Chapter Text
Macklin’s nose was buried in the hollow of Will’s throat, right where the tendon stood out beneath the skin, and he was doing that thing again—that weird, embarrassing thing where he just… sniffed. Like a dog. Like a total freak. But Will smelled insane, all cedar and sweat and that stupid vanilla shampoo he used because he said it made his curls soft, and Mack couldn’t get enough of it. He was sprawled completely on top of him, chest to chest, hips to hips, legs tangled, his full weight pressing Will into the mattress, and Will wasn’t complaining. He just had one hand buried in Mack’s messy brown hair, scratching slow and lazy, the other arm thrown over Mack’s back, holding him there.
“Dude,” Will mumbled, his voice vibrating under Mack’s ear. “You’re crushing my ribs.”
“No I’m not,” Mack said, his voice muffled against Will’s collarbone. He didn’t move. If anything, he sank heavier, letting his legs slot between Will’s thighs, his face turning to drag his nose along Will’s jaw, up to his ear, inhaling again. “You smell good.”
Will laughed, soft and breathy, and Mack felt it in his own chest. “You’re so weird. You know that?”
“Yeah.” Mack pulled back just enough to look at him, propping his chin on Will’s sternum. Will’s blue eyes were half-closed, sleepy, his blond curls a disaster against the pillow, and his bunny teeth showed when he smiled, just a little. Mack’s stomach did that stupid flip it had been doing for three months now, ever since they’d stumbled into this thing—this boyfriend thing—after years of being teammates, best friends, locker room buddies who slapped each other’s asses and talked about girls they didn’t actually care about.
“Seriously, though,” Will said, his thumb tracing the shell of Mack’s ear, a gesture that was still new enough to make Mack’s breath hitch. “You’re like… eighty percent of my body weight right now. I can’t breathe.”
“Good,” Mack said, grinning, but he shifted, sliding sideways just enough to let Will inhale properly, though he kept his leg thrown over Will’s waist, kept his face tucked into Will’s neck. He didn’t want space. He wanted to be absorbed. “You’re warm.”
“You’re sweaty.”
“You like it.”
Will’s chest rumbled with a laugh. “Yeah, I do. Freak.”
They lay there in the half-dark, the only light coming from Will’s laptop screen across the room, casting a blue glow over the posters on the wall—hockey stuff, mostly, team photos where they stood side by side with their arms around each other, grinning like idiots, back when touching had been casual, back when Mack hadn’t known what it meant to want to crawl inside someone’s skin just to be closer.
Will’s fingers found the back of Mack’s neck, squeezing gently. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Mack said, quieter now. He pressed a kiss to Will’s throat, just a brush of lips, experimental. They were still learning this part—the soft part. The part that wasn’t grabbing and desperate and hidden in darkened rooms. The part where they could just… be. “Just tired.”
“Long game,” Will agreed. His hand slid down to Mack’s shoulder, kneading at the muscle there. “You killed it today, though. That shot in the third period? Filthy.”
Mack smiled against Will’s skin, feeling that familiar rush of pride mixed with something else, something that made his cheeks heat up. Will had been the first one to hug him after that goal, lifting him off his skates, yelling in his ear, and Mack had wanted to kiss him right there on the ice, in front of everyone. “You set me up,” he mumbled. “I just finished it.”
“Nah. You’ve got the hands, Macky. I just feed you the puck.”
They were talking like teammates still, like bros analyzing tape, but Will’s hand had drifted down to the small of Mack’s back, slipping under his shirt, palm warm against bare skin, and Mack shivered. It felt different now. Everything felt different, charged, like the air before a storm.
“You’re sniffing me again,” Will teased softly.
“Can’t help it.” Mack closed his eyes, breathing him in, slow and deep. “You’re like… my favorite smell. Is that creepy?”
Will was quiet for a second, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Mack’s spine. Then: “No. I mean… I like how you smell too. Like… home. Or something. I don’t know. That’s gay.”
“We’re literally boyfriends,” Mack pointed out, grinning. “We’re allowed to be gay.”
“Yeah, but… we’re still us, right?” Will’s voice dropped, losing the teasing edge, getting that hesitant quality that Mack recognized because he felt it too—that fear that they’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross, that they’d broken something precious by changing it. “Like… we’re still teammates. Still bros.”
Mack lifted his head again, meeting Will’s eyes in the dim light. Will looked nervous, vulnerable in a way he never was on the ice, and Mack’s heart ached, sudden and sharp. “Yeah,” he said, firm. “We’re still that. Just… more now. Right?”
Will’s expression softened, those blue eyes going liquid. “Yeah. More.”
Mack settled back down, pressing his face into Will’s neck again, breathing him in, letting the familiar scent ground him. Will’s arms came up around him, holding him tight, and Mack felt the last of the tension drain out of his shoulders. They were figuring it out. They were clumsy at it, still saying “dude” and “bro” and punching each other’s shoulders when the feelings got too big, but they were here. They were together.
“Don’t let go,” Mack whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them, too honest, too raw.
Will’s arms tightened. “Not planning on it, Macky. You’re stuck with me.”
“Good,” Mack mumbled, and he sniffed Will one more time, just because he could, just because he was allowed to now, and let himself drift off, heavy and safe and perfectly crushing his favourite person in the world.