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December 2012 / OKC
It doesn’t even feel like Christmas. There’s too much sun. It’s not warm outside, really-- there’s a bite in the air that’s making the hair on the back of Taylor’s neck stand up-- but compared to Edmonton, it’s practically tropical.
He’s used to having snow for Christmas, is the thing. In Edmonton the snow piles up in giant drifts, covers the entire city, and turns everything white and quiet. It snows in OKC, of course, but the last snowfall was like two weeks ago and too light to even count as real snow, and now it’s all melted so everything is just dead-looking, all brown and depressing. It’s just that with the lockout, the new city, the different weather -- everything feels just this side of wrong. The only thing that feels right and good and normal in Taylor’s life right now is going home with Jordan at the end of every day.
Shedding his shoes and light jacket at the door (he doesn’t even need a real coat here, it’s ridiculous), Taylor heads directly for the kitchen where Ebs is at the stove making-- well, he has no idea, but it smells really good, and that means Ebs is the best ever.
“Hey, you.” Ebs’ grin is as wide and stupidly fond as ever as he glances back at Taylor. “Did you find the shirt you wanted?”
Taylor shakes his head, not feeling up to using actual words. His hands find Ebs’ hips as he crowds up behind him, and his forehead falls to the curve of Ebs’ shoulder, eyes closing almost immediately.
“If you fall asleep on me I’m not feeding you,” Ebs warns. “I only make food for people who actually have conversations with me.”
“Liar,” Taylor mumbles. It’s kinda weird, feeling Jordan’s skin warm and soft beneath his lips. When he feels Ebs shiver in response, Taylor’s fingers flex unconsciously against his hips through the material of his old worn thin Pats sweats, and he lifts his head because he’s not like, trying to grope Ebs here. He’s just tired, and apparently sometimes when he gets tired the lines get blurry. “You only make food for me.”
“I made KD for Tubes that one time.”
“That’s just because he invited himself over for dinner.”
“Go lay down or something, you octopus. I can’t finish this with you hanging all over me. I’ll wake you up when it’s ready.” Apparently Taylor is still being a little handsy, his thumbs now on the bare skin just beneath the hem of Ebs’ shirt. That’s a pretty good sign he’s more exhausted than he realized. And a nap does sound really good, even if it’s just a short one.
“Yeah, okay.”
He can feel Ebs’ eyes on him as he pads into the living room. It’s not new-- they’ve always looked at each other more than they should, and Taylor isn’t as oblivious to that as people think he is-- but these days Ebs’ stares are longer, more intense, like he’s almost afraid if he looks away for too long Taylor is going to disappear. It’s a feeling Taylor understands pretty well. The month he spent by himself in Edmonton sucked, and it wasn’t just because he wasn’t playing hockey.
No piece of furniture is ever going to be as awesome as their couch at home, but this overstuffed thing they have here is pretty great, and Taylor practically faceplants onto it, asleep within moments.
He dreams of warm skin that is a delicious contrast to bitter, icy winds, and wishes for them both.
The AHL schedule definitely doesn’t leave them time to go home for Christmas, so both families decide to come to OKC instead. Taylor protests at first-- the apartment isn’t large enough, with only two bedrooms and a pullout couch, and staying in hotels at Christmas just sucks-- but his mother and Ebs’ mom (Lisa, he reminds himself-- she likes to mom-glare at him when he calls her Mrs. Eberle) gang up on the two of them until they agree to borrow an air mattress. Apparently an overcrowded Eberle family Christmas is better than no Eberle family Christmas at all. Taylor’s parents book a hotel room, which doesn’t surprise him, but his mother assures him that they won’t be spending much time there.
Unfortunately, this means they have to actually put effort into decorating the apartment. Taylor’s resisted it so far, past putting out their Oilers stockings that he’d made sure to bring with him when he’d come down from Edmonton just in case.
“We’re not going home before Christmas,” Ebs tells him firmly as they walk through Target. “We never were, Hallsy, and we both know it. We’re probably going to be here in OKC till we win the Calder Cup. We might as well make the best of it.”
Taylor appreciates that Ebs just slides them winning in there like it’s a fact, and yeah, it would be nice, but he misses home. He has no idea when he started thinking of Edmonton as home instead of Kingston, but he does, and this sucks.
“This sucks,” he says out loud, because contrary to popular belief, he and Ebs cannot actually read each others’ minds. Then, because in line with popular belief, he actually is five years old, he jumps onto the back of the shopping cart and rides it down the empty aisle. The store is basically deserted at ten p.m., so there aren’t like, any little kids for him to run into or be a bad influence on or anything. It’s cool.
“If you break something, I’m telling,” is all Ebs says, walking past him to the section with all of the trees.
“Can’t we get a real tree?” Tubes and Ashley have a real tree, and it smells really good. Taylor wants a real tree. “Like, if we have to do this, we might as well do it right.”
“Hallsy, if we got a real tree, it would be dead by the time everyone got here. Actually, scratch that, it would be dead within a week.” Ebs hip-checks him, moving to look at a tree that already has the lights on it, which, yeah, Taylor wants one of those. Putting the lights on is way too fussy.
“Okay, we won’t get a real tree. Let’s get that one. It like....looks pretty or some shit like that. Plus we don’t have to put the lights on.”
Ebs snorts, then shrugs. “Sure. Whatever.”
“It’s really big though. We don’t have enough ornaments.”
“Hallsy, we don’t have any ornaments, unless you brought the ones from home that were on the tiny tree last year.” Ebs hoists the box out of the bottom shelf and into the cart, and damn, his arms look really good this season. Like, maybe better than Taylor’s arms. Taylor’s not sure how he feels about that, but he’s definitely going to pay closer attention to what the hell Ebs is doing in workouts.
“Well, let’s get some awesome ornaments so we’ll have this for next year and we won’t have to do all this shit again.” A woman walking through the aisle with two little kids makes a very angry face at him, which, whatever, it’s past ten, what are her kids even doing out.
Ebs grins at him, all lopsided and gap-toothed (it’s the greatest smile Taylor’s ever seen and fuck anyone who says anything different). “Already planning on spending next Christmas with me, Cheds?”
“Thought we agreed on the next seven,” Taylor shoots back, but his face feels really hot for some reason, so he turns away to go look for some seriously kickass ornaments. Maybe there’s some Barons stuff.
He was right about the too-many-people thing. Everyone just flew in this morning, and they’re going home on Boxing Day, so it’ll be back to normal soon, but it’s still a hell of a lot of people in a small space. Fuck if this isn’t one of the best Christmases Taylor’s ever had, though, and it’s just Christmas Eve. Mrs. Eberle-- Lisa, he’s gonna have to watch that-- even got his parents pajamas just like the ones she got for everyone else. Taylor was automatically included, obviously. Apparently he’s like, an honorary Eberle, which is cool.
His parents leave around ten-thirty with the promise that they’ll be back bright and early the next morning (the moms are planning some sort of epic Christmas breakfast, which is awesome), and since Ebs’ sisters are sleeping on the couch in the living room and are pretty tired, everyone says their goodnights. Ebs’ parents are in his room, so he’s in with Taylor (who has an ensuite bathroom in his room here-- fuck yeah), so Taylor waits till Dustin is finished brushing his teeth (unlike Ebs, who is taking forever) and then locks the door behind him so that Ashley and Whitney can’t wake them up at the asscrack of dawn again this year.
Between the mound of blankets on his bed and the heating in their apartment being fantastic, Taylor is afraid he’s gonna get too warm, so he strips off his pajama shirt before he crawls into bed, moving over to the side closest to the wall because he knows Ebs hates being pinned in like that. He’s floating somewhere in that hazy place between being awake and being dead to the world when he feels the mattress dip next to him.
“Night Ebby,” he says, voice thick with sleep. He rolls over onto his stomach, unintentionally slinging an arm across Ebs’ waist in the process, and hey, apparently Taylor’s not the only one sleeping without a shirt tonight. He goes to move his arm, because maybe that’s a little weird, but before he can Ebs grabs his hand, keeping his arm where it is.
“Goodnight Hallsy.” There’s something in Ebs’ voice that Taylor can’t quite identify, but before he can think about it too much, he is lulled to sleep by exhaustion and warmth and the feeling that maybe everything is exactly like it should be after all.
:::
December 2013 / Edmonton
Driving home from optional practice sucks ass. He’s alone, for one thing-- Jordan didn’t go because he’d played a lot the night before, and his knee was twinging this morning and he didn’t wanna risk it. It’s also really fucking cold, and Taylor’s kinda hungry but stopping to get food would involve letting the windows down on his truck and letting the cold air in, and that’s not happening. He’s got his Underarmor and sweatpants and two sweaters and a coat on and he’s still freezing. Ebs tells him it’s because he wears designer socks, which are apparently incapable of being warm, but Taylor doesn’t believe him. It's just really that fucking cold in Edmonton. He actually sort of misses OKC right now, because on Christmas Day last year he actually went outside in jeans and loafers and a light cardigan.
When he finally makes it home, he can't even pull into their heated garage, because there's a giant snow drift in front of it, so he has to leave his truck at the bottom of the driveway for now. Between that, how cold he is, and the fact that Whits totally boarded him at practice (and okay, Taylor said something douchey, maybe he deserved it a little, but it still hurt), Taylor's feeling kind of bitchy. He’s ready to just start griping about everything the second he walks into the house, because he knows Ebs will listen to him until he’s done and he’s got it out of his system (even if he’ll roll his eyes while he listens, and then chirp him about it later).
And then he opens the front door. A rush of warm air is the first thing that he notices, and he quickly closes the door behind him so that the air won’t get out, but also so that Avett won’t get out. The gangly Irish Wolfhound puppy is loping up to him with a doofy grin, and Taylor can’t help but echo it as he kneels to scratch behind Avett’s ears. He’s only three months old, but he’s already bigger than most breeds get full-grown, and okay, Taylor didn’t consider that when he brought the puppy home (although his official story, at least to Jordan, is that Avett followed him home-- Taylor had nothing to do with it). He definitely didn’t consider Christmas decorations. They’ve already replaced about six broken ornaments in the two weeks the tree has been up, victims of an overly-enthusiastic tail.
The cream-colored menace waits at his feet as Taylor strips off most of his layers, dumping everything in the hall floor, because while he and Ebs are getting really good at pretending they can be actual grown-ups, the key word in that sentence is usually pretending. When he’s down to his long-sleeve shirt and sweatpants and socks, he heads for the living room, Avett right on his heels.
It is pretty cool that their house looks like actual adults live there, Taylor thinks as he takes in the way that all of their decorations look in the light from their fireplace. That and the Christmas tree are the only light sources, and since it’s all grey and snowy outside, everything is kinda dim and cozy. Taylor can practically feel the rest of his bad mood disappear. He can even feel his toes again.
Ebs is passed out on his recliner, not even stirring when Avett nudges at his shoulder with a wet nose and then whines before walking away, disappointed, to curl up in front of the fireplace. The warmth and dim lighting combine to make Taylor really sleepy all of a sudden, and he definitely isn't hungry enough that he can't collapse on the couch with Ebs and nap for a while. Naps with Ebs are one of his favorite things ever, and they have been since before the two of them actually managed to realize how stupid they were for each other and start doing things that led to the napping. Ebs is a good influence; he really commits to his naps, and anyway Taylor’s a whole lot better at turning his brain off when Jordan is around.
Taylor flops down on the couch, pushing his recliner out and stealing half of Ebs' blanket (okay it's more like three quarters of it) and curling up next to him, their legs tangling together and Taylor pushing his head into the curve of Ebs’ neck and just breathing him in.
And then he goes to sleep, because what was he thinking? Everything is awesome.
His excellent nap comes to an end a couple hours later because a nose is being shoved into his neck, and unfortunately it is far too cold and wet to belong to Ebs.
“Ugh, Avett, get off.” He reaches out blindly till he catches Avett’s nose, pushing him away without even bothering to open his eyes. The warm, solid weight next to him tells him that Ebs is still laying there, and the fact that it’s shaking tells him that Ebs is trying really hard not to laugh out loud. “You suck.”
“Aw, babe, don’t be like that. Avett just missed you while you were at practice this morning.” He’s still laughing, not even bothering to hide it now, and because one thing Taylor is good at without even having to try is knowing where Ebs is all the time, he’s able to lean over and shut Ebs up with a kiss without even having to wake all the way up.
It’s not perfect, obviously, and it takes them a couple tries to get the angle right, but there’s never anything bad about kissing Ebby, and there never has been. Not even the first time it happened, when it only happened because Taylor was just so fucking frustrated with himself for never noticing until he thought it was too late and maybe Jordan didn’t want it anymore.
Spoiler alert: he was wrong. Thank fuck.
He has to break away to yawn, which is lame and makes Ebs laugh at him again, but he doesn’t retaliate, just curls into Jordan more. “Don’t wanna get up yet,” he mumbles.
“Me either,” Jordan sighs into Taylor’s hair, sliding his hand up the back of Taylor’s shirt. His hand is nice and warm, and Taylor presses back into it, yawning again. “Jonesy and Nuge and Gags are coming over, though. In like, an hour. Or now. Something like that.”
“Yeah, Whits said something at practice about maybe coming.”
Avett pushes his nose between them again and Jordan gives another long-suffering sigh. “Your dog. You take him out.”
“You suck,” Taylor informs him, but he does manage to roll off the couch and stand up without whining, even if all he wants to do is stay under the blanket and make out with Ebs. The smack on the ass he gets doesn’t help at all. “You suck,” he says again, this time to the dog as they walk to the front door to get leash, shoes, and coat. The sooner he gets this over with, the better.
So maybe there is such thing as too many video games and too much pizza, but whatever, it’s one night and they don’t play tomorrow so they can eat healthy all day to make up for this. Right? At least there were vegetables on the pizza, Taylor reasons.
“I don’t think it works that way, dude,” Gags says, shaking his head and looking incredibly upset with himself where he’s prone on the floor in front of their fireplace. “Ugh, leave me here to die.”
“You guys are all pansies.” Whits rolls his eyes. “Can’t even handle a little pizza, Jesus.”
“There are six of us, Whits. We went through five and a half pizzas. That’s almost an entire pizza per person.” Nuge pokes Jonesy, who is on the floor in front of the coffee table, with his foot from where he’s sprawled over the other end of the couch. “Hand me my water.”
“Kids today, man. No manners.” Jonesy passes him the water anyway. “It’s not like we do this all the time. Hell, I think the last time I did this I was in college.”
“Oh, so, back in the dark ages, then? When you had to walk two miles uphill both ways barefoot in the snow to practice?” Jordan pipes up. Taylor snorts against his chest. Jonesy doesn’t even look away from the tv, just flips them off over his shoulder.
“If you two start making out, I’m gone,” Whits warns them, eying the way they’re pretty much wrapped around each other on their recliners.
“Welcome to my life,” Nuge deadpans.
“Ugh, whatever,” Taylor grumbles. “We’re not that bad.”
“I thought you were going to jump Ebs in the locker room last week.”
“Okay, but like, he got a hat trick. That was totally valid.”
Whits doesn’t look like he agrees. Whatever, he’s just jealous he doesn’t have a super hot boyfriend who scores super hot goals, and three of them in one night, at that.
“What’s everyone doing for Christmas?” Gags asks once he finally forces himself to sit up. “Am I the only one crashing Horc’s thing?”
“Nope, it’s looking like I’m headed that way too. Can’t get home.” Taylor can’t tell if Whits is grumpy about it, or if that’s just his face.
“My parents are doing a family thing that I can’t get to, so since Red Deer’s an easy drive I’m spending it with Bre’s family,” Nuge says, scratching Avett behind his ears. The dog has made himself comfortable in the only open space left on the couch.
“Ouch, Christmas with the in-laws. I bet these two could give you some advice about that,” Jonesy says, grinning. Taylor kicks him in the head. Jonesy glares.
“My foot slipped,” Taylor lies through his teeth.
“Be nice,” Ebs murmurs against his ear. Taylor suppresses a shiver, but Whits notices anyway.
“Time to leave,” he announces, standing up. “I was serious. Boys, it’s been real, but I know you two, and things are about to get really fucking handsy. Gags, unless you’re making Jonesy drive you home, get up.”
Everyone else ends up making their excuses too, and Taylor protests, he really does, but his heart’s not really in it (and neither is his dick, to be entirely honest), so as soon as everyone is gone he basically rushes to take Avett out for the last time that night.
“Feeling anxious about something?” Ebs asks, laughing against the back of his neck as Taylor fumbles hanging the leash up twice.
“Like you have any room to talk,” Taylor retorts, and it’s true; Ebs is already working on the buttons of his jeans and pulling down the zipper and turning Taylor around to push him against the wall of their foyer, almost knocking some random Christmas decoration off the small table. Taylor grabs his shoulder before Ebs can kneel down, and when he gets a questioning look, Taylor reminds him, “Not remotely objecting, dude, but I’d rather fuck you than fuck up your knee. We’ve got a game against Chicago Tuesday and I want to make Kaner cry.”
Jordan laughs, straightening and shoving at Taylor’s shoulder, pushing him down the hall. “God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head. “But if you’re thinking about Kaner when I’m blowing you, we’re going to have to re-evaluate this relationship.”
“What if I’m thinking about your hat trick from last week?” Taylor can’t help asking as he walks backward up the stairs.
“Well, see, that’s okay.” Jordan grins, his smile highlighted by the Christmas lights they’ve got running up the stair rail, and yeah, Taylor’s life is definitely the best. “Now get moving.”