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Plenty of people call Sidney ‘mama’. Members of the team, fans, other players too. Anybody could do it and Sid never thought anything of it. He didn’t mind it, to be honest, especially when he knew he had the tendency to mother hen around his rookies sometimes.
The one line Sid won’t cross, however, is acting like an actual helicopter parent. If his rookies need something, love life related or not, Sid will be there if they want him. If they don’t? He’ll stay away. It’s that simple. He doesn’t want to force his way into anyone’s life, especially not when he knows how much power his name wields.
Geno, on the other hand, has no such qualms.
--
It starts with a text from Ovi, like all of Geno’s worst-made plans do.
Sid’s uncaring at first, just glad that Zhenya is out of his hair for a few hours because Sid’s still got last minute preparations to do for his camp, and Ovechkin certainly isn’t helping him. Of course, it doesn’t take Sid long to figure out why Ovi isn’t helping.
“Sid,” Geno calls. Sid hums but doesn’t look up from his work. There’s a lot of stuff still left to do, and he really doesn’t have time to spend on his fiancé’s whims right now, as much as he’d love to throw it all to the wind and let Geno do whatever to him. “Sid.”
“What?”
“Ovi ask if Minten is coaching,” Geno says and okay. What? Sid looks up from his computer, eyebrows furrowed as he fixes his gaze on Zhenya. He shrugs and waggles his phone at Sid. “He just ask.”
“He has the same lists as me,” Sid says, exasperated. Zhenya merely blinks at him like he’d said something in a language neither of them speak, and Sid sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Yes, Minten is one of the coaches I chose.”
“Great,” Geno says, followed by a suspicious giggle. Sid squints at him.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Hm. Nothing,” is the only response Sid gets and he huffs. Trust Evgeni not to tell him something. “He say something about Minten and Leonard. From his team.”
“Oh no. Don’t tell me Ovi’s trying to matchmake two of the coaches?” Sid stands up at that, chair screeching along the floor as he pushes it back in a rush. He crosses to Geno in a few seconds, peering over his shoulder at the haze of Russian that greets his eyes. He’s able to read most of it and he groans.
Ovi’s trying to match up two of their junior charity camp coaches. Great.
--
Ryan’s wedged in the corner seat, all but pinned in place by the weight of Gabe. The back row of the coach sits five people, so of course, the people he’s stuck with have decided that they’ll fit six. And Will’s boyfriend is leading the charge, so he played traitor and went along with it. Of course.
Not that it really matters much considering the fifth seat is currently empty and Macklin’s happily perched himself on Will’s lap in a way that Ryan is pretty sure isn’t legal, but who cares? If they get stopped, he’s sure Celebrini just has to flash a smile and sign some things, and they’ll be back on the road again within minutes.
“He’s here!” Someone yells and there’s a cacophony of cheers backlit with merry laughter before the ‘he’ in question appears and Ryan feels all the air in his lungs disappear. ‘He’ being their missing sixth, ‘he’ being Fraser fucking Minten, who Ryan’s admired from afar for a bit too long.
Gabe looks at him weird and so Ryan hunkers down in his seat with a huff and drags his phone up to his face. If he just leans into this role enough, Gabe won’t start sniffing around, won’t start sussing out the maelstrom of feelings churning in Ryan’s gut.
Who is he kidding? Gabe’s probably already gotten the full story from that one reaction alone.
“Sorry I’m late,” Fraser says and he’s infuriatingly adorable. Ryan wants to bite him. Or chuck him into the boards like he’s done a bunch of times on the ice, always overeager and called out for it by Ovi when they’re bundled together on the bench.
(Ryan doesn’t want to think about the time Ovi cornered him in the locker room and asked him about Fraser. He really doesn’t, but he’s thinking about it anyways. About the heat that had blossomed over his face as he shyly stuttered out that he thought Minten was attractive. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover how Ryan felt after Ovi’s response had been a mere smirk and a hair ruffle.)
“What was the holdup?” It’s Bedard who asks, and Ryan scowls into his phone screen, shifting around in his seat again. He’s so uncomfortable already and they’ve not even started moving yet. This might just be the worst thing he’s ever let Will talk him into, and that’s saying something. Ryan’s always been a bit of a guinea pig for Will to test things on, after all.
“Was getting coffee,” there’s a noise like ice hitting a plastic cup, “and I ran into some kids who were fans. They were so cute, and I had to sign things for them. I felt cruel saying no,” Fraser says.
“And let me guess, a crowd formed?” Gabe asks. Ryan shifts his gaze over to Fraser’s face then, just catching the tail end of his sheepish smile before he turns and sinks into his seat. He catches Ryan’s eye and nods at him before answering Gabe.
Ryan’s pretty sure his face explodes into red at that simple acknowledgement alone.
“Yep. I couldn’t say no to anyone, y’know?”
“This is where we are different, Minty. You’re way too nice,” Mack says. He squirms around atop Will’s lap and surely, surely, that’s not comfortable? Sure, Mack’s heavy back there, but even then. No way. Ryan makes a mental note to ask Will about it later (he’ll forget) and sighs. It’s louder than anticipated, and the whole row turns to him. Mack glares. “What?”
“Sorry for being frustrated that we’re not fucking moving and I’m wedged in a small-ass corner because you guys didn’t think to remember that I’m bigger than all of you,” Ryan snaps. His spine hurts and sure, sitting slumped and slouched hasn’t helped that, but it’s easier than getting friction burn from the sleeves of Gabe’s t-shirt as they rub and brush against each other for the whole journey.
“Oh!” Fraser says, eyes widening imperceptibly. He looks around before shuffling closer to the window, fingers curling into the sleeve of Connor’s jacket to get him to move along too. There’s a spike of jealousy at that which Ryan hastily tamps down. So Fraser and Bedard are a thing. Who cares? (Ryan. Ryan does.) “There, I’ve made some space. Everyone move up.”
There’s some brief shuffling before Ryan has move wiggle room and he sighs in contentment, spreading his legs wide just to annoy Gabe before letting them fall half-shut. Gabe rolls his eyes at him and pinches his waist, but Ryan ignores him in favour of smiling and mouthing ‘thank you’ at Fraser.
The smile he gets in return, all sweet and coy, accompanied by a faint brush of deep pink on Fraser’s cheeks, makes his stomach turn fizzy. He swallows with what feels like a desert-dry mouth and snaps his gaze down to his phone. The screen lights up seconds later with a text from Gabe, and Ryan elbows him before he even thinks about reading it. He does it again after seeing the message.
Gabe
We’re talking about that later.
--
Ryan falls asleep a third of the way into the journey, and Fraser stares. He shouldn’t, god he shouldn’t, especially not with Mack who’s nosier than a newborn puppy sitting two seats down from him, but he can’t tear his eyes away. There’s something about Ryan, about the cut of his jaw and the spray of his freckles, that draws Fraser in. It feels like an unrelenting whirlpool, or at least what Fraser thinks one feels like.
The coach hits a bump in the road and Fraser watches with a low-brewing bite of jealousy as Gabe moves his arm to hold Ryan steady without even looking up from his phone, like it’s something automatic for him to do, something familiar. Fraser’s jealousy is then immediately followed by a tidal wave of guilt. Gabe’s a good guy, Fraser knows that, and why shouldn’t he get to be happy with Ryan? Just because Fraser’s maybe obsessed with the guy doesn’t mean he can’t be happy for a friend.
Really, Fraser needs to sort his shit out because he hasn’t stopped looking at Ryan for the past thirty minutes and he can now feel a different set of eyes staring back at him. He doesn’t want to turn and see Mack looking at him, but he’s not sure Connor is much of a better option either.
When Fraser turns, however, it’s neither of them. Connor’s glued to something on his phone, and Mack’s fast asleep, face wedged into Will’s neck. (When he turned around to be sat like that, Fraser isn’t sure, but it looks uncomfortable for them both.)
Surprisingly, it’s Gabe who’s staring at him and wow, maybe there was a worse option. Fraser smiles what he hopes is a placating smile at the other boy before he tries to focus his attention on the landscapes outside the window.
It’s not much use. His brain is a frazzled mess, a tangled whirlwind of jealousy and guilt that, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t sift through. Both of his feelings are rational, normal emotions, of course, but Fraser isn’t sure how he’s supposed to spend the next two weeks around Ryan without freaking out. He isn’t sure how to survive being around Gabe, either. If they are dating, like Fraser deeply suspects they are, then he’s going to feel like a creep and an awful friend. He already does.
Landscapes, he tells himself. Focus on the passing green.
Fraser blinks until the view from the window is discernible again and sighs softly. He leans back against the window behind him and keeps his eyes fixed on the other side. He can see the fuzzy tufts of Ryan’s hair out of the corner of his eye and that’s enough for him. It’ll have to be.
--
“Why?” Sid huffs, dragging a hand down his face. He feels like he’s being teamed up on, and poor Kindy has to sit witness to it. Ovi and Geno exchange a look that spells trouble and Sid huffs again. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Minten and Leonard coach together,” Zhenya says again.
“Their styles of play are too different,” Sid says.
“Surely that’ll work better then,” Ben pipes up. All eyes turn to him and he smiles shyly, cheeks tinting red at all the attention. “Two different styles means that kids can find a way that works for them, rather than only having one. And besides, there are always going to be players like Leno and Minty in every league. Better to learn from both of them, no?”
“I hate that you’re here, and I hate that you’re smart,” Sid grumbles. Ben flashes him a not at all apologetic smile and Sid turns to pick up the pen, still grumbling under his breath. He writes ‘Minten & Leonard’ next to group A before turning back to the two Russian men who have chosen to torture him today. “Okay, who’s next?”
“Celebrini and Bedard. Separate Mack from boyfriend,” Ovi says. He doesn’t even look interested in this, somehow, so Sid glares at him before jotting the names down all the same. They do need to sort this out sooner rather than later, he supposes. And it’s only for two weeks. Surely those two can go two weeks without each other?
“You’re being extra evil today, I see.”
--
“You’re in good hands,” Mack says over Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan turns to glare at him. Seeing his name next to Fraser’s on the coaching pairs list hadn’t exactly been an outcome Ryan had prepared for. Sure, he figured they’d work together at some point, but the fact that they’ll be working together for most of the time has Ryan’s stomach flipping.
“Shut up,” Ryan grumbles. He scans down the list, smirking when he sees that Will’s been paired with Gabe and not Mack. Ryan may be more distanced from their little BC line trio now, but he knows all about Mack’s jealousy over Gabe. After all, Will couldn’t exactly cry to Gabe about that now, could he?
“Fraser will have you skating like a pro in no time,” Mack chirps. Ryan glares at him again before slapping the list into his chest.
“Worry about who your boyfriend’s been paired with before coming after my skating skills,” Ryan sneers. He stalks off, already so bitter and wound up and all because of fucking Macklin Celebrini. He isn’t sure why Mack gets under his skin so much – it was Gabe that was in love with Will, not him – but he does and Ryan hates it. Hates him.
“Ryan, wait up!” Someone calls and it’s a faintly familiar someone, a someone that Ryan both desperately does and yet definitely doesn’t want to see right now. It’s Fraser. Fuck. Ryan slows, shooting Fraser a quick smile when he falls into step. “Hey, did you see the list?”
“Yeah. Group A coaching buddies, huh?” Ryan says. He feels a bitter swell in his throat, and he spits it out before he can stop himself. “If you want to ask Sid to change, I’m sure he’ll agree. I know I’m not like… the best, or anything.”
“Remind me again which one of us here has already been traded from the team that drafted them?” Fraser says and Ryan winces. He’d forgotten all about that because Fraser’s time in Toronto was so nothing. A little amount of time that has been washed away by the magic he’s been doing in Boston.
“But look at your performance in Boston. You’re so loved.”
“So are you,” Fraser says, lightly knocking his side into Ryan’s. “Don’t be so down on yourself, okay? I mean… not everyone can go first overall. That’s impossible.”
“Only Bedard and Celebrini, of course.”
“We can’t all be them either,” Fraser says and it sounds simple enough, but Ryan can hear the traces of upset lying underneath his tone. It’s easier to pick out because Ryan knows he often sounds the same, feels the same. He can only imagine how Gabe feels, underrated as he was in the 2023 draft. Ryan got off lucky compared to him.
“But at least you and Will are like… with them,” Ryan mutters and he doesn’t even mean to, stupid brain to mouth filter not working. Fraser hears him, unfortunately.
“With them? Wait,” Fraser pauses, hands settling on Ryan’s shoulders to make him stop too. Fraser peers down at him, their singular inch of height difference making Ryan’s head fill with fluff. Fraser’s eyes are bright and joyful and Ryan wonders what would happen if he pressed closer, if he put his lips to Fraser’s. Would Fraser freak out? Or would he kiss him back?
“Huh?” Ryan blurts when he realises he’s completely missed what Fraser said. Fraser giggles and leans in closer, Ryan’s mind kicking into overdrive as he picks up the faint traces of Fraser’s cologne. There’s a softer scent underneath too, and Ryan wonders if it’s the smell of some kind of moisturiser. Fraser’s skin does look perfectly smooth in some spots, after all.
“Do you think me and Connor are dating?” Fraser asks. His thumb brushes the skin just above Ryan’s collar and Ryan has to swallow down a shiver, has to will his body to fucking relax because his dick is getting excited and this really isn’t the most opportune time or place to do so.
“Yeah. Aren’t you?” Ryan asks. He swallows again. His mouth feels dry once more, like it did on the coach, and if this is the effect that being around Fraser has on him, then so be it. Ryan’s wet enough in other places to make up for it.
“No. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely used to think about it,” Fraser says. Ryan swallows down a snarl at that. He doesn’t even know if Fraser considers him a friend, let alone anything else, so he has no right to be acting like a territorial douche. “But no. We’re just friends, and besides, Connor’s with Kindel, the Penguins player Sid brought with him.”
“Wait, what?” Ryan screeches. Fraser’s eyes widen before he claps a hand over Ryan’s mouth, the other digging into his shoulder. Ryan’s dick twitches valiantly, and he swallows against Fraser’s palm. The skin is warm and Ryan thinks about pursing his lips, about pressing a kiss to the lines of Fraser’s hand.
“Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that,” Fraser whispers as he looks around. They’re far away enough that no one is looking at them, thankfully, so he slowly removes his hand from Ryan’s mouth. It works against him. Ryan bursts into laughter in seconds, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
“Oh my god, you’re a little tattletale!” Ryan says between bouts of laughter. Fraser’s giggling with him now and soon enough, they’re the only things keeping each other upright. They must look like a mess, but no one comes near them, and eventually they can relax, peering at each other through laughter-damp eyelashes.
“Promise me you won’t say anything,” Fraser says once he’s caught his breath. Ryan isn’t faring much better, unfortunately, his heart still ticking out of time thanks to the warmth of Fraser’s hand on his arm. Fraser’s solemn and serious now, face set in stern consideration.
“I promise. Your secret is safe with me,” Ryan says. Fraser breathes a sigh of relief and clasps both of his hands around Ryan’s. Another rush of warmth suffuses through Ryan’s body and he’s almost positive his skin is lit with hues of red.
“Thank you,” Fraser says. He steps back, suddenly shy, and Ryan blinks owlishly. Just a few seconds ago, Fraser was clasping his hands like it was nothing and now he looks half-ready to bolt like a spooked horse at any second. “I’ll, um… see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah, later,” Ryan says. Fraser pulls Ryan in for a quick, two second hug before he’s darting off. Ryan watches him go with wide eyes and a racing heart. Of course, that’s the exact moment Gabe decides to appear.
“So,” Gabe starts. Ryan cuts him off with a glare that has Gabe raising his hands in surrender.
“Don’t even think about it.”
--
The heat of Ryan’s skin under his touch still lingers in Fraser’s mind as he warms up on the ice. The kids haven’t been led out to him yet, and Ryan’s nowhere to be seen, so Fraser’s taking this time to himself. He focuses on the ice under his knees, the curl of his hands around the stick, the steady rise and flow of his breathing.
Fraser’s got his eyes closed, halfway through a deep breath, when he hears the scritch of blades on ice. He can tell, weirdly enough, that it’s Ryan, and he isn’t sure if that’s because he’s expecting him or because he recognises his skating style. He’s going to assume the former for peace of mind.
“Starting without me?” Ryan says and Fraser can already predict the smirk he’s wearing. Sure enough, when Fraser opens his eyes and stands up, Ryan’s smirk is lopsided and taking over most of his face. It’s beautiful, frustratingly so.
“I take ages to warm up, so figured I’d get a head start before we coached the kiddos,” Fraser says with a shrug. Ryan hums before tapping his stick against Fraser’s, the sound echoing through the empty rink.
“Wanna run through some puck handling drills with me then?” Ryan asks. Fraser doesn’t see why not, and he says as much to Ryan. The smile he’s rewarded with is beaming and bright, toothy and gummy in all the ways that make Fraser’s heart skip a beat.
If this is the Ryan he’s going to be coaching with for the next two weeks – a soft and sweet man, not the cocky and confident asshole Mack warned him about – then he’s not surviving.
--
“Rumour has it they were at each other’s throats all afternoon,” Ben says as he pops another slice of chicken into his mouth. He chews slow and steady until he swallows and only then does he continue speaking. Sid marvels at how respectful Ben is for someone his age. “Connor, you overheard them, right?”
“Yeah, me and Mack were on our way to meet up with Fraser when we heard them arguing. Not in front of the kids, thankfully, but they were really going at it,” Connor says. He’s timid in a way that had honestly been a shock to Sid at first until he’d caught the looks and touches being shared between Connor and Ben. It all made sense then.
“What was being said?” Sid asks.
“Um, well, Minty was accusing Leonard of purposefully sabotaging his coaching, and Leno was accusing Minty of not even trying to coach,” Connor says. He takes a sip of water before wincing and shaking his head. “I don’t even want to know what happened in that session to cause that argument.”
“Should I speak to them, maybe?” Sid questions, directing it towards Ovi. The older man shakes his head and waves a hand through the air, dismissive.
“This is to help them. Leno is trouble, but he will not let it affect kids,” Ovi explains. Sid sighs and looks at Geno who nods encouragingly. And Sid’s weak for his fiancé, so he hums, looks across at the two boys sat with them, and decides it couldn’t hurt to have some faith.
“You better be right about that, Ovi.”
--
They make it to the fourth session, the first of week two, before Ryan decides he’s had enough of arguing with Fraser. It hurts him to do it, so why does he keep doing it?
(Fear. Shame. The inability to admit he’s wrong. The terrifying knowledge that Fraser’s right. The horrifying truth that Fraser’s better than him in every aspect. His feelings. His tendency to break his own heart. Ryan really could keep going.)
They’re working in silence as they pack up the leftover equipment. It’s a tension so thick that it’s suffocating and if Ryan was any less measured, he’d be in tears by now, begging on his knees at Fraser’s feet for forgiveness.
Fraser’s collecting all the cones, and Ryan’s stacking pucks in his hands, towers forming with their bases rooted in the divots of his gloves. Ryan keeps thinking about speaking, about saying sorry, about just calling Fraser’s name to try and start a conversation, anything to break the bone-chilling silence, but by the time he lifts his head up to do just that, Fraser’s long gone, replaced instead by the curious-eyed duo of Gabe and Will.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on yet? Because Fraser just stormed off down the tunnel five minutes ago, and you didn’t even notice,” Gabe says.
“And you always notice. You’re like a little puppy with a pack, always gotta make sure you know where everyone is,” Will chimes in. Ryan glares at him before skating over. There’s one more puck to collect, but the edge of it is wedged into his skates, so he’s technically collected it. It’s fine.
“I’m fine,” Ryan says. He dumps the puck into the bucket before reaching down to extract the final one from it’s metal trap. It falls into the stash with a thud and Ryan mutters ‘mood’ before making his way down the hallway. The locker room is still lit up, but he’s not stupid enough to think that means anything. Fraser’s probably already long gone and Ryan’s not going to get his hopes up.
It still hurts when he walks in and finds only his bag waiting for him.
“He left two minutes ago,” Will says, creepily able to ascertain what Ryan is thinking. Ryan ignores him, heading straight for the stall he claimed as his that day. He scrambles to undo the laces on his skates, uncaring when his blunted nails snag on the material and rip some threads free. “Careful, you’re gonna ruin your skates.”
“Who cares?” Ryan huffs. He’s exhausted beyond measure, and it’s all his fault. If he’d just spoken with Fraser, explained all the soot-stained parts of his mind, maybe Fraser would’ve taken pity on him, would’ve comforted him and sworn that it was okay. As it stands, Ryan can’t say with any certainty that Fraser doesn’t hate him.
“Dude, what is going on with you and Minty?” Gabe drawls, pushing off of the wall he was leaning against to instead stalk over and snatch Ryan’s hands from his skates. Will takes over instead, deft fingers working carefully to undo the knots Ryan’s tangled them into.
“I like him and I keep arguing with him because I’m a coward. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Ryan hisses. He’s being bitter for no reason, but Will and Gabe are used to it. He’s wishy-washy, hard to pin down the mood of. It doesn’t make him a good person to befriend, and he’s still not sure why Gabo and Smit stick around.
“Well yeah. That explains, like, so much,” Will says, eyebrows furrowed as he looks up at Ryan from his position on the floor. “Lenny… you need to speak to him.”
“And say what? You know I’m not good at apologising, and I can’t exactly confess to him, can I?” Ryan bites. He’s so tired. He’s not been sleeping properly, stuck awake most nights with stress and worry, and it’s eating at his focus, at his ability to remain in control. He feels like a burning match, nearly at its fragile end.
“Fraser’s used to bad sorrys. He’s friends with Mack, remember?” Will says. Ryan huffs and pushes Will onto his butt so he’s out of the way. Will glares at him, but otherwise doesn’t move, content to stay sprawled out on the floor at Ryan’s feet.
(In another time, another place, Ryan is sure he would’ve suggested something. He feels no such urge now.)
“If you’re so sure.”
--
Ryan sits opposite him at dinner, and no one else joins them.
“Who set you up to this?” Fraser drawls, not deigning to look up from the book he’s reading. The amateur detective is getting closer to finding out the truth and Fraser’s already got his guesses as to who the murderer is.
“I, um… I saw your fight against Buffalo. In the playoffs,” Ryan says and that has Fraser intrigued, so he slips his bookmark between the pages and looks up at Ryan’s face. The dim lighting does wonder for his features, accenting the line of his jaw and sitting faint and pretty on his cheeks. The skin there is plump and red, his blush haloing the smattering of freckles that Fraser is weak to know skitter down his neck and over his shoulders.
Fraser’s not the biting kind, but something about Ryan makes him want to latch on and never let go.
“It was, like, cool. Really cool. You did, um, you did great,” Ryan says. Fraser blinks owlishly. He knew that Ryan was bad at apologies, much like Macklin, but this was something else entirely. Fraser had expected maybe a compliment on his hockey skills, or an acknowledgement that Fraser was the better coach, but no. His fighting skills?
“Um… thanks?” Fraser says. Ryan looks up at him for all of two seconds before nodding and standing from his chair. He disappears, scurrying away into another darkened corner of the dining hall, leaving Fraser staring after him in confusion.
It haunts Fraser for the rest of the night.
Trying to read again is no use, each character’s name morphing in his brain until they’re all called Ryan. Chatting with Connor doesn’t work, either. There’s too much jealousy over Connor’s happiness for Fraser to be able to escape his head.
The worst part is that Fraser can’t even sleep. Ryan’s buried himself that deeply, that pervasively, in his thoughts that Fraser isn’t sure how to get him back out.
He’s laid out in bed, hands curled over the top of the covers that are tucked under his chin, and he can’t sleep. He’s too busy thinking about the way Ryan looked at dinner, all shy and blush-coated, skin dappled in hues of red and pink. His freckles stood in such stark contrast to the flush of his skin, and Fraser wishes he’d spent more time counting them, learning their patterns, tracing them like the constellations in the sky.
And fuck. Fraser has to coach with Ryan again tomorrow.
How’s he supposed to face him like this, now that he knows what Ryan looks like blushing, what he looks like all demure faced and soft-eyed. Coy and tender and peering up at Fraser through his thickset lashes. How’s Fraser supposed to look at Ryan and not react now that he knows he’s definitely crushing on Ryan in a way that isn’t any healthier than the previous appearance-based infatuation thing he had going on before.
Fraser sits up and texts Connor. I think I’m in love with Ryan.
--
Connor
what?
Fraser
You heard me!
What do I do now?
Connor
kiss him so i dont have to litsten to u pining
--
Ryan’s got a massive problem. He’s been leant against the boards for the past five minutes, watching Fraser give some extra help to a little blonde boy named Hunter. The kid’s definitely a late starter if his skating skills are anything to go by, but even then, he’s got promise. And Fraser’s determined to help him.
It’s a shame, then, that Ryan’s heart is determined to do all it can to not help him. Instead, it’s decided that it’s going to beat twice as fast because watching Fraser interact with the kids is suddenly making him wish he could have kids. Fraser’s kids.
And oh lord, Ryan needs a cold shower ASAP.
“Ryan, are you good over there?” Fraser calls and when Ryan blinks himself back into the present, Hunter is long gone and it’s just Fraser on the ice still, his hands curled around his stick with the softest, sweetest smile Ryan’s ever seen gracing his features.
“Sorry, yeah, zoned out. Clean up time?” Ryan asks. He pushes off the boards and skates over to the leftover equipment, ignoring the way Fraser’s eyes follow his every movement. He feels like he could be exposed at any second, and he’s really not trying to go through that right now.
“Do you want kids one day?” Fraser asks and okay. It’s just a normal question, right? There’s no way Fraser actually knows what Ryan was just thinking. “I mean… I think you’d make a great parent.”
“You think so?” Ryan asks, snapping his head up. He ignores the urge to ask ‘can we be parents together’ or even ‘can you knock me up’ because that’s weird and Ryan’s still not sure they’re even friends, and if he asks that, he’s going to be exposing himself. Which is an idea he’s not too fond of, really.
“I do!” Fraser says. Ryan blushes and ducks his head, thanking Fraser in the smallest voice he’s ever had. Fraser giggles like he’s happier than ever before whizzing off to collect all the pucks. Ryan returns to his cones and ignores the bubble of desire in his gut.
(He tells Gabe, of course. They’re crashing in Ryan’s room, Will off to do something that is probably sexual with Celebrini, and it spills out of Ryan almost entirely unbidden. “He was being so good with the kids and my stupid brain just thought… ‘holy fuck, please get me pregnant’. Is that weird?” The look Gabe gives him says enough.)
--
The final day of camp rolls around quicker than Fraser would’ve liked. He’s spent the past week flirting with Ryan, enjoying the way his skin tints red or pink, or a gorgeous mix of the two, but now everything’s coming to an end and Fraser still isn’t any closer to confessing, to acting on his feelings, to doing something about the way his heart hammers out an unsteady rhythm every time he watches the flex of Ryan’s muscles in his back.
(He hates sharing a locker room with Ryan. Just a little bit.)
“You are so obvious about him. There’s a bet, y’know?” Someone says, interrupting Fraser as he watches Ryan skate around with a little girl called Jade on his shoulders. She’s giggling and laughing, begging him to pick up speed. It’s truly an adorable sight, and yet something needy coils in Fraser’s gut all the same.
When Fraser turns to spot the newcomer, he’s only partially surprised to find that it’s Ben, his fingers tangled with Connor’s. The older man is stuck in his phone, watching tape of the new players the Blackhawks just drafted which… ouch. Fraser sends him all the strength he can spare.
“What are you talking about? What bet?” Fraser says.
“Ovechkin and Malkin. They have a bet in place that you and Leno will get together before the end of camp. Ovechkin says yes, but Malkin says no. Sidney says they’re both stupid,” Ben clarifies. A small ‘oh’ slips from Fraser’s mouth and he can’t help but turn back and look at Ryan, at the steady way he holds Jade on his shoulders, at the way his whole face is lit up with joy and glee.
Something in him snaps.
“I have to tell him,” Fraser says. Ben shrugs with a sharp smile on his face. Connor looks up with a hum, shoots Fraser a quick smile when he realises that’s who Ben is talking to, and looks back down at his phone. Fraser and Ben exchange a look before giggling together.
“You’re right. You’re obvious enough to all of us coaches, which means you’re disgusting. Baby here hasn’t left his phone outside of kissing me or coaching, and even he knows you two are ridiculously fond for each other so… say something,” Ben says. Fraser flushes and ducks his head.
“But what about Gabe?” Fraser asks. Ben tilts his head to one side and it’s answer enough, but he still forges on, still needs to hear verbal confirmation that the relationship he thought was a thing isn’t actually a thing. He needs to. “Are Gabe and Ryan not…?”
“I know you wear glasses, but how blind actually are you? Gabe’s been fucking Rempe for at least six months,” Ben says and oh. Fraser hadn’t noticed that actually. He looks over his shoulder at Ryan again before sighing.
“But what do I even tell him?”
Ben smiles at him, almost sadly, and nods in Ryan’s direction. “The truth.”
It’s so obvious an answer, and of course Fraser knew it, but it’s nice to get confirmation from someone else. To get advice from someone else, especially someone who’s gotten the thing Fraser so desperately wants.
And so, Fraser goes back to his watching. He waits and watches as Ryan lifts kid after kid onto his shoulders, sending them all into fits of laughter as he skates around the ice with them, silly voices and dumb phrases falling from his mouth. Fraser can hardly breathe with how much he wants to stomp over there and kiss him.
He doesn’t, all too aware of the many kids who’d be staring at them, but he still thinks about it. It pervades his thoughts, fogs his mind, leaves his brain all gummy and fizzy like the sweets he knows Ryan loves. He’s stuck like that throughout the rest of the day. He walks into Ryan’s back twice as they make their way down the tunnel, and it’s only when he clatters into him again in the locker room that Fraser’s tether finally snaps.
“I’m in love with you,” he blurts. Ryan’s eyes widen almost comically, and Fraser thinks he’s mucked it all up, but then Ryan’s on him, pushing his way into Fraser’s space, their lips pressed together. Ryan whimpers into the kiss when Fraser tugs him in, and that’s information Fraser’s saving for later, one hundred percent.
“Please don’t stop,” Ryan whispers when Fraser pulls back. His eyes are damp and shiny, traces of want lingering at the edges, and Fraser’s weak. He leans back in, tightening his hold on Ryan’s waist just to hear him whimper again.
They keep shuffling and moving, tugging and pulling and pressing and herding into each other’s spaces like men possessed until Fraser’s knees hit something behind him and he drops out of the kiss with a yelp, his body falling into an empty locker stall.
“Oops,” Ryan says with a playful grimace. He pulls Fraser to standing once more, giggling when he nearly topples over himself. They’re inches apart, hands all over each other, and Fraser doesn’t want to move an inch, doesn’t want to break this tender hot tension between them. Ryan smiles and whispers a soft, “hey there.”
“Hi baby,” Fraser responds, watching with satisfaction as Ryan’s face softens further, his mouth parting on a tiny gasp. His bottom lip is slick and plump with kiss-induced swelling and Fraser kisses him again. How could he not?
“Wait, wait, we should talk,” Ryan breathes out, gently pulling away from the kiss. He stays resolutely glued to Fraser’s front, though, and Fraser can’t say he blames him. He isn’t sure he’d let Ryan go very far right now. Isn’t sure he can even let go to begin with.
“About what?”
“This, us… are you willing to try and be with me? Because I’m willing to try, but I know I’m not–”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Fraser says, voice stern to the point that Ryan startles, the jolt of his body ricocheting up Fraser’s frame. He pecks Ryan’s lips once more in hopes of shushing him for a bit and smiles when Ryan doesn’t try again. His eyes are so wide and patient that Fraser can see his reflection in them.
“I am so ready to try this, to try and be with you. I want to be with you,” Fraser says, shaking Ryan gently. It makes him whine again and really; Fraser can’t name a better sound. Maybe Ryan saying his name. Maybe that’s the only thing better. “You’re so beautiful to me, and that’s not even talking about your looks. You have a big heart, and I hate that there’s seemingly no part of it reserved for yourself.”
“Fraser…”
“I mean it, Ryan. I’m not normally selfish, but you… you know, I couldn’t sleep the night you talked about my fight against Buffalo because all I could think about was you. I didn’t get it, at first, why that was the compliment you went with to hide your apology,” Fraser pauses to watch Ryan blush again, caught out by Fraser’s knowing self. “But I figured it out quickly. You knew commenting on my hockey playing skills would be useless, so you pivoted. You complimented something else.”
“It was stupid,” Ryan mutters, head ducked down until his chin is touching his chest. He peers up at Fraser, doe-eyed in a way that makes Fraser think about taking him right there on the locker room floor.
“Not to me it wasn’t. It showed your heart,” Fraser says. He pokes at Ryan’s chest before gently lifting his chin up. “I stayed up all night thinking about the way your freckles look when they’re backlit by your blush, and I want to see that sight forever and ever and ever. So let us try, please.”
“Okay,” Ryan acquiesces. Fraser hums and brushes his nose along Ryan’s jaw before pulling back the brief amount. His eyes flick between Ryan’s eyes and his lips, the glow of them pulling Fraser in like a magnetic attraction. He feels like he can’t escape. He needs this, needs him.
“Can I?”
“Please,” Ryan whispers and then he’s the one starting the kiss instead. Impatient. Fraser lets him. He welcomes the warmth of the kiss, the heat of Ryan’s skin, the little noises Ryan makes as Fraser’s fingers knead and dig at Ryan’s waist. His body is so addictive, and Fraser doesn’t know when he’ll have gotten his fill of grabbing at it.
--
“You shouldn’t ever bet against Ovi, and especially not when it comes to his own team,” Sid says, arm curled around Zhenya’s shoulders as his fiancé grumbles under his breath. It’d been nothing that clued them in at first, just a quick kiss between two of the younger coaches, a sight Sid’s more than used to after spending time with Macklin and Will.
Until Ovi had realised it was Leonard and Minten, and then all hell had broken lose between the two older Russians. Geno had lost the bet, wolf whistles had surrounded the two kissing boys until Leno had all but squeaked at them to shut up, and that was it. Ryan and Fraser were the newest piece of gossip flitting around amongst the younger players. No longer was it the reveal of Ben and Connor’s relationship that dominated conversations.
“We attract all the gay ones, yes?” Geno says in a quiet voice, careful not to be overheard, and Sid can’t help but laugh, burying his face in the side of Zhenya’s head to muffle his laughter and to feel the shake of Geno’s body as he laughed along too. There’s no better place on earth, Sid realises, than right here.
“I think you might be onto something there, my love.”