his bedroom without crashing into things, and Philipp is familiar enough with Sasha to be able to follow him without tripping over or stepping on dog toys. Both Philipp and Sasha strip out of their suit jackets, and Sasha sits on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes, in spite of the dampness of his clothes.
Philipp comes to the side of the bed, and stands between Sasha’s knees and reaches out, tugging Sasha’s tie loose before making fast work of the buttons down the front of Sasha’s dress shirt. Sasha pops his cufflinks off, and Philipp takes them from him and reaches out to put them on the nightstand before pushing Sasha’s shirt off his shoulders, leaning down and pressing his mouth against Sasha’s bare skin, damp and cool where it stretches over his collarbone.
Sasha tugs Philipp’s shirt out of his pants and slips his hands underneath and around, slides his hands into the back of Philipp’s pants and pulls him forward, pulling their bodies flush together. Sasha feels the warm rush of desire filling the connection between them, and Philipp can’t keep his mouth on Sasha’s skin at that close range. He raises his head instead, pressing his mouth to Sasha’s as Sasha tips his head back.
Both of them are wet through to their underwear, and nothing’s going to dry out where they leave it discarded on the floor, but those are worries for the morning. In the present, Sasha’s naked body pins Philipp’s to the bed, skin still damp and clammy but getting warmer by the second.
Sasha has never enjoyed the sound of someone gasping his name so much, the way his name sounds in Philipp’s accent when his voice has gone rough. Their native languages are different, but inside their heads, it doesn’t matter. What doesn’t get said out loud - what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling, especially when they’re this close - is all laid bare to each other.
In the morning, Sasha wakes up with Philipp’s arm thrown across his stomach, even if Philipp himself is face-down into Sasha’s pillows. He traces his fingers down Philipp’s bare skin.
“Do you want to go and get breakfast?” Sasha asks. He’s not entirely sure that he’s said it out loud, but Philipp makes a noise, then shifts closer to Sasha. Sasha’s pretty sure the answer is yes, but Philipp is also not making any effort to get out of bed. “Go get in the shower?” Sasha suggests.
“Go get me coffee?” Philipp suggests. Sasha should honestly know better than to think that he’d ever get Philipp out of bed on the first try.
Sasha ruffles up Philipp’s already disastrous hair and then rolls out of bed, heading downstairs. He’ll make coffee, they’ll go to breakfast, then they’ll pick up the dogs. He feels the happiness of Philipp’s agreement filtering through to him as he thinks about it.
He’d consider it an off day well spent.