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Cale didn’t often get angry, it wasn’t in his nature. The last time he’d felt this pissed had to have been when he’d gone after Chatfield or scrummed with Tkachuk, but beyond that he was always the calm one. By hockey player standards, that is. He still got fired up and he wouldn’t say he was afraid of a line-wide scuffle, but Cale didn’t like fighting. He didn’t like fighting almost as much as he didn’t like losing.
But something inside him had just snapped. They were playing the Knights, two days after a loss against Boston and a shootout win in Florida that had still shown plenty of problems that needed to be fixed, especially with the All Star break coming up and the playoffs inching nearer— not that the Avs weren’t in fine form, but still. And needless to say, this game wasn’t exactly theirs. By the end of the first they were down 2-0, and after some fourth liner made it 3-1 in the second the game seemed lost. Then came the hit.
Marchessault boarded Nate. Bad. The refs, finally deciding they should do their job, blew this whistle, but it didn’t matter. Cale was skating fast towards the Knight, temper flaring. He’d had enough of that kind of shit. Marchessault only threw chirps at him, challenging him to, “Just do it! Come on, drop ‘em! You won’t, you won’t!”
Cale wasn’t too pleased about that. In the back of his mind, he figured this might not be the best choice, but by then the gloves were off. Marchessault dropped them in return and for a moment they squared off. Marchessault was talking the entire time, and Cale just eyed him annoyed. The Knight threw the first jab and Cale glanced it off his shoulder.
Honestly, it was painfully obvious that Marchessault hadn’t expected Cale to be the fighter he was. They fought for a few moments, but when Marchessault missed a blow, Cale jumped on the opportunity. He landed a hit square to the Knight’s jaw, and as he flinched back against it, Cale seized the space and took him down. The crowd roared as Cale laid on him for a moment, surprised to find himself grinning as the refs came and broke them apart. Marchessault was open-mouthed with shock and screaming. Cale stayed quiet, actually happy to go and sit. It served the bitch right for trying that on Nate.
Ball Arena was rocking from the tilt, and both teams were hitting their sticks on the ice or against the boards. Cale let the ref escort him to the box and cast a glance over his shoulder. Nate was getting slowly to his feet, watching him like a hawk. Hopefully that meant he was okay. Cale looked back away. He was never going to hear the end of this, was he?
Cale touched gingerly at his bleeding lip and readjusted his gear, trying to refocus. He got water and served his time proudly. Maybe now players would think twice about pulling a stunt like that. Cale hoped so. He wasn’t the kind of person to use his strength like that, but Marchessault had deserved it, and in full honesty Cale was just sick of seeing Nate get hurt because players got pissed that he was better than them. So much for his gloves being “glued on.”
The momentum from the fight lasted long enough for the Avs to get within one at the beginning of the third, after many chirps and congratulations on the fight during intermission of course, but nothing much past that. He and his team walked down the tunnel with their second consecutive loss at home, losing 3-2. Cale did his best to hide the fact that it made him pissed, but he guessed his facial features were telling the whole truth of it all. Nate was in his stall beside him, visibly picking him apart.
Cale hastily took off his helmet and gloves and sat heavily in his stall, Nate already with his jersey and chest pads off, working on untying his skates. Then they sat for a long time in silence, the guys around them already hitting the showers and heading out before Cale mimicked the twenty-eight year old, going skates first as usual.
“You're still upset,” said Nate finally.
“I’m fine,” Cale argued, voice a bit too harsh.
He aggressively untied his skates, and Nate laid a hand on top of his to get him to stop. Cale pulled back, relenting. One skate was half-untied and the other's laces were splayed out on the ground. Cale sighed frustratedly as he sat back in his stall. He adjusted his neck guard and scratched just below his jaw, entire body feeling foreign.
“You're not,” Nate objected easily. “That’s fine, you know? You can be upset.”
Cale shrugged. “Fine. I'm pissed.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask?” Cale shot back. “...Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m angry too.”
“You’re doing a good job at hiding it, then,” Cale muttered.
Nate tugged on the sleeve of Cale’s jersey, his face bright pink and hair still damp with sweat. The locker room was quiet, most everyone gone now. Had he really sat and sulked for that long? Cale suppressed an eye roll. Whatever.
“I’m really not,” Nate replied. “You just haven’t noticed it tonight. Now, do you want to talk to me about it?”
“There’s nothing to say, Nate,” Cale tried.
“Cale, I know you better than that. You don’t get pissed for no reason.”
Cale shook his head. He wasn’t wrong, but he also didn’t care. “Okay, you aren’t wrong. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Alright,” Nate relented. He got closer. “Is there something you want to… do to take your mind off of it, then?” he asked, words dripping with innuendo.
Cale felt his cheeks go redder. “Subtle,” he said. “Subtle.”
Nate was face to face now, and Cale turned to him, so close their noses nearly touched. Nate’s perfect lips quirked into a devilish smile. “Does subtlety matter to you?” Nate challenged.
“Not at all,” Cale answered easily, already bringing him in by the collar of his undershirt.
Cale closed his eyes, brows furrowed as he pressed his lips to Nate’s. He ran his hands through Nate’s dirty-blonde hair at the back of his neck, tugging just gently enough to get something out of him. He could feel Nate going pinker, and he dared to smile a bit through the kiss. Nate didn’t seem to mind, though. At all.
Cale relished the barely-noticeable, angry sigh that Nate made as he tried to get closer. His brows rose a bit as the forward bit his lip. Lord Stanley himself, Nate never failed to be aggressive, did he? Nate was clutching the back of Cale’s jersey, fingers digging into the slick numbers, holding his head with his other hand as he pushed Cale back. Cale let it happen for a few long, drawn out moments before he tried pushing back against him, feeling that anger and desire light something rare within him.
Cale sat up and let him and Nate come apart long enough to get a breath. Nate clearly thought it was done. “Well then—”
He was cut off by Cale making sure he understood exactly what Cale needed, and that they were definitely not done. He kissed Nate again before drawing back slightly. “Wasn’t done, Nate Dogg. Not done,” he murmured and locked their lips together again.
Nate grinned through the kiss, which frustrated Cale a little. Well, that was until Nate decided to start drifting lower. Cale drew in a sharp breath as Nate got just at the soft edge of his jaw, kissing gentle, but movements biting and harsh. He let Nate go and braced himself against his stall, hands pressing into the black leather. He lifted his head and Nate sought after it, shifting to stand leaning over him, but never once breaking the flow of the moment. Slowly, Nate got tired and rested low on Cale’s thighs, which couldn’t have been much more comfortable but he guessed Nate didn’t care almost as much as he didn’t.
Cale felt his neck sting faintly, and to break it up he reconnected his lips with Nate, which Nate obliged happily. He pulled away, bright red and with a brow sheening with sweat. He looked Cale up and down, and Cale returned his look with a prideful one.
“You know I haven’t told you this yet,” Nate started, voice raw. “But you look hot as fuck with the new neck guards. They compliment your features perfectly.”
“I don’t do it to look good,” Cale replied, smiling slightly.
Nate kissed his neck again, the fingers of his left hand straying up to tug gently on the guard. “Yeah, but you do anyway. Like, you look really good.”
“You always say that no matter what, Nate,” Cale reminded, feeling grateful for the compliment anyway.
“That’s because it’s true,” Nate cooed and readjusted himself on Cale’s lap.
“Whatever…” Cale expressed halfheartedly, suddenly finding himself staring intently at the way Nate’s muscles were tight against his undershirt, the silky grey material reflecting the light just at each tone. Could he be more beautiful? “You look better,” was all he could come up with in response to the riot of adoration in his heart.
Nate scoffed. “Sure, loverboy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? What are you gonna do, fight me? You still pissed enough for that, my sweet, kind little loverboy who would never hurt a fly? Come on and try me. I dare you to punch a face like this,” Nate taunted, batting his eyelashes and clasping his hands delicately together.
Cale rolled his eyes and shoved Nate off of him and onto the floor. Nate yelped with surprise and landed square on his ass. He looked up at Cale, offended and with his mouth agape. Cale laughed drily at him, feeling pleased with himself, a proud glint in his eye.
Nate threw up his hands. “Okay. What. The fuck.”
Cale laughed harder at him, sighing contentedly. He slid off his seat and crouched in front of Nate, chest practically touching his knees from the squat. “Awww, poor thing,” he said pitifully and extended a hand to help Nate up, which he accepted.
Nate brushed himself off. “I can’t believe you.”
“Told you not to call me that,” Cale responded with an I-told-you-so kind of shrug.
Nate batted at Cale playfully and Cale turned away from him. Nate kept battering him. “Are you still angry now?” he asked with a jab to Cale’s side as he slipped off his jersey.
Cale threw it in his stall and lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know. Not right now I’m not. Can’t make any promises about when we get home and your allure wears off on me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my allure never wears off on you.”
“I beg to differ.”
Nate pushed him and Cale nearly fell over, he caught himself against the wall of his stall. “Then I guess we’ll have to keep all this up at home, then. Can’t have angry Cale lashing out at me again. He’s mean. He shoved me.”
Cale turned to him, expression unamused. He peeled away the velcro of his gear and took it off, throwing it behind him in his duffle bag. “Guess we’ll have to,” he agreed, and as he unstrapped the velcro of his chest protector gave Nate’s cheek a small kiss.
Nate moved to get fully redressed as Cale did the same, but the shuffling of feet and creak of doors opening interrupted them. Cale looked up from zipping up his bag. Gabe had come in from the left set of doors— the ones Jared usually entered through, not the ones they’d come in for games. What was he doing here staying so late? That was rare for him, injury or not.
He didn’t even start with a hello, he looked Cale up and down once and drawled, “Well holy shit Nate really does like you in the neck guards, huh?”
The color drained from Cale’s face. He stammered helplessly for a moment, Nate snorting beside him with laughter, before he finally got out, “He told you that?”
“He talks about you all the time, rambling. Sometimes I think he thinks I’m zoned out and will just spew everything when he’s in the feels and here we are. Also, I know everything, Cale. You should know this about me by now.”
Cale’s gaze snapped to Nate’s, who was bright pink and with a sheepish grin on his face. “You talk to him about me— er, us?” he asked. Should he be heartwarmed by that?
Nate shrugged a bit, throwing his undershirt on the floor and getting his drying, sweaty hair splayed over his face. “Yeah… I mean, I kind of like you,” he explained.
Cale held up a hand. He knew that. He refocused on Gabe’s first words. “Nevermind that— thank you though—, is it really that bad?”
Gabe grinned slyly and nodded. “You’re red as hell.”
“That’s… great,” Cale said through gritted teeth. He was never going to hear the end of this. The guys chirped them enough for the little hand holdings and kisses, but it had been a while —maybe since the start of their relationship a few seasons ago— since Cale or Nate had shown up with lovebites. Visible ones, that is. Cale would buy a foundation for it, but it’d come off with sweat anyway and then he’d have to deal with even more jabs from the team at him trying to hide them.
“Yeah it is,” Nate agreed dreamily.
“Lovesick dog,” Gabe returned easily.
Nate made his way to the showers and flipped Gabe off. “Not lovesick,” he called, and disappeared into the hall.
Cale lingered, ignoring the sting of his lips and neck. “So… why are you here so late, exactly? Something up?” he asked, getting Gabe’s attention.
Gabe shook his head, examining the locker room. “It’s just been a minute since I’ve been here like this. I just got done talking with Bedsy and Joe and figured I’d waltz down here. I’m surprised you two are still here, actually.”
Cale nodded a bit, tracking Gabe’s movements. He guessed there was more reason than that. He was staring at where Erik’s stall had been. “It feels empty, doesn’t it? Without him?”
Gabe bit his lip, expression conflicted as he crossed his arms. “It does.”
“You guys have made it work, though,” Cale reminded. “That’s something to be proud of.”
Gabe smiled. “Yeah. I still feel like a part of me’s missing though. I don’t know. Just with my injury and then…” Gabe shook his head. “Y—You understand.”
“I do.”
Before anything else could be said, Nate came padding into the locker room again and their conversation was cut short. Cale watched fondly and Nate bumped into Gabe, getting a laugh out of him. Did Nate notice his mood, or was he just being, well, Nate? Cale supposed it didn’t matter, at least Gabe was happier now. He didn’t like seeing him sad, not to mention it always hurt thinking about those that were gone. Naz, Burky, Newy, JT, and now EJ. And that was only the start of the list. Not that Cale wasn’t happy with his new teammates, it was just… different now. Everyone knew that.
Nate walked up to Cale with a shit-eating smile on his face. “Geez, Cale, what’s taking you so long? I’ve been waiting,” he joked, taking notice of Cale’s gloomy mood.
“Your fault,” Cale responded easily. He tapped Nate’s shoulder. “I’ll be quick, don’t worry. Talk with Landy or something.”
Cale didn’t need to hear Nate’s response, already headed for the showers. It took him all of five minutes to be done, getting dressed, and back to the room. Gabe was sat down next to Nate in their stalls, chatting even as Cale picked up his bags and slung them over his shoulder. Nate looked back at him and smacked Gabe’s thigh, then stood.
“We’re gonna go, Landy,” he began, picking up his own bags and coming to Cale’s side. “Don’t linger too long. It’s not going anywhere, promise.”
Gabe waved a hand at him, smile forced. “I won’t. You two have a good night.”
“We’ll try,” Nate replied.
Cale took Nate’s wrist and led him along, moving towards the exit. “Night, Landy,” he said over his shoulder, already pushing open the doors to let in the cold Denver air.
“Night,” the Swede called and the doors closed behind them.
Cale shouldered the cold and, after kicking some snow Nate’s way, was quick to climb in the passenger seat of the car. Nate shook himself off and started the car, rolling his eyes. “This is what I mean when I say you’re mean to me.”
“Oh shut up, you’re worse.”
Nate paused, lingering over the ignition. He started the car abruptly. “Point taken.”
They bantered like that the rest of the way home, mostly to keep each other awake, but by the time they pulled into their driveway, Cale had nodded off into his coat against the freezing window. Nate tapped him awake. Cale blinked slowly. He unfolded himself and forced himself to get out of the car, dreaming of his bed.
“You know, being angry is tiring. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I am perfectly collected. All the time.”
“Alright, then. Fortnite is stupid and you’re shit at it,” Cale prodded as Nate unlocked the door and they stepped inside.
Nate gasped in shock, anger quickly contorting his features as it usually did. “I am not. How dare— wait.”
Cale burst out laughing. He slipped off his coat and put it on the hanger as Nate tossed the keys onto the entryway table. Nate put his foot down and glared at him.
Cale gestured vaguely at him, a smug look on his face. “See what I mean?”
“Nooo,” Nate mocked and stuck his tongue out at him.
Cale shook his head. “You’re such a child,” Cale muttered as he took off his shoes, drifting almost subconsciously to the bedroom, tiredness tugging at every movement.
Nate crossed his arms and followed. “A loveable one,” he replied gruffly.
Cale flicked on their light and started undoing the buttons to his shirt, moving towards the closet to get a t-shirt to sleep in. “Unfortunately,” he said quietly.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing,” insisted Cale instantly.
Cale tossed a periwinkle blue tee onto the bed, just about to slip the button-up off of his shoulders as Nate tackled him. Cale yelped in surprise as the wind was knocked out of him and Nate had him half-on and half-off the bed, pinned. “Nate!” he exclaimed, going bright red.
Nate shook him around a bit and Cale searched helplessly for a pillow for a moment. He grabbed it and promptly whacked Nate across the head with it. There was a brief moment of silence and Cale’s face split into a wild grin. Nate harassed him more, making Cale giggle and Nate go carnation pink at the sound.
Finally, Nate stopped, breathless. Cale had his hands up in surrender, and Nate was hovering over him, panting. Nate’s face fell as he caught his breath, and his eyes shimmered with happy tears. They glinted in the light, a beautiful blue-grey. Nate stared him down intently, gaze looking over him, at the position he held. Cale felt desire settle itself low in his gut. He could…
Nate didn’t dare move away when Cale reached up his hands, took Nate’s face in them, and sat up to kiss him. Cale moved slowly, methodically. It was something he knew drove Nate insane. To be slow. Calculated. Especially like this. Nate could have forced him back, could have overpowered him here easily, but he didn’t. He slipped his hands past the silky fabric of Cale’s open shirt and helped Cale to sit instead splay against the side of the bed. Nate elongated the gesture, calloused but gentle fingers brushing around Cale’s ribcage and then lower, trailing across his abdomen in a way that made Cale feel unhinged. He bit at Nate’s lip in response, sighing a bit.
Cale pulled back, opening his eyes slowly. Nate smiled faintly. The unsaid notion passed silently between them: We already looked bedraggled, might as well have.
Cale gave Nate one last kiss before pushing him away softly so that he could actually get into his night clothes. He got on his tee and some shorts as Nate did the same, minus the shirt. Nate always slept shirtless. Cale brushed his teeth as Nate tossed their clothes into a hamper, turned off the main light, and clicked on the lamp beside their bed. Once Cale was done he crawled into bed and made himself comfortable, watching from his side— head resting on his palm— as Nate finished up brushing his own teeth and sauntered into the room, unclasping the necklace he always wore— which Cale knew he had gotten from Sid, who also had a matching one. Nate set it on their nightstand, and settled in next to Cale.
Nate faced him as Cale scooched closer and wrapped his arms around the forward’s torso. Nate rested his hand on Cale’s back as Cale buried his head into his chest, discreetly giving his collarbone a small kiss before laying his cheek on Nate’s heart, listening to its neverending rhythm. “Sleepy baby,” Nate murmured, adoring smile audible.
Cale nodded. “Very. Being pissed off takes energy.”
Nate bobbed his head a couple times, playing with Cale’s hair now. They didn’t speak of the game or the one before that. They never did, and they never needed to. Home was safe. Home was a place away from hockey rinks and crowds and high expectations. Home was the one place where Cale knew, with absolute surety, that he didn’t have to compare himself to anyone. Where he didn’t have to be better than he was. Where he didn’t have to pretend to be someone else or make apologies when he was himself— flaws and all. Where he could just be. But the house hadn’t given him that, Nate had. Nate always had.
Cale felt the hair on his arms rise as Nate tickled the back of his neck absently. He nuzzled closer, the blankets hiked up to his waist and draped down across Nate’s thighs, the twenty-eight year old’s shorts visible. Cale grabbed Nate’s free hand with his and entwined their fingers together, bringing his arms to rest on Nate’s upper abdomen. Nate looked down and gave the top of Cale’s head a kiss.
“Gonna turn off the light,” he warned as he let Cale’s hand go.
Cale resisted the urge to whine about it, reaching out for Nate’s hand the second he let go. Nate breathed out a small laugh, and Cale could feel his body humming with it. “Geez,” he expressed. “And you call me clingy.”
Cale didn’t open his eyes. He continued reaching blindly for Nate’s hand. “Shut up and hold me,” he returned, finally taking hold of Nate’s hand again.
Nate laughed again, but didn’t say anything more. He rested his chin on Cale’s, and got comfortable there. Steadily, the rise and fall of his chest got slower as sleep took hold, and before Cale knew it they were both out like a light.
Cale passed out in Nate’s hold, content to ignore the entire world for this. There were more games to play, more drop-dead difficult practices to be had, media to bear, criticism to shoulder; but here he was warm and safe. And that could be enough. For tonight. Yes, for tonight that would be enough. Just Cale Makar— human and limited— and Nathan MacKinnon— passionate and burdened, here together in this bed and tired. Teammates. Best friends. Lovers. Fated from the start.
“To hold your hand.
To kiss your face.
To love you loudly,
In front of everyone
And then be quiet again
Just between us.”
-June Bates