Work Text:
“Well, gosh.” Bitty says quietly to himself, halfway through his walk through campus back to the Haus, “Who is that ludicrously handsome man over there? Why, Eric Bittle, that just happens to somehow, through some fluke of statistics or possibly freak wormhole, be your boyfriend.”
And so it is his boyfriend. Jack is standing by a fountain, looking at his phone over his sunglasses. He’s in some terribly well fit Levi’s, a black waffle Henley (with what appears to be nothing underneath, thank you Jesus) and a backwards Habs cap. He looks….
Bitty sighs like a dramatic princess.
…he looks fucking dreamy.
Jack looks up, and when he sees Bitty approaching, a huge grin splits his face. He pockets his phone and waits for Bitty to get to him, smile getting bigger and bigger.
Bitty stops about six inches from him and lets his bag slips off his shoulder. He looks up into Jack’s face and catches his lower lip between his teeth for just the briefest of seconds. Jack’s wide blue eyes trace the moment.
“ ‘allo.” Bitty says, doing his best impression of Jack and his accent.
Jack raises one eyebrow.
“Howdy.” He replies, in a strange mixture of inflections that roughly approximates into Southern.
They stand motionless but very close for about five more seconds before they both crack up.
Bitty grins and throws his arms around Jack’s middle, jamming his face into his chest and squeezing. Jack’s body is warm and safe and familiar and rock freaking solid.
Jack hugs him back and Bitty can feel him press his lips into his hair.
“Hi Bits.” He says quietly. Bitty can feel his breath.
“Hi Jack.” He closes his eyes and sighs.
Lord, he even smells like Bitty’s dreams.
They part after a moment or two and beam at each other. They can’t kiss in public—not yet—but the hollow ache Bitty feels when they’re apart hurts a bit less.
“We going home?” Jack says, taking off his hat and plunking it unceremoniously on Bitty’s head.
“We sure are.” Bitty says.
They walk side by side, jostling each other with shoulders and elbows as they go. Jack talks about his draft picks, a new skating drill he’s been trying, his weird neighbors in his condo. Bitty talks about how terrible he is at French, about Chowder’s midterms, about the shows Ransom has got him started on on Netflix. It’s so comfortable and intimate that Bitty realizes the whole world around them could be on fire, and he wouldn’t notice.
“You excited for tonight? I know Holster is; he’s been texting in all emoti-thingies all day.”
“Emojis. And of course I’m excited! We all wanna see you, and I’ve been baking all dang week!” Bitty glows with pride.
“Yeah well… I’d be extra excited if I was Ransom.” Jack says. He’s smiling mischievously.
Bitty stops walking. He narrows his eyes at Jack, who is still looking like a cartoon thief.
“Jack Laurent Zimmerman, are you plotting?” Bitty pretends to sound scandalized.
“Peut-être.” Jack says primly
Bitty glares.
“C’est une surprise.” Jack say
“Quit talkin’ at me in French, Mister Gunpowder Treason, and tell me what your little plan is!”
Jack crosses his arms. His biceps strain at the waffle weave.
“Non.”
Bitty sidles up to him, slow and methodical. They’re under a big shadowy elm, and there’s no one nearby.
Bitty goes up on his tiptoes. He slips his hands up under the Henley, runs them over the smooth skin and presses his fingers to Jack’s stomach, gently digging into his obliques. His beautiful, beautiful obliques.
Jack inhales sharply.
Bitty flutters his lashes and pouts.
“S'il vous plaît?” he simpers.
Jack lets out a long breath.
“Fine.”
The Haus is not, exactly, in an uproar. It’s not an Epikegster, because only the hockey team is there, including Lardo, and Shitty drove down, and Caitlin and Chowder are playing Smash Bros. Holster and Jack are arm wrestling in the kitchen, and Ransom and Nursey are arguing over Quentin Tarantino versus Nicolas Winding Refn.
It is, however, loud and warm and plenty boozy.
The doorbell rings.
“Ransom, honey, could you get the door please?” Bitty calls from the kitchen, where he’s trying to make jalapeño poppers.
“I’ll get it.” Dex says, standing up from the table, where he was acting as arm wrestle referee.
“No!” Jack yells, and practically leaps out of his chair. He lifts Dex off the ground for good measure.
“Um.” Dex says, and is completely ignored.
“Ransom!” Bitty says again, a little louder.
“Okay, OKAY. Cripes. Who even is it; we’re literally all here.” Ransom breaks off with Nursey and heads for the front door.
Bitty and Jack peak out around the kitchen doorframe.
The doorbell rings again.
“Fucking hell, okay, I’m coming.” Ransom turns the doorknob and yanks the door open.
Silence falls like a hockey player on figure skates.
“Hello!” Tater says, waving awkwardly, “You are Justin, yes?”
Ransom screams.
“…did I just hear a Wilhelm scream?” Shitty yells from the living room.
“Oh fuck.” Holster says, peering around Jack’s shoulders.
“Fuck! Fucking…fuck!” Ransom says, hands on his head.
“Is that good expression?” Tater says, looking at Jack.
Jack shrugs.
“No. NO. Fucking….no.” Ransom whirls around and points at Jack.
“Zimmerman. You… NO.”
“I did.” Jack says.
“He did.” Bitty adds primly.
Ransom turns back to Tater, mouth and eyes three perfect circles.
“Then you know I love you!” he blurts.
Behind him, Holster slaps his hands to his forehead.
“Uh, well, that is strange way to introduce self, but yes, I am aware.” Tater takes Ransom’s limp hand and shakes it, “You can call me Alexei. Or Tater. Either is good.” Tater shuffles in the door awkwardly and closes it behind him.
“Come in, Tater.” Jack says, coming towards the entrance way. He gestures to the frozen figure. “That’s Ransom. He’s a bit…excited right now.”
“I HAVE YOUR JERSEY.” Ransom blurts.
Jack sighs.
In the background, Nursey says “Like, literally no chill.”
“Ah ha!” Tater exclaims, “But you do not have this jersey! Look, I brought for you…” Tater is suddenly riffling through a small duffel he’s apparently brought with him, “…it’s in here, I know…I… yes, here…no, it stuck on something, haha, yes! Here.”
From within, Tater drags out a jersey. A Falconers jersey. With ‘MASHKOV’ across it in big letters.
It’s also signed.
And has blood on it.
“HOLY. SHIT.” Ransom says, “Is that from…is that from when you-”
“From when Urbanovich punched me in nose in Denver. Was good fight- I still have teeth, but him, not so much.” Tater hands Ransom the jersey.
Ransom takes it with as much reverence as a mother taking their newborn baby.
“I feel like Jesus.” He hisses.
“…uh…okay.” Tater says, and pats him on the shoulder, “I am going to get beer. You can come have beer later once brain is attached to mouth.”
Tater and Jack go to the kitchen, with a short stop for Tater to ruffle Bitty’s hair and say “Hello, little Bits.”
Holster comes up to Ransom and clasps him by the shoulders.
“That was rough, buddy.” He says, not unkindly.
“I think I peed.” Ransom whispers.
“I’m not even slightly surprised.” Holster agrees sagely.
As it turns out, once they get a beer in him and let him breathe a bit, Ransom does okay. He and Tater get along. Tater, actually, apparently gets along with everyone.
At one point, he opens Lardo’s beer for her and places it in her hands.
“For you, myshka.” He says sweetly.
Lardo blinks.
“Okay.” She says, and sidles back to the living room.
Once she’s out of earshot, she says to the frogs and Shitty, “So that huge Russian guy is basically a giant teddy bear man.”
Back in the kitchen, Holster and Ransom are staring, rapt, as Tater describes a bench-clearing brawl from his youth.
“…And that was when I break nose first time. My grandfather make straight with two kitchen knives and tying me to chair. It was not really good experience, but now I learn to keep up left.”
Jack laughs under his breath.
“Dunno, Tater, I saw Urbanovich sucker you. Didn’t look like you kept up the left that time.”
Tater waves a hand dismissively.
“He is tiny man with tiny fists. My nose can take little love tap from him any day.”
“Urbanovich is six four!” Holster hisses to Ransom, who’s mouth is hanging open.
Bitty closes the oven with a satisfied look on his face, confident in his poppers. He takes a cooler from the fridge and comes to the table, where he sits on Jack’s lap, comfortable and happy.
Jack, for his part, wraps his arms around Bitty’s middle and rests his chin on his shoulder.
Tater sips his beer.
Ransom and Holster’s eyes go from Jack and Bitty, to Tater, and then back again.
Tater follows their gaze, and then his eyes widen in understanding.
“Ah. Yes. I know about this. This is not new information to me.”
“Ya’ll didn’t think we were that dumb, did you?” Bitty pretends to look injured.
“Well. I mean…you didn’t tell us for hella long.” Holster says, raising an eyebrow and looking over his glasses.
Jack coughs.
“I understand confusion. Unfortunately, is difficult to keep up pretend life when I walk into Zimboni apartment to drop off paper things he have to sign and I instead am finding little naked Bits on counter eating ice cream out of container.”
Silence engulfs the Haus for about three full seconds, and then there’s a scuffling sound in the living room and Shitty comes sliding into the kitchen.
“Did I just hear the truly fucking spectacular thing I think I just heard?”
Bitty hides his face in his hands. Jack is turning increasingly pink.
“Oh my god.” Ransom whispers.
“This is the best fucking day.” Holster says.
“Zimboni forget I have key to place, and also that I text him and tell him I am coming day before. Zimboni is… kind of idiot.” Tater shrugs and sips his beer.
The resultant laughter fills the kitchen to bursting, until Shitty, Ransom and Holster and leaning on each other in order to stay upright. Jack is grinning sheepishly, and Bitty starts snickering despite himself, hands covering his mouth.
Tater grins like a cat full of much more than six pence.
The beer pong starts around eleven, once Tater proves to be utter crap at Smash Bros. It’s Ransom and Holster versus Tater and Shitty, who beat out Nursey, Bitty and Dex in a series of increasingly violent Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Lardo sits on the arms of the couch and watches the proceedings.
“Why does little mouse not play beer pong?” Tater says, hands on his hips.
“Cuz little mouse would make the grown men cry like toddlers.” She gives him a raised eyebrow.
Tater hesitates and then looks at Shitty. “You are sure she is not Russian? I think my grandmother say exact thing when I was little boy.”
Shitty is stretching by his end of the table.
“Naw, dawg. She’s her own special brand.”
Tater is unreasonably good at beer pong. Considering he’s an NHL player and natural athlete, he has hand-eye coordination and spatial awareness in the bag. Ransom and Holster are getting more and more drunk, and Holster completely fails every trick shot he attempts.
“Through the legs!” Holster yells and jumps in the air. The little white ball lands in Caitlin’s lap on the other side of the room.
“So you’re Michael Jordan now?” she says, and throws it back.
“He wishes.” Ransom shoves Holster out of the way.
The chirping gets louder and more aggressive as the night progresses. They switch up the teams, so it’s Ransom and Nursey against Tater and Bitty.
Near the end of the second round, Bitty is lining up, tongue sticking out of his mouth, one eye closed. There’s only the one cup left.
“One moment, little Bits.” Tater says, and lifts Bitty up by the ribcage.
“Hold the fuck up-” Nursey says, but it’s too late.
Bitty makes the shot. He punches the air with both hands and Tater lifts him higher and puts him on his shoulder.
They take a victory lap of the living room, Bitty singing ‘We Are the Champions.”
Tater comes to a halt by Jack, who is leaning on the doorframe and grinning.
“For you, Zimboni. I believe this yours,”
Bitty basically flops into Jack’s arms, giggling uncontrollably.
“One day, rookie, we will carry Stanley Cup exactly like this.” Tater lifts Bitty’s legs, and Bitty yelps as he’s being lifted over everyone’s heads like a trophy.
“Will probably even weigh the same.” Tater adds.
Around 2 am, people are starting to yawn. Chowder nobly offers to sleep at Caitlin’s so Tater can have a bed.
“You are sure? I got car to drive me here, I can go back home no big deal.”
“Naw, man. It’s cool.” Chowder says, eyes sparkling with abject hero worship, “…s’wawesome.”
“Sleepover!” Ransom yells and jumps into Holster’s arms. Holster, who’s currently about 6/10, almost drops him.
Over on the couch, Bitty is sitting crosswise in Jack’s lap. He leans in and pressed his lips to Jack’s neck.
“This was a good idea.” He whispers, and kisses the soft skin.
“So am I still Mr. Gunpowder Treason?” Jack asks.
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe. If you’re good.” Bitty grins and pulls Jack in for a real kiss.
The kiss only lasts for a moment, because Tater yells “If I am hearing any naughty business tonight, you will not like consequences. I will make notes and whiteboard presentation, and give speech to entire locker room about Zimboni sex noises.”
Bitty hides his face again. Jack’s head falls onto Bitty’s shoulder with a sigh.
“I bet Chowder could help with that presentation.” Dex mutters dryly.
“I beg your pardon, William?”
“Nothing, Bitty!”
“So you think it went okay?” Jack is laying on Bitty’s bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
“It went great, honey. Embarrassing personal secrets or no.” Bitty winks at him.
In just his briefs, Jack stretched out on his bed is a distracting sight.
Jack shifts and hold his arms open for Bitty, beckoning with his fingers.
Bitty strips off his shirt and throws it near-ish to the hamper. He takes Jack’s hands and lets himself be pulled down into a tight embrace, legs tangled together. Even when he’s not wanting to start something, Jack Zimmerman is a snuggle octopus. Bitty really doesn’t mind.
“Good night, sweetheart.” Bitty says, burying his face between Jack’s pecs.
“Bonsoir.” Jack says and sighs heavily.
The silence lasts about six minutes, and then there’s a deafening crash coming from Chowder’s room…
…Followed by a stream of what sound like Russian curses.
“Criss de cave.” Jack groans.
Bitty springs out of bed, or at least tries to; it’s difficult considering the beefy arms and meaty legs wrapped around him.
“Tater!? What happened?” Bitty wrenches his and then Chowder’s door open.
Tater is standing there in his boxer shorts, rubbing his chin.
Chowder’s bed is broken. Very broken.
“Structural integrity of bed is…well, shit.” Tater says.
“Oh my god.” Jack groans, rubbing his face with his hands behind Bitty, who’s staring with his mouth open.
“This night keeps getting better and better.” Shitty says, from where he’s appeared in Lardo’s door.
Lardo leans around him and peers in. “Wow, naked men everywhere and a broken bed. Is this a porno?”
“Oh my god.” Bitty says.
“I will move mattress and sleep on floor. And pay for new bed. Will little Chowder be mad?”
“Fuck no; he’ll probably think this is the greatest thing that ever happened to him.” Shitty says.
“Okay; everybody, back to your rooms!” Jack says, and he uses his Captain Jack voice, so everyone complies pretty quickly.
Jack and Bitty climb back into bed, Bitty this time being essentially engulfed as a little spoon. They’re quiet for around a minute.
And then Bitty says hesitantly, “Did…that actually just happen?”
And then they’re both laughing hysterically until Tater yells from the next room.
“I hear giggling, little Bits; don’t make me come in there!”
And they muffle their laughter with pillows and blankets.
The next morning, Bitty churns out about thirty pounds of pancakes. Jack helps but turns out to be more or less useless, so Dex takes over. He’s methodical and detail oriented enough that he makes a superb sous chef.
At the table, Ransom and Tater are having an eating contest. Tater is winning by a landslide, but Holster keeps pouring maple syrup on Ransom’s plate and yelling “FOOD LUBE.”
Nursey looks simultaneously awed and disgusted.
Chowder and Caitlin show up around ten with a box of donuts. Tater stands up and approaches Chowder, still just in his boxer shorts. At 6’7 barefoot, it’s an intimidating sight.
Chowder pales.
“I have bad news.” Tater says solemnly.
“Um.” Chowder says. He looks terrified.
“I broke bed.” Tater admits. He hangs his head, contrite.
“Oh, shit, I broke it ages ago.” Caitlin says.
Silence falls.
Chowder is rapidly blushing bright vermillion. Caitlin suddenly seems to realize what she said and grimaces.
“Uh.” She says, “Or...not.”
“Oh, fuck no, that’s permanent record now.” Holster says gleefully.
“This weekend is fucking mint.” Shitty is beaming like a jack-o-lantern. He has syrup in his mustache.
“I will buy you new one anyway. Bed should be strong enough for all activities.” Tater pats Chowder on the shoulder and almost bowls him over.
Tater and Jack have a practice that afternoon, and so head out at the same time. Bitty and Jack kiss perhaps a bit too heatedly in the kitchen while everyone says goodbye to Tater.
"I will give everybody my phone number. You can text me all day, I get bored and I don’t know lots of people.”
“Noice.” Nursey says.
“Idiot.” Dex mutters. Nursey kicks him.
“You. Justin.” Tater says. He puts both his hands on Ransom’s shoulders.
“Ya?” Ransom says, eyes wide.
“You take good care of jersey.”
“I will.” Ransom vows.
“And call me. We can do beers. Or vodka. I have both.”
“Okay.” Ransom sounds like he might pass out.
“Zimboni! We have to leave before little Bits dies of being suffocated by your face.”
Jack and Bitty part with one final hug, tight and warm.
“Bye, Bits. See you soon.” Jack says quietly into his blonde hair.
“Bye sweetie.” Bitty says, and wipes his almost-tears on Jack’s chest.
Everyone crowds around the door and waves as Jack and Tater go to their swanky hire car. Jack takes Tater’s bag like a gentleman, and bends to put their bags in the trunk.
Bitty sighs. “It’s just such a nice bum.”
“Amen.” Shitty says.
“Totally.” Holster agrees.
“Mad score, Bits.” Nursey nods sagely.
“Jesus Christ.” Dex says.
“Hey. Guys. So.” Ransom says from behind the crowd at the door, “Do you think, over time, Tater will let me call him Mish Mash?”
“Well…I mean…probably?” Bitty says.
That night, Bitty and Jack text before they go to sleep.
Jack: Tater says thanks again.
Bitty: Aw! Shucks :3 That man is a sweetie
Jack: Haha, ya
Jack: Why is there a three there
Bitty: ….
Bitty: … sometimes I wonder about you.