Work Text:
1. Emerson Etem ft. an annoyed Joe Morrow
Despite the air conditioner's best effort, the room was still uncomfortably warm. Beau could feel sweat gathering across his neck and lower back, adhering to the crisp white duvet on the hotel bed. He’d been staring at the ceiling for nearly half an hour, watching the shadows of the curtains shift lazily to and fro.
“Are you awake?”
Emerson’s stage whisper floated across the room, intoned with a sense of grogginess that had more to do with the heat than anything else. Because he was just in the mood to be a little shit, Beau whispered back a quiet, “no.”
There was a miffed scoff from the other side of the room before all fell silent again, the only noise in the room being the strained him of the air conditioning unit. After a minute or two Beau heard the rustle of sheets and knew without looking that Em had flopped over on his side to stare across the room at him.
“Are you awake now?” He asked, sticking to the same rasping whisper he’d used before.
“Maybe.” Beau replied, shifting onto his side so he could meet his friend’s gaze.
“I think I’m melting.” Em murmured, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead and beading periodically down the side of his face.
“It’s fucking hot,” Beau agreed solemnly. “It might be slightly less so if you’d take off your damn jersey.” He added, glancing pointedly toward the Ducks logo emblazoned on Em’s chest. The blonde had peeled out of his Pens jersey, albeit a bit reluctantly, the moment they’d locked the door.
“I’d sooner take off my shorts.” Emerson vowed, shimmying his way out of his black bermudas, using his foot to fling them carelessly to the floor. He sighed, slightly more comfortable as he relaxed back against the white duvet.
Looking down at his bare chest and then his friend’s cartoon heart boxers, Beau couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “Between us we’ve got one shirt, one pair of shorts, and a broken AC unit. This sounds like the start of a real cheesey gay porno.” He observed, drawing a slight chuckle out of his roommate.
“I don’t think we qualify as cheesey porno material man, we’d have to be sucking on something pretty obscene to reach that level.” Emerson muttered, rolling onto his stomach and shoving his face into one of the over stuffed pillows.
“You better love me for this.” Beau groaned, rolling off his own bed and crawling toward the room’s mini fridge. He pulled open the door and relished the soft puff of coolness that escaped, but he didn’t have time to linger. Their status as potential pornstars was on the line. Pawing past the boxes of leftovers from previous nights dinners, he delved back into the farthest recesses of the fridge and pulled free his last pineapple popsicle. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Beau hefted himself off the floor and collapsed onto Emerson’s bed.
“Dude,” Emerson whined, scrambling away from the blonde’s added body heat, “it is way too hot for you to need cuddles.”
Beau arched an amused eyebrow and pulled the wrapper open, the sound of rustling plastic providing enough incentive for his roommate to peer over his pillowed arms in mild interest. When he caught sight of the twin popsicle, his brown eyes went wide with want. “I take it back dude, cuddles all day everyday.”
Chuckling, Beau split the frozen treat with expert precision, offering one half to Emerson and keeping the second for himself. He leaned back against the headboard and the room was quiet once again, save for the rattling hum of the air conditioner and the soft slurping noises that had for sure bumped them up to cheesey porno material.
It was a blissfully sweet reprieve from the heat, that left Beau’s tongue tinged a bright yellow. He didn’t even feel guilty about caving on his diet, popsicles were like sacred, especially between two Californians with a broken AC. The Hockey Gods couldn’t possibly fault him for his lapse in self control, desperate times called for sugary measures.
“Hey,” Emerson dug his elbow into Beau’s side, squinting as he held up his depressingly bare stick. “How do pigs talk?”
“How?” Beau asked, twirling his own stick between his fingers.
“Swine-language.”
They both tried not to laugh, but the heat, coupled with a rare sugar buzz was enough to get them both to giggle maniacally at even the corniest popsicle stick jokes.
Holding out his own stick, Beau swiped at his watery eyes and tried to get a grasp on his breathing . “H-how many app-ples grown on a tree?”
“How many?”
“All of them!” Devolving into a fit of unreasonably loud laughter, Beau buried his face in Emerson’s jersey, while Emerson buried his face in his pillow, both of them trying unsuccessfully to muffle their chest heaving, breath snatching, cackles.
It wasn’t long before someone was shoving through their slightly ajar door, an annoyed Joe Morrow taking up arms with an over stuffed pillow and beating them with it until they’d managed to regain a few ounces of their composure.
“Those jokes weren't even funny!” Morrow growled, hurling the pillow at Beau’s face. His chest was heaving with the effort, cheeks flushed a bright red while sweat dripped down the expanse of his neck. “Why the fuck is your heater on?!”
“Heater?” Beau blinked owlishly, at the other blonde before slowly turning his gaze on Emerson. The brunette seemed equally flummoxed, mouth partially ajar as he glanced from the thermostat to Beau.
“Yes, your heater is cranked as high as it’ll fucking go.” Joe muttered, jabbing violently at the thermostat, presumably to correct the settings. He glanced back and took in their two baffled expressions and had to resist the serious urge to put his head through the wall.
“You two didn’t even think to check the thermostat, did you?”
Beau shook his head, sucking his bottom lips between his teeth to bite back the laugh building in his throat.
“I should have left you to roast alive.” Joe muttered, turning on his heel and striding out to peels of howling laughter that even the solid wood of a door couldn’t block out.
-----
2. Sidney Crosby ft. insightful Geno
There were certain responsibilities that came with Sid’s captaincy. Ensuring that their very new, very blonde, baby penguin didn’t freeze to death while sitting outside the rink in the February snow was definitely one of said responsibilities.
Sid knew he didn’t really have any place handing out fashion advice, but he was pretty sure that the black and gray striped hoodie that Beau was wearing wasn’t cutting it, especially considering the only other things the kid was wearing were flipflops and cargo shorts.
“Little sunshine is sick for home.” Geno supplied sagely, sidling up to Sid and hooking his chin over the smaller man’s shoulder.
“Homesick.” Sidney corrected, leaning back into Geno’s solid weight with a small frown.
“Should talk with, ” He stated firmly, giving Sid a little nudge toward the door, before shrugging out of his long overcoat and tossing it to his captain. “Cold not good for baby penguin.” Geno explained, grinning as he turned and walked toward the opposite exit.
Sid heaved a put upon sigh, the wool of Geno’s jacket soft and warm between his fingers. It was a warmth that Beau was probably in desperate need of, more so with each second he wasted dragging his feet.
Reluctantly, he shoved the door open with a bit more force than he’d intended, and when the wind caught it, it slammed into the outside wall with enough of a bang to make the blonde nearly jump out of his skin.
Beau whirled around, baby blues wide as saucers and a...popsicle in his hand?
Sid frowned, staring at the sugar ladened hunk of artificially flavored ice like it personally offended him. Beau seemed to follow his gaze and smiled guiltily, like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar, or a hockey player caught with empty calories.
“I, uh...I’ll just throw it away.” Beau clammered to his feet. Sid couldn’t help but wince at the way the kids knees scraped across the ice frosted ground while he scrambled up right. it didn’t look like he’d gotten a single lick in, and that, that was an injustice that Sid couldn’t bear to stand witness to.
“You don’t have to.” He hastened, taking a step forward to bodily block Beau from retreating inside. “I mean, you deserve a bit of a treat. You made it to the show after all, that deserves a celebration of some sort right?” Sid edged around the words, rubbing at his neck sheepishly, a tight smile on his lips. It wasn’t like him to let teammates get away with such a blatant diet cheat without serious ribbing, but he had an admitted weakness for sweets, and apparently blue eyed blondes with heartbreaking hangdog expressions.
“Do ya want half?”
Before Sidney could protest, and he did plan on protesting, Beau was snapping the twin popsicle cleanly in half and holding it out at arms length in his direction. There was a hopefulness in his eyes, a desperate craving for some sort of affirmation that always unnerved Sid. He’d never really thought of himself as someone else’s role model, as someone others would look up to. So every time one of the rookies gave him that look, the one Beau was pinning him in place with, he melted into putty.
“It’s cherry,” Beau added, a small smile on his chapped lips.
Sid blinked owlishly, glancing between the offered popsicle and Beau’s faintly trembling form. “How about a trade? You put this on,” he brandished Geno’s thick woolen overcoat, “and I’ll take that half.”
Beau considered it for a moment, as if he were actually weighing the plentiful pros and nonexistent cons to bundling up in proper winter attire. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he nodded his agreement and Sid was draping the coat around his shoulders and plopping himself down on the iced over steps. Beau joined him shortly after buttoning himself up, nearly swimming in the dark fabric of Geno’s coat.
“Weren’t you cold?” Sid asked, shoving his free hand into his pocket.
Snow was still coming down in gentle flurries, settling in a thin frosty layer across them both.
“S’not really that I’m cold, I just kinda miss the heat, ya know?” Beau stared down at his popsicle with a small frown, his eyes the very definition of wistful.
Sidney kind of understood, he trained in L.A. most summers, he knew the unforgiving wrath of the California sun like most tourists did. But more often than not it was the cold he was missing, the solid, frozen air of a true Canadian winter.
“It’s my parents too, I got called up so quick, they didn’t have time to make it up here and see me play.”
Sid felt his stomach sink as tears pooled hot and incessant behind those normally bright baby blues. In the short forty-eight hours he’d known the kid, he never seen Beau do anything but smile.
“They’ll get plenty more chances.” Sid replied gently. It wasn’t like him to be so blatantly optimistic, he knew better than to get too attached to the call-ups, seeing as they didn’t always work out. But Beau was special, the whole team knew it.
“You really think so?” Beau asked, hastily wiping at his eyes.
“Yeah kid, we’re gonna be splitting popsicles for a while. Just, maybe somewhere warmer?”
Beau chuckled, bright and happy, mumbling a soft agreement around his popsicle.
It was a relief to see that familiar grin, and Sid knew that he was already in too deep with the blonde. The guys always teased him about his ability to latch onto the rookies and coddle them, but with those rosy cheeks and a cherry stained grin, Sid never stood a chance.
-----
3. James Neal ft. naked Robert Bortuzzo
There were a lot of things that Beau had become accustomed to since moving to Pittsburgh and making the big time.
Waking up to an incessant pounding on his front door was not among those things.
Considering they were only two days into the off-season and he was still hungover on a mix of cheap wine coolers and even cheaper beer, Beau wasn’t exactly ready to deal with anyone’s antics.
Grumbling he hauled himself out of bed, stumbling out of his room and down the hall. Borts was still passed out on the couch, naked save for the artfully arranged blanket covering his junk. The pounding didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, his chainsaw like snore drowning out everything else.
Disregarding the danger posed by whoever or whatever was viciously abusing his front door, Beau yanked the solid slab of wood open, gnashing his teeth in a weak attempt at a snarl. Really he should have known better than to just fling open the entrance to his house. The PR people, Sid, and his mother had given him extensive lectures about maintaining his privacy and being weary of unexpected house calls.
But it was nine in the fucking morning on a day that Beau felt nothing earlier than one in the afternoon was acceptable to acknowledge. Whoever, whatever was banging down his door at such an ungodly hour was going to have the ever loving shit beat out of them.
James Neal toppled over the threshold, nearly kissing the hardwood floors with his ugly mug.
“Morning Sunshine.” He grinned brightly, oblivious to the way Beau was mentally dissecting him into very painful pieces.
“Nealer.” Beau growled, easing the door shut, before making a grab for an umbrella kept by the door side bin and giving the other man a few good thwacks.
“Ow, hey!” Nealer jumped, doing his best to dodge the vicious attacks. He scampered toward the living room, falling back on his butt and slapping a hand over his eyes in horror. “JESUS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW WHAT I INTERRUPTED.” He squawked, scrambling away as best he could with his ass on the floor and his eyes covered.
Beau glanced up at a very sleep rumpled looking Borts, the artfully draped blanket having fallen away and pooled at his feet when he stood. His junk was hanging about in all its exposed glory, unbeknownst to the man attached to it.
“Borts, bro, pants.” Beau muttered, gesturing to his free hanging family jewels.
Grunting noncommittally, Borts gathered the blanket at his feet and looped it around his waist like a towel, stumbling bleary eyed and still half drunk up the stairs to his room.
“Is he gone?” Nealer squeaked, clamoring to his feet, arms cast in front of him to feel along the wall as he inched toward the kitchen.
Beau let him do his best Helen Keller impression, striding ahead of him and plopping down onto one of the bar stools next to the island.
It wasn’t long before Nealer made his way in, cracking his eyes open bit by dramatic bit until he was sure there was no exposed dick within his immediate line of sight. Then he was on top of Beau, his arms thrown around the blonde’s shoulders as he nuzzled into the younger’s sleep ruffled hair.
“Oh Sunshine, I can’t believe you let Borts steal your innocence. I could have found you a much better guy to pop your butt cherry.” Nealer cooed pityingly, looking for a moment, truly horrified at the idea of Beau giving up his gay-ginity to Borts.
Beau shoved him off, with an unimpressed scoff. “I didn’t give my gay-ginity to Borts, hell I haven’t had any kind of ‘ginity’ for years. I mean, what kind of prude do you take me for?”
Watching Nealer’s jaw drop halfway to China was definitely worth the little white lie. True, his gay-ginity was long gone, but there were still a few experiences to go before his list was completely checked off.
“Whatcha want anyway Nealer, shouldn’t you be out bugging Paulie or something?” He asked, regretting it almost instantly when Nealer collapsed into the bar stool next to his own, burying his head in his arms with a mournful sigh.
“Paulie left for Minnesota yesterday, and I’m starving.” Glancing over his arm, eyes wide and lip wobbling, he was the poster child for incompetent manchildren worldwide.
“I’m sure you can cook your own eggs…in your own house, which would mean you wouldn’t be in my house, disturbing my beauty sleep” Beau muttered, shooting a pointed look at the older man..
“I can’t,” Nealer whined. “After I set my kitchen on fire, Paulie made me promise I wouldn’t cook unsupervised.”
“If I make you breakfast will you leave?” Beau asked, completely exasperated with his freakishly codependent teammate. Paul was definitely getting an earful once they were back in the same state, or even better, once his phone was finished charging. Asshole should have hired a nanny or something before he left.
Nealer nodded happily, and Beau found himself standing in front of his very empty fridge. The lunch meat was growing mold, the bread was rock hard, there was only one egg left in the carton and it was three months expired.
Great, just great.
In a fit of desperation he yanked open the freezer door, wondering what in its frozen depths could constitute breakfast. There was a frozen pizza, freezer burned lamb chops, and three dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. None of which seemed particularly appetizing.
He was about to tell Nealer that they were going to have to go out or order in when the bright yellow of a familiar box caught his attention. Grabbing hold of the flimsy cardboard, he peered inside and found exactly one, orange twin popsicle.
Orange of any sort counted as breakfast, right?
Hip checking the stainless steel doors shut, he pulled off the wrapper and snapped the popsicle in half, shoving one of said halves into Nealer’s outstretched hand.
Plopping back down in his seat, Beau watched his teammate suck consideringly on the bright orange stick of sugar and ice.
“I like Paulie’s breakfasts better.” Nealer muttered petulantly, lip jutting out in a small pout.
“You wanted breakfast, I gave you breakfast.” Beau shot back easily, munching through his own popsicle in record time, flicking the stick at Nealer’s head as he stood and arched his back in a languid stretch.
“I’m going back to bed, try not to break anything.” He warned, stalking back up to his room and face planting back into the comfort of his sheets.
When he went back downstairs around two, his tummy grumbling for lunch, Nealer was sprawled out on the living room couch, sans clothes and drooling down his chin..
Beau didn’t know what about his couch made people want to be naked, but at the same time Nealer wasn’t pestering him for food or pining over Paulie, so whatever. Naked dudes were naked dudes, bygones and bygones, and all that shit.
After throwing a blanket over his older teammate (because Paulie wouldn’t appreciate the flaunting of his boyfriend’s assets) Beau proceeded to the kitchen in search of a take out menu for that one Chinese place that had chocolate fortune cookies. He even made sure to order a few extra entrees, because if you fed a Nealer once, you had to be prepared to do it again, at least until his culinary gifted hubby returned from his northern voyage.
Fuckin Paulie.
-----
4. Eric the hot EMT ft. fully clothed Robert Bortuzzo
He didn’t mean to do it.
He didn’t even think it was possible to do it.
Stupid old sitcoms.
Beau sighed and slumped deeper into the tub, giving his big toe another wiggle. It didn’t budge, not a single itty bitty bit.
He’d been stuck for close to two hours, to say he was prune like was a severe understatement. The only upside was that he’d managed to drain the tub once and refill it, so while the water wasn’t hot, it was still decently warm.
On the counter his phone had buzzed incessantly for fifteen minutes before falling unnervingly silent. More than likely it had been his teammates wondering where he was and why he hadn’t shown up for optional skate. That was the thing, it was optional, so the chances that Borts would come rushing home before the end of practice were slim as the elapsed two hours had clearly shown.
Still it really shouldn’t have been much longer, god willing that his housemate hadn’t gone out to lunch.
Surely Borts was worried, right? Not worried enough to ditch skate, but worried enough to come home right after...right?
“Please, please for love of Tanger’s flow, let him come home.” Beau groaned, resting his head back against the cold porcelain.
Thank the Hockey Gods, because twenty minutes later he heard the shuffling of feet downstairs, and a muffled voice calling his name.
“BORTS HELP, I NEED HELP!” His shouts echoed off the tile, but his panic pitched voice did it’s job, as he heard the thundering footsteps of his housemate rushing upstairs. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation before the man came barreling through the door, busting it off its hinges and ensuring that the next paycheck Beau picked up would be going toward house repairs.
For a moment Borts just stood there, the door hanging lopsided behind him, hockey stick held aloft and ready to put a beat down on a nonexistent intruder.
“I’m stuck.” Beau, gestured toward his toe and it’s current predicament with the tub’s faucet.
Slowly the ready to kill tension slipped out of Bort’s shoulders, he lowered the stick reluctantly, as if he was still expecting some axe wielding lunatic to pop out of the linen closet. It took him a few moments to really process what Beau had told him, he glanced from the blonde’s face to his foot and back again with a look of pinched emotional constipation.
“You fucking dickwad, I thought you were like dying or some shit.” Borts gave Beau a good smack with the stick blade, leaving a bright red blooming mark on his sudsy shoulder.
“OW,” Beau jerked only to instantly regret the movement when it twisted his fairly immobile toe. “Dude, come on I’m all pruney, and freezing, and my toe hurts.” He frowned at his housemate, throwing in his patented puppy eyes for good measure.
Sure enough, Borts face softened and he set down the stick so he could lean over the tub and yank the stopper to drain it of its quickly cooling water. “You’re a fucking dork.” He muttered, pulling the fluffiest towels he could find out of the linen closet and manhandling them around the blonde until he was snuggly cocooned in their plush warmth. But as soon as Beau’s junk was covered, his phone was out and capturing the other’s shining moment for the entire team to enjoy.
“Don’t send it to Sid.” Beau begged, cringing at the mere thought of his captain’s reaction.
Borts shrugged, a small smirk on his face. “Too late, he’s on his way over.” He held his phone out to Beau so he could see the text for himself.
Call the fire department. Now. I’ll be there in twenty. Don’t post this on tweeter.
“He knows it isn’t actually called ‘tweeter’ right?”
Beau arched an unimpressed eyebrow at the question, because honestly, with Sid it was impossible to tell.
Borts eventually got around to calling the fire department, in the eight minutes it took for them to arrive, he made Beau a quick sandwich and grabbed him a popsicle, both of which were promptly delivered to the thoroughly embarrassed blonde by an undeniably attractive EMT.
“How are we doing sir? My name’s Eric.” He flashed a smile, two perfect dimples in each cheek.
Beau felt himself flush a bright, vibrant pink, from the way Borts chuckled it probably reached all the way to the tips of his ears. “Beau, Beau Bennett.” He muttered, shaking the offered hand. “I’m good as can be, considering, ya know…” he gestured meekly toward his toe.
“Well Beau, I’m just going to check your vitals to make sure we’re a’okay before cutting into that faucet to get you out.” Eric, the hottest EMT to walk the planet, proceeded to very intimately check Beau’s pulse and blood pressure, before giving the thoroughly unimpressed firefighters the thumbs up to start sawing into the faucet.
Considering the ear shattering squeal of metal against metal, Beau was sure he was gonna have to pay to replace his eardrums as well as the bathroom fixtures.
For a moment Eric and Borts disappeared from the room, only to show back up with a marker and a notebook. The EMT sat crosslegged by Beau’s head, handing him both with that soul shattering smile of his.
That way you can communicate with us, just incase they hit bone or something.
Beau glanced up at Eric, clearly panicked by the man’s hastily written explanation.
Really?
Eric glanced down at the saw and shrugged, stealing the marker from Beau’s hand.
Nah.
Beau slumped in relief, glancing down at the bread crust and slightly melted popsicle on his plate.
Do you like popsicles?
Eric arched a curious eyebrow.
Flavor?
Green Apple. Beau scrawled, doodling a little cartoon apple beside it for good measure.
Sure, oh and seeing as we’re on a first name, popsicle sharing basis, you wanna tell me how you got your toe stuck?
Beau groaned, the sound drowned out the piercing shriek of machinery. He dutifully split the bright green twin popsicle, little syrupy splatters decorating the page he’d turned to so he could write out his explanation.
I blame The Dyke Van Dyke Show.
Eric threw his head back in a laugh that Beau could barely hear, but the image would last for all eternity on every social media site known to man. Ignoring his captain’s orders, Borts tweeted the picture, Beau’s head peeking over the bath tub, his sign and leg held aloft, while a a legit Disney prince EMT sat beside him with a popsicle in hand, firemen mulling about the very end of the image, sparks flying.
When all was said and done, his toe safely removed and the emergency services released back to actual emergencies, Beau’s only consolation was the popsicle stick he found tucked into the notebook, covered in familiar handwriting.
The next time you feel like being Laura, I’ll be Rob.
When he flipped it over, Eric’s number was scrawled across the back.
-----
5. Olli Maatta ft. Daddy Duper
As much as he griped and groaned about it, Beau actually kind of liked being the resident blonde puppy on the team. He liked that Pascal ate breakfast with him on road trips to make sure he only drank tea or decaf, and that his waffles were always cooked to perfection and decorated only with fresh fruit. He liked the way Geno ruffled his hair, how Craig lent him books, and Flower left him pieces of candy in his stall or on his airplane tray, one treat for every assist, and two for every goal.
But most of all he liked being cuddled, and while Pascal’s cuddles were fantastic, Sid’s were the best. Beau took obscene amounts of pleasure in being able to defy Sid’s ‘no touchy’ attitude and snuggle into his side until his loving captain got with the program enough to massage his scalp and his neck until he fell asleep.
Sid cuddles were the best cuddles, and Beau wasn’t ready to share them, especially not with some doe eyed, blonde, Finn.
“Careful, you’re jealousy is showing.”
Beau didn’t even hesitate before punching Nealer in the shoulder, earning a high pitched whine of pain from the man.
Paulie glanced up from the cookbook he was highlighting and sticky-noting, clearly unimpressed with their antics. “Nealer, stop antagonizing Sunshine. You wouldn’t like it if you had to share your favorite toys either.” He chided, earning an indignant squawk from his lover.
“He took my seat.” Beau muttered under his breath, eyes steadfastly focused on the gaps between the headrests so he could see Olli and Sid reading quietly side by side.
“Technically he took Flower’s seat, and if Flower opts to stretch out then it’s Geno’s seat.” Nealer pointed out.
“Yeah well after Geno opts to sit with your sorry ass, it’s my seat. Especially when I managed to rack up two assists and a goal of my own.” Beau grumbled, toying with the four little hershey’s kisses on his tray.
“For the love of god!” Flower crowed from a couple rows back. “Duper deal with the children.” He ordered. Judging from the subsequent cry of pain, Duper hadn’t taken kindly to the command. However the next sound were footfalls coming up the aisle and before Beau could scramble out of reach the older man had a hold on the back of his hoodie and was hauling him out of his seat.
Beau tried to dig his heels in, he was a hockey player after all, it took a lot to move him. But Duper was well versed in the ways of stubborn kids, and a quick pinch to his ear had the blonde shuffling along obediently.
“Sid, go sit with Geno.”
Sid looked up from his book, clearly puzzled by the request, and the fact that Duper had Beau by the scruff of his hoodie like a suitably chastised puppy.
“The kids need some time to work out the fact that Daddy has enough time for the both of them, and that they can indeed get along.” Duper explained, shifting his grip to haul Sid out of his chair and shove him toward Geno, as Paulie had dutifully wrangled Nealer into the seat beside him.
“Sit.”
Because one did not simply ignore Duper’s direct ‘dad’ orders, Beau sat.
Duper smiled smugly, chasing down one of the stewardess and returning with a bright purple popsicle. “Play nice, or you aren’t getting your chocolates back.” He warned, setting the popsicle on Beau’s tray before striding back down to his own seat.
Glancing over, Beau found a pair of wide eyes staring over the top of a book at him. He nodded once in acknowledgment, working the wrapper of the popsicle and wondering vaguely if the team just kept them stocked for him. Once Olli had noticed him looking back, he brought his book further up in an attempt to hide behind it.
Beau was tempted to let him, but he really wanted his chocolate kisses back, he’d earned them.
“Do you like grape?” He asked, snapping the popsicle right down the middle with practiced ease.
Olli slowly lowered his book, glancing between Beau and the sugary treat with clear confusion, before offering a slow nod.
Without asking, Beau shoved one half into the other blonde’s hand. They ate in silence for a while, playing a few games of tic-tac-toe on the backs of drink napkins.
When they were done, Olli glanced uneasily at Beau before picking his book up once more. Upon closer inspection, Beau realized why exactly he was so fascinated with it, he was reading the first Harry Potter.
“You like fantasy books?” Beau asked, genuinely curious.
“My English is good, but Mama say there is always room for improvement. Geno let me borrow, him and Sid are on the fourth one.” Olli explained, slow measured sentences, almost like he was afraid Beau would judge him for his accented and fragmented speech.
“It’s one of my favorites.” Beau agreed, offering a small smile.
“It is good, but some of the words are hard.” Olli admitted, a bit of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
“Well how about you read, and I’ll help when you get stuck. Win, win.” Beau suggested, leaning over his tray and decorating his bare popsicle stick with pen doodles of wands and witches hats.
Despite the occasional stumble on words like forbidden and Slytherin, Olli actually did pretty well, his reading glasses perched on his nose and his finger moving across the page to keep his place.
“Uni-” Olli paused, and Beau glanced up, the silence a clear indicator that his story teller was stuck. Glancing over, he nodded in sympathy, it was a pretty odd word.
“Unicorn.” He supplied, before turning back to his art project.
When Olli failed to keep going, he glanced back up, the confusion clear on his face. “What is a unicorn?” He asked, doe eyes darting toward Beau.
Beau blinked, unsure of how to really explain the concept of a mythical horse creature with a pointed spire jutting out of its cranium to someone whose first language wasn't his own.
“Uh...like this,” he held the popsicle stick he’d been doodling up to his forehead and did his best impression of a whinny, a blush rising in his cheeks once he realized the other guys could see and hear the entire exchange.
Thankfully, comprehension dawned quickly across Olli’s face, and he was gracious enough not to laugh at Beau’s explanation. “Oh is, yksisarvinen.” He replied with a that small smile he got whenever he understood something new.
Well, Beau didn’t know enough (or any) Finnish to say otherwise. “Yeah that,” he agreed, earning an amused snort from Jussi who was sitting across the aisle.
If they spent an hour working their way through one chapter, well the only reason they stopped was because everyone else was asleep.
“Here,” Beau offered his generously doodled on popsicle stick to his fellow blonde puppy. “You can use it as a book mark.” He suggested, biting back a smile when Olli actually slid it between the pages to keep his place as he carefully shut the novel.
“Should do this again, next plane ride.” Olli added, his smile bright and hopeful.
“For sure, and then when we finish we can watch the movie.” Beau agreed, reaching up to turn off the overhead light.
Turned out Olli was pretty good at snuggling too, not quite as good as Sid, but still way better than Nealer.
Somewhere towards the back of the plane, Flower grumbled quietly in French before forking over a fifty to Duper. He really should have known better than to doubt the man’s parenting prowess.
-----
+1. Matt Niskanen ft. his own stupidity
Beau found out like most people did.
His phone pinged.
It pinged and with a swift swipe of his thumb his world tilted precariously. Because somewhere between the warm chirps and gentle ribbing, between the thrilling wins and crushing losses, he’d fallen in love with Matt. He’d fallen in love with the way he smiled, the way his hair stuck up at odd angles in the morning, and the way he held steady when everything started going to shit.
Matt was solid, strong, grounded.
Matt was gone.
Beau stood there for a minute or two, staring down at the alert on his phone, willing it to change. But the screen dimmed and eventually darkened, only to light up again with a text so cliche it drew a bitter laugh from between his lips.
We should talk :(
Yeah they really should have talked, before the deal, before he had to find out on the fucking internet that his boyfriend was not only no longer a part of his team, but also signed by the fucking Caps.
Nothing to say. Beau shot back, with a cruel lack of emojis.
He watched the little bubble pop up, letting him know that Matt was typing a response on the other side of the line. One minute passed and the bubble disappeared, whatever words Matt had been looking for couldn’t be found.
It was the last text they shared that summer.
Sid didn’t press for answers, just ruffled his hair with a sad smile.
Olli bought him a box set of Harry Potter DVDs, and spent three days fully clothed on his couch while they marathoned one after the other, along with all the cast commentaries and deleted scenes.
Borts didn’t even ask, just showed up with beer, doritos, and an arm to cuddle under.
His team was gracious.They let him sulk like a petulant teenager, like it was the first time he’d had his heart smashed into pieces. And maybe it was, maybe it was the first time packing up someone else’s hoodies and CDs made his stomach ache with loneliness, or the first time he woke up and reached across the empty bed and cried because the other half of the sheets were perfectly made and cool to the touch.
But it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter.
Money and politics were all just part of the game. People left, some came back, Matt didn’t.
So Beau did what he had to, he boxed up the other man’s memories, hiding away the little bits and pieces of Matt that lingered long after he’d gone.
By the time the first week of November rolled around, the thought of going to Washington, of seeing him on the other side of the ice, it barely even hurt.
At least it didn’t, not until he was ass over teakettle in the second, crumpled against the ice with the wind knocked out of him and his lungs seizing with the need for oxygen. Matt had hit him, had put him down on the ice hard enough to make his eyes sting with involuntary tears.
Over his desperate mewling gasps for air, he could hear Borts shouting, Matt’s strangled voice garbled and warped by the roaring in his ears.
As quickly as it happened, it ended. Air rushed past his lips and Beau hacked out a few wheezing coughs, slumping against Chris’ shoulder, the trainer muttering quiet reassurances while he rubbed slow circles across the blonde’s back.
“You okay kid, anything else hurt?”
Beau knew better than to lie, given the Penguin’s history, hiding injuries was a crime punishable by Sid’s all consuming wrath.
“My neck, back, I might’ve blacked out for a second or two.” He admitted quietly, his chest still aching and hollow, but it was an infections pain, one that trailed down his neck and bled into his shoulders and his back.
Chris clucked his tongue consideringly. “Ya definitely need to get checked out okay, think you can skate back? One blink yes, two blinks no, I don’t want ya moving your neck.”
Beau squeezed his eyes shut once, he wasn’t gonna be wheeled off, not here.
“Okay kid, we’re take it slow. Don’t look around, don’t jostle yourself, just keep your head down and let us do the work.”
Beau blinked once in acknowledgement and watched out of the corner of his eye as Chris waved over one of his hovering teammates. He wasn’t exactly surprised when it was Duper who crouched by his side. Each of them wrapped a steadying arm around his waist and gently put him back up onto his blades.
He did as he was told, keeping completely immobile while they helped him back to the bench to round of polite stick tapping and stiff applause.
Chris laid him up on an exam table and ran him through the usual tests. They poked and prodded, cataloguing each wince with unforgiving detail.
“You’re not concussed.” Chris concluded, but he didn’t look all that happy considering the diagnosis. “However we definitely think you’ve got a case of whiplash, and a few bruised ribs on top of it.” He explained gently, telling Beau what he knew all along. He was done for the night, he wasn’t going back out.
The rest of the trainers helped him strip out of his gear, before forcing him into a sitting position. They secured a brace around his neck, a precaution only, he was assured, before they went about covering almost his entire upper body in ice bags.
It looked worse than it was, which explained the fury that flared in Bort’s eyes when the man stormed in during intermission. “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.” He growled, finger hovering just above the neck brace, afraid that the slightest touch would make it worse.
Even Olli looked a bit imposing, his lips pressed into a solid line, eyes roaming with open concern over the amount of ice covering Beau’s body from where he was standing in the doorway.
“I appreciate the sentiment Borts, but it was a legal hit, nothing to be mad about.” Beau muttered, wishing that knowledge would take a bit of the sting out of the situation.
“Like hell there isn’t.” Borts bit out, teeth gritted. “You’re sitting in here with a neck brace on and Nisky’s out there skating, that’s plenty reason for me to be mad.”
“At least hit him where it hurts,” Beau begged, unwilling to bear the weight of a loss on his already sore shoulders. “You wanna do damage, do it where it counts, win the game…please.” It was dirty pool, turning his puppy eyes on his best friends, but the last thing he needed was for Borts to go out and take stupid penalties, or worse, for Olli to.
“We’ll bring back the W.” Borts agreed tersely, the fire in his eyes still bright and angry.
But he was true to his word, the boys went back out and locked the game down.
Anger didn’t make Sid sloppy, it made him stubborn, and Beau knew the man’s hat trick was for him. He also knew the way that Geno and Borts were throwing their weight around wasn’t just coincidence, they were gunning for Matt, and the ex-penguin knew it too.
He should have enjoyed it, watching the team kick ass and take names in his honor. But Beau couldn’t help the way he winced each time Matt had to peel himself off the ice. The guys weren’t aiming to hurt him, not seriously, but they definitely wanted him to go home feeling just as bruised and battered as Beau was. Watching it all just made the blonde tired, the ache of his battered body and the ache of still missing Matt sinking heavily into his bones where the ice couldn’t numb it.
Beau didn’t even realize he’d drifted off until the door flew open and the bedlam in the cramped visitors locker room spilled in. He could hear Borts shouting, Olli yelling in rapid fire Finnish while he did his best to hold the taller man back, hell he even saw Sid half undressed and brandishing his stick like a sword.
There was a flash of a Caps jersey and then another and for a split second Beau thought they’d been invaded, whatever on ice drama that had gone down after he’d been pulled out having resulted in an off ice brawl. But once he recognized Brooksy, his hands raised in a placating motion, he understood.
The other Caps jersey was Matt’s, respect for their ex-alternate captain the only thing standing between him and being skinned alive.
He should have seen it coming, should have seen him coming. But Beau didn’t, not until the door was shut and he was face to face with a man he hadn’t spoken to in almost five months. A man who had left him for Washington, for money, and a jackass Russian Captain.
“Holy shit.” Matt breathed, his eyes raking over the neck brace and half melted ice bags with clear revulsion. “Beau, I never meant for this,” he gestured to the whole of the blonde’s body, voice strangled. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Beau knew it wasn’t the whiplash or bruised ribs he was talking about, he was talking about the way he’d put his heart through a fucking meat grinder and served it up with a heaping portion of ‘fuck you.’
“Maybe you should have told me then, maybe I should have heard it from you first and not some three sentence blurb on Bleacher Report.” Beau blinked back the tears pooling in his eyes, desperately grasping for that sense of closure he’d convinced himself he’d reached after boxing up all of Matt’s things and hiding them away. “I would have understood.” He whispered.
“I couldn’t say goodbye to you, I didn’t want to.” Matt insisted, striding across the room and stopping only when he was close enough that Beau could hear him breathing. There was a quiet rustling of plastic that drew Beau eyes upwards, his breath catching in his throat.
Matt had a popsicle in hand, bright pink and melting quickly. He split it down the middle, the edges a bit rough in comparison to Beau’s expertise but half a popsicle was half a popsicle. “You told me once that a popsicle could fix anything.” Matt whispered, eyes painfully earnest.
Beau gingerly took the offered half, doubting for once, the power of frozen fruit flavored sugar. He ate it quietly, watching Mat watch him until they were both down to nothing but pink stained sticks.
“What’s your joke say?” He asked softly.
“I love you.” Matt replied, steady as he always was.
Beau sucked in a breath that made his ribs twinge uncomfortably, those three words like aloe vera on an angry red sunburn.
“What’s about yours?” Matt asked, a hopeful lilt to his voice.
“Make plans to stay in California for the summer and buy two season passes to Disneyland, you’ve got a lot of popsicles to go before you fix this, probably a few Mickey Mouse shaped pretzels too.” Beau muttered with a slight roll of his eyes. Despite his nonchalance, the small hesitant smile he gave took a bit of the sting out of his words.
“Deal.”
The way Matt’s face lit up knocked the wind right back out of him and when the brunette reeled him in for a gentle kiss, his lips tasted like strawberry.