Work Text:
Troy tightened the towel around his waist and left the hotel bathroom, steam following him into the bedroom. His phone waited on the bed, blinking with awaiting messages. A smile curled the corner of his mouth because he knew they were from Harris. The two of them were in a constant text conversation, and despite the frequency, each and every one brought a smile to his face.
Harris: New posts are up. Capturing the team making cookies with children is officially my favorite work assignment ever. I think it beats the animal shelter.
Harris: Nevermind, it could never beat the animal shelter. Close second though.
Troy chuckled under his breath and clicked open the link. It led to the Centaurs' Instagram page where the most recent posts were of the team surrounded by baking supplies and eager children. Ilya stood in the center with two children climbing up on him, and Troy stood at the end, flour coating his cheeks. Swiping to the left, the next photo featured just himself. He hadn’t even noticed Harris taking it; fixed in concentration, biting his lip as he rolled out dough. The next two were of the kids trying out the cookies, then one more of the team. In this one, Ilya was sprawled out on the metal countertop, posing like a model as children tossed handfuls of dry ingredients on top of him. Behind the chaos, the rest of the team laughed.
Troy: These are great, babe. You really captured the fact that Ilya is a child.
While Harris’ reply chimed on his phone, Troy scrolled through the comments. Lots of laughing emojis, more than a few comments about Ilya’s antics.
Troy grabbed a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt from his duffle bag and replied to Harris’ idea of baking cookies again the next time they were together. His stomach rumbled at the idea, even though he knew they’d have to jump through a few hoops to find ones that fit within his training diet. Harris, always a step ahead, sent him a few links that would work before signing off to bed. It was after midnight on the East Coast.
Instead of scrolling through cookie recipes that would ultimately force his hand into making poor room service decisions, Troy clicked back into the photos Harris had taken. The fans loved this sort of content. It was hard not to like Ilya, really.
Comment: Another spotlight of Troy. Say thank you Harris for being completely smitten
Troy’s thumb stopped scrolling, as his stomach swooped. His cheeks warmed, and he couldn’t help the pleased feeling that rushed through him. Harris was smitten. So was Troy.
Chasing his curiosity, Troy spotted over 20 replies to the comment. He clicked in and started to read.
This is the fifth post in a row Troy got a featured photo.
That made Troy’s eyebrow lift--was it really?
Who the F is Harris?
Before he could publicly and, probably inadvisably, come to Harris’ defense, Troy continued reading and his smile only grew. He loved their fans.
Their social media coordinator and resident adorable dog lover. He owns Chiron
And apparently he’s obsessed with Troy Barrett
Can you blame him? Have you seen that man’s abs?
Troy lay on the bed, back resting against the headboard as he considered the last few social media ops they’d done as a team. Swiping back to the main page he saw only group photos as covers. But once he clicked in, there did seem to be a pattern: loud, boisterous Ilya, then a close up of another group of players, then Troy, then a dog or a kid or a house they just built or a river they’d cleaned, then Troy, then more of the team.
Across three timezones, Harris’ phone lit up on his nightstand.
Troy: I think you’ve been playing favorites, sweetheart.
~~~
The locker room vibrated around Troy. The momentum had finally shifted, they were on a 5-0 winning streak and the arena’s electric energy had followed the players off the ice. His cheeks actually hurt from grinning and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time that had happened from a hockey game. Or at all. Harris had probably been involved. Something apple spiced from his family’s farm too. But hockey related? It’d been awhile.
Troy threw his gear into his locker and sat down on the bench watching his teammates pat each other on the back and shout about goals and saves. Troy had landed two into Colorado’s net and his shoulder received a fair share of congratulatory taps. It almost felt like playoff energy, like at any moment someone was going to bring out a bottle of champagne and spray the whole team down.
Instead he pulled out his water bottle, bit open the top and squirted its contents into his mouth.
Across the locker room, on the other bench, Bood and Haas stood, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, singing some made up song about winning despite the high altitude louder than anyone could think. Ilya took a water bottle and dumped it over Haas’ head, who just laughed and shook his hair like a dog.
In the corner, Harris snapped away on his phone and Troy felt the itch to pull him over onto his lap and kiss him silly. But Harris was working, so Troy kept his hands to himself. When their eyes met and gazes held, Troy sent him a wink and a smirk. Harris’ face turned red and he had the audacity to bite his lip then turned his camera back to the team's antics, but not before snapping one photo of Troy.
Troy watched his boyfriend work, a win buzzing through his veins, and all was right in the world.
Hours later, alone in his apartment, adrenaline crashed but the grin remained. ESPN ran in the background and his phone lit up the dim living room. He clicked onto the Centaurs social media page and wasn’t surprised to see a video of Bood and Haas singing, front and center. The carousel of photos celebrating the win included a mix of on-the-ice tackles of joy and locker room celebrations. Ilya had a fist in the air on center ice in one, Hazy was jumping up and down in another, and then there was one that stopped his swiping: his own face beaming right into Harris’ camera lens as he sat in the locker room, flushed, covered in sweat, and smirking right at Harris.
Most of the comments were about the winning streak, and how the team deserved to celebrate what was quickly becoming their best season in decades. But a few comments made him pause:
Barrett smiling like that? Must be a Harris photo
Troy smirked and took a screenshot of the comment before sending it off to Harris.
Troy: I think they’re onto us
Harris: LOL haha what does that comment even mean? They’re all Harris photos! I’m the social media coordinator.
Troy: It means you make me smile sweetheart.
Harris: So does winning.
Troy chuckled and returned to the photos, to the one of himself. In his opinion, there was no doubt he was grinning at Harris, at the fact that they got to share the moment together. He swiped back to his texts.
Troy: True, I do love not sucking anymore.
Harris: Well now you’re just leaving yourself open for a raunchy reply.
Troy laughed into the empty room, wishing more than anything his boyfriend wasn’t across the city at his family’s farm. His finger hovered over the call button just as his phone started ringing, it seemed like Harris had the same idea.
“Hey, social media coordinator Harris,” Troy greeted, voice low and immediately flirtatious.
Harris laughed. “Tell me more about you and your sucking habits.”
Troy’s cheeks still hurt, but he couldn’t help grinning even more. “What would the fans say if they knew how filthy you could be?”
“Hah! They’d absolutely ask for more photos.”
~~~
Troy slid his hand into Harris’, leaning over and brushing a brief kiss on his cheek before walking up the front steps of the Drover family home. So many dogs barked around them, a loud boisterous greeting that alerted the rest of the family that they were making their way inside. Troy could hear the laughter emanating from the living room.
“Hey, everyone!” Harris greeted as he held the door open for the pack of dogs to follow them inside. “We brought dessert.”
“Is it something on Troy’s approved dietician plan?” Harris’ sister, Anna shouted from the other room. “Because, no thanks.”
Troy smirked and was happy to shout back, “Nope. Not this time. I’m a rebel.” Something about the Drover siblings, and Harris’ parents for that matter, always brought out a volume level he never really partook in.
Anna walked into the foyer, eyeing the plastic bag with eclairs. “Yum, big improvement, hockey man.”
“Next time we’ll come empty handed,” Harris replied, taking off his coat.
Troy shook his head and met Anna’s gaze. “No we won’t.”
“And that’s why you’re my favorite brother-in-law.”
“Hey!” Josh called from the other room.
It was always a lively affair when they came over to the Drover family dinner.
Hours later, as chicken and potatoes settled in everyone's stomach and eclairs topped tiny dessert plates, the family meandered into the living room to gather around the television and watch tonight's primetime game between the Admirals and Detroit. With Harris tucked against his side on the small loveseat, Troy couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a Friday night.
The pregame show cycled through the highlights of the week, featuring the Cens a couple time and Troy tried not to blush when the entire family cheered at his buzzer time goal from a couple days ago. After commentating on the top ten plays of the week, the footage switched to best dressed players and social media posts.
Troy almost choked on his eclair when he saw his face hit the television screen, featuring an over the shoulder grin towards Harris at practice.
“Always a happy team on the Cens home ice,” the former hockey player turned commentator commented. Harris smiled at his side, and Troy wondered if practice had ever been as fun as when Harris was on the ice with them.
The host of the show laughed, nodding. “They say the social media coordinator has a talent for getting those grins from the usually stoic Barrett.”
Amusement bubbled in Troy’s chest, as he braced himself for the explosions he knew would follow. The Dover family never disappointed.
Sam clapped his hands together. “That’s my boy!”
“Did you hear that?” Marlene began. “You’re famous, honey!”
Harris shifted next to him and Troy enjoyed the flush of red that took over his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The talented social media coordinator! Can I get your autograph?” Anna asked, grinning a mile wide.
Harris tucked his face into Troy’s shoulder. “Please stop talking.”
“I don’t know,” Troy poked Harris cheek, unable to resist joining in on the fun. “You do have a way with that Barrett.”
“Let’s see what the fans have to say,” the commentator continued, swiping on a tablet that brought a mirror image onto the television. “As expected, many are pointing out how much being traded to the Cens brightened up more than Barrett's scoring. Here’s one personal favorite: The Cens’ social guy has been spotlighting Barrett a lot lately, and we can all say a BIG thank you”
“What do you think Rozonav has to think about that?” The other commentator asked.
The whole panel laughed and one chimed in, “I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll tell us.”
After everyone on screen moved on to the next segment, Troy pulled Harris close. “Giving preferential treatment, huh?” he whispered in Harris’ ear.
“Well, with a smile like that, can you blame me?”
Troy chuckled. “I’ll leave the critiques to Roz,” he replied, before resting his cheek on Harris' head and looking around the room. In a world full of commentators and online comments, it was here in this room, with this man in his arms, that things felt real. The fact that the rest of the world could see it too was just the cream in the eclair.
~~~
The following week, Troy had Harris exactly where he needed him after a brutal loss against Montreal: in his arms and in his bed. They shared the glow of the phone screen, watching silly videos that helped Troy, somewhat, get his mind off that missed goal in the final five minutes.
As if on autopilot, Harris’ thumbs took the screen to Instagram where the first post to pop on his feed was one of Troy napping on the plane on their way home to Ottawa for the game. Harris kept scrolling but Troy’s mind stayed fixed on the photo and what he knew were probably more than a few comments about how only Harris could capture Troy looking that innocent or adorable or whatever. Because it was true. It was only around Harris that his guard was down, it was only around Harris that he lit up from the inside out.
“You really do take more photos of me than any of the other players, you know?” Troy whispered into the dark room.
Harris shuffled in their cuddle so that he could brush his lips along Troy’s jaw. “Of course I do, I love taking photos of you.”
Troy smirked.
“No need to get smug. Despite what some people may think, I post an even amount of photos of all the players. But let’s just say I have way more outtakes of you.”
“Sure, sure.” Troy pulled him close again. “The fans are onto you.”
“The fans have fanfic about us, I’d say they’re more than onto us.”
“What’s fanfic?”
“Oh you sweet summer child.” A beat of silence and then Harris was lifting onto his elbow, the glow of the phone highlighting the furrow in his brow. “Should I stop? Are you worried that they’ll discover the truth behind the photos?”
Troy tugged on Harris elbow until he fell back onto the bed, heads once again sharing the pillow. “To hell with that, let them see.”