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It was fairly early in the evening on a Wednesday in the second week of October. All the residents of the Haus were present and accounted for: Jack studying in his room, Shitty out on the roof, and Ransom and Holster playing Mario Kart down in the living room. Bitty was lying on his stomach on top of his comforter, facing away from his open door as he went over his nutrition flashcards for probably the hundredth time.
He had a quiz about amino acids scheduled for the next morning, but his eyes kept glazing over the words like he’d lost the ability to read English. With each run-through of his flash cards, he got a little better at memorizing the terms and answers just based on the order of the cards, but every time he shuffled the deck he started right back at square one. He sighed, convinced of the fact that he wasn’t retaining anything, and he resigned himself to his fate. The quiz obviously wasn’t going to go well either way, so he figured he might as well give up on studying. He had just swapped out his flash cards for his phone when he suddenly felt a heavy weight land on top of him, and he squawked loudly, hearing a soft snort of laughter from Jack’s room across the hall.
“Bitty, Bits, Bitster, my man, how’s it going?” Shitty was crooning, wrapping his arms tightly around Bitty’s shoulders and nuzzling his face into the side of Bitty’s neck. His breath carried with it the by-now-familiar smell of cheap beer mixed with pot. Bitty shivered, a chill racing down his spine at the combined sensation of Shitty’s mustache tickling his neck and the feeling of way, way too much skin pressed against him.
“No!” Bitty squawked again, hearing another chuckle from Jack’s room, which made him scowl as he started trying to wiggle his way out from under the overly affectionate winger currently glomped around him. “Are you naked? Why the hell are you naked in my bed?”
“I’ve got shorts on,” Shitty said, as if that made everything better (it actually did, a little bit). “I need liney snuggles, and Jack is being stingy with them.”
“And you decided to tackle me, of all people?” Bitty demanded, before he collapsed in defeat, burying his face in his bedding. He switched tacks, hoping to bargain his way out. “Why not Holster? He likes to snuggle, too. Plus, he’s much bigger than me; that’s better for cuddling, anyway, isn’t it?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you, Bits? It’s not the size that matters; it’s what you do with it,” Shitty replied, punctuating the statement with a little shimmy of his hips. The movement itself was only mildly suggestive—enough to make the innuendo clear without actually grinding on Bitty. Blessedly, there wasn’t anything happening in Shitty’s shorts, but the fact that it even occurred to him to be concerned about that possibility had Bitty squirming again, trying fruitlessly to escape.
Shitty shushed him, in a way that was probably meant to be soothing. “Just accept my love, Bits.”
“And by ‘love,’ do you mean ‘crushing me to death’?” Bitty snapped, feeling a little guilty for it as soon as the words left his mouth, but Shitty was unfazed. Thankfully, though, he finally rolled off to Bitty’s side, lying on his back between Bitty and the wall.
“Little spoon or jetpack?” He asked cheerfully, and Bitty gave him a quizzical look.
“What’s a jetpack?”
Shitty grinned. “It’s where you’re the big spoon, except you’re smaller than me, so you’re a jetpack.”
“Fine,” Bitty huffed, electing not to argue about their relative sizes. Shitty rolled to face away from Bitty, who hesitated for a beat before scooting closer and carefully wrapping his arms around the other man with an exasperated shake of his head. It was quiet for a long moment, then: “Shitty, are you ok?”
“I am fan-fucking-tastic Bits, why do you ask?”
“It’s just—it’s barely six o’clock on a Wednesday and you’re already cross-faded,” Bitty pointed out, hesitating before he continued, “and you don’t usually come to me for this sort of thing.”
Shitty hummed thoughtfully, then finally said, “Had a bullshit phone call with my dad this afternoon. I just needed to fucking relax—shut my brain up, you know? And I realized we never cuddle, which is also bullshit. Plus, the season just started, so Jack is going to be in robot mode for the foreseeable future, and trying to snuggle Robo-Jack is like trying to give a cat a bath.”
An indignant “Hey!” drifted from across the hall, and Bitty got to be the one laughing at Jack, for once. Bitty closed his eyes as his giggles trailed off, and then they were quiet again for a long time.
“I’m just not much of a cuddler, I guess,” Bitty eventually said, feeling surprisingly relaxed.
“’S’not true,” Shitty slurred drowsily, and Bitty debated with himself for a moment about whether he should kick Shitty out before he fell asleep (he decided he wasn’t very likely to succeed, even if he tried). “You snuggle with Lardo all the time.”
Bitty wanted to say that cuddling with Lardo was different, because he trusted that Lardo knew that he didn’t mean anything by it, but he had the feeling Shitty would be upset by that answer. It wasn’t even the whole story, anyway, so he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know how to explain the complicated tangle of feelings that was his desire for physical affection, his issues with contact and feeling small, and the very careful way he had learned to conduct himself around other men, especially teammates. He really didn’t know how to explain it without setting Shitty off on a righteous tirade about homophobia and gender norms. The truth was that the only time Bitty could touch his teammates without prompting any of those complicated feelings was during a celly, and he doubted that even the most heartfelt lecture from Shitty was going to change that.
Despite the fact that Bitty hadn’t said anything, Shitty must have picked up on his sudden discomfort anyway; Bitty could practically hear his frown. “You’re part of the team, Bits. We love you.”
Bitty shifted nervously, pulling his arm out from under Shitty and curling it against his own chest, trying to soothe the uncomfortable squirming feeling behind his sternum. “I know that. I care about y’all, too, obviously.”
Shitty suddenly rolled over to face Bitty, dislodging Bitty’s other arm, his expression serious. “Bits. Dude. We love you. We want you here. Any one of us would be honored to be your snuggle buddy, any time. For real.”
Not Jack, was Bitty’s immediate thought, without even meaning to think it. He worried about where that thought had come from, even though a part of him already knew. He ruthlessly squashed the thought and all the feelings it inspired, hoping to keep it off his face and out of his mouth. He was only partially successful.
“I am so serious, Bits,” Shitty said firmly, then suddenly jumped up, accidentally kneeing Bitty in the stomach as he climbed over him to get out of the bed. “I’ll prove it to you!”
He ran out into the hall as Bitty wheezed, needing a moment to recover from having the wind knocked out of him so unexpectedly.
“Cuddle pile in Bitty’s room!” Shitty hollered, and before Bitty could protest, he heard gleeful shouts as Holster and Ransom paused their game and tromped up the stairs.
“No way,” Bitty said, shaking his head as his three large friends made their way into his room. “My bed is absolutely not big enough for all of y’all.”
“Duh,” Holster agreed as he tugged Bitty’s comforter out from under him. “That’s why we’re doing it on the floor.”
Ransom dug through Bitty’s closet, making a triumphant sound as he pulled out a thick blanket Bitty liked to use underneath his comforter in the winter. He and Holster arranged their prizes in the center of Bitty’s bedroom floor, layering the bedding to make something of a cushion for them to lie on. They gestured to their handiwork when they were done, expressions alight with earnest requests for Bitty’s approval. Bitty opened his mouth—to say what, he would never know, because before he could even think of a response, Shitty had scooped him up off his bed and deposited him in the middle of the blankets on the floor. It would have been impressive (Shitty was really only slightly bigger than Bitty) if it weren’t so annoying.
“Shitty Knight, I may be small, but that is no excuse for this—this manhandling!”
Holster elbowed Ransom with a grin, and Bitty closed his eyes, bracing for the incoming chirp.
“I thought you liked being handled by men, Bitty,” Holster teased, looking pleased with himself.
Bitty just shook his head despairingly as Holster and Ransom both joined him on the makeshift cushion, nudging Bitty gently into place as they tucked in on either side of him. Once they were settled, Shitty crawled over top of Bitty, smacking a wet, bristly kiss to Bitty’s forehead before shimmying down to rest with his cheek pressed against Bitty’s chest. Ransom and Holster each draped an arm across Shitty’s back.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Ransom said, “but why are we having a cuddle pile? Are you sad today, Bitty?”
“Yes,” Shitty replied for him. “Bits needs cuddles, ‘cause he thinks we don’t love him.”
“Now hang on a minute,” Bitty protested, his discomfort quickly morphing into genuine irritation. It didn’t help that he was starting to sweat. He was surrounded on all sides by athletes with high metabolisms; they were like space heaters. “I never said—”
Shitty shushed him again, and Bitty was about to raise hell about it when Jack appeared in the doorway.
“Shitty, why are you tormenting Bittle?”
“I’m not tormenting him,” Shitty argued. “I’m showering him with love.”
Holster tried to kick at Ransom’s ankle, but he missed and caught Bitty’s instead.
“Adam Birkholtz, so help me, if you say one word, I will never make another blueberry crumble pie for as long as I live.”
Holster gasped, gripping at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Hurtful, Bits. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
Bitty tried his best to give the other man a dark look, one that implied that he knew exactly what Holster had been about to say, and that promised a miserable, pie-less future if he tried to say it anyway. His effort was somewhat diminished by the fact that they were lying on the floor, and Holster’s head was somewhere above his own, but it was the thought that counted.
“Damn,” Ransom said with feigned sadness, and Bitty could feel him shaking his head. “Bitty hates your chirp game, bro.”
Bitty locked eyes with Jack, silently willing the man to understand that he needed to be rescued.
“If you’re uncomfortable, I can make them leave, Bittle.”
Bitty gave the offer serious consideration for a long moment, then finally sighed, shaking his head. If he made a big deal about it now, Shitty would never let it go.
Defeated, he said, “It’s alright. They mean well, at least.”
Shitty snorted a laugh and rolled onto his side, wedging himself between Bitty and Ransom with his head still propped against the side of Bitty’s chest. He reached up toward Jack with one arm, making grabby-hand motions. Jack shifted awkwardly in the doorway, seemingly wrestling with himself, before he gave a single, sharp nod of his head. Decision made, Jack only faltered a little as he joined the cuddle pile, settling between Bitty and Holster with his head on the other side of Bitty’s chest.
Bitty went very, very still.
“Glad you could join us, cap,” Shitty said smugly. Bitty couldn’t see it, but if he knew Jack even half as well as he was starting to, he was almost certain Jack rolled his eyes at that.
“Are you actually sad, Bittle?”
“No,” Bitty replied adamantly. “I’m fine. Shitty is just being dramatic.”
“Not so,” Shitty protested, ironically putting on a more theatrical affectation. “Our dearest, bittiest bro did not believe me when I told him that any one of us would be more than happy to snuggle with him, anytime he desires. I had to prove him wrong, obviously.”
“By forcefully cuddling him when he doesn’t want it?” Jack asked dryly.
Shitty scoffed. “He wants cuddles; he’s just protesting because he thinks we don’t really want to give them. He thinks that we’re scared of his cooties.”
Ransom gave a bark of laughter, the whole pile of them shaking with the force of it. “Are you nine? Who says ‘cooties’ anymore?”
“I never said anything even remotely like that, Shitty.”
“You didn’t have to say it, Bits. It was written all over your face,” Shitty said, and he reached up to gently pat Bitty’s head as he continued, “but it’s OK. No one here has a problem with you, or with this. This is a strictly ‘yes homo’ Haushold.”
“Oh, bless your heart,” Bitty said under his breath, and Holster giggled. He raised his voice, pointedly saying, “I have a quiz first thing in the morning, you know.”
Jack moved like he was going to get up and return to his own room, taking the hint Bitty had just dropped, but Shitty held fast to Jack’s arm, preventing him from leaving.
“Alright, everybody settle down now so Bitty can get some sleep before his quiz,” Shitty commanded.
“Bro, it’s not even seven yet—”
“You heard the man; Bits needs to sleep.”
“Our backs are not going to thank us for sleeping on the floor, Shitty.”
“Whatever, old man. You’ll be fine.”
(No one actually managed to fall asleep for a long time, but surprisingly, they were all still there in the morning.)
(The mild schadenfreude Bitty felt when he had to wake them all up so he could get to class on time was petty but absolutely deserved.)