Eric followed behind Jack, his trembling hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and curled into fists to hide his excitement. Jack led him down a long dim hallway, then pushed open the door to the locker room and let him inside. Eric couldn't stop smiling as he wandered the perimeter of the room, letting his hands trail over the clothes left hanging in cubbies, the fabric of his pants brushing against the benches where fighters sat to get ready or to recover.
For as many nights as Eric had spent at the fighting club, he’d never been here. Never wandered the back halls or seen the places where the fighters got ready, where they waited. He’d never gotten to see where Jack got ready- never got to see him strip himself of his everyday clothes and tape his hands, never got to see the dark-eyed fighter take the place of this quiet, gentle man who looked at him with bright, clear eyes when they lay tangled together.
Eric got to Jack's cubby and stopped. A jacket hung from a hook. A box sat in the bottom. Jack had no photographs or artwork pinned up. His cubby was simple, clean, straightforward. Eric smiled as he stood before it, reaching out to touch the jacket.
He might have been here once, long ago, maybe sat at these same benches, one cubby over from Jack’s, meeting his eyes in a room bright with noise, crowded with other fighters and coaches. They might have found each other here, in the ring, in a very different world.
Eric pushed those thoughts aside and sat down on the bench before Jack’s cubby. He pulled the box into his lap to take the lid off and peer inside. He huffed a small laugh: inside were rolls of tape and nothing else. Eric poked through them and chose a roll that was nearly empty. He twisted it around in his hands, wondering if it was a favorite of Jack's with so little left on it.
Eric set the roll of tape down beside him, then closed the lid and put the box back. He stood and removed his jacket, hanging it up in Jack's cubby, next to Jack’s jacket. He started to unbutton his shirt, only to be stopped by the pressure of hands against his hips. He looked over his shoulder to meet Jack’s hungry gaze.
Jack braced his knees against the bench to press his body close against Eric's. He nuzzled against Eric's cheek, his breath soft and warm against Eric’s neck.
"Let me help," he murmured.
Eric lowered his hands and Jack reached around him to unbutton his shirt. Eric leaned back, letting Jack take his weight. Jack moved slowly, his fingers lingering as he made his way down Eric's shirt one button at a time.
Eric closed his eyes and focused on the rise and fall of Jack's chest against his back, on the warmth of him, on the gentle care that was Jack's touch.
Jack untucked his shirt from his pants and finished the buttons before nudging Eric forward so he could slide it down Eric's arms. He dropped it on the bench, hiding the tape from view. He turned Eric around and kissed him, his hands on Eric's bare shoulders, the tips of his fingers slipping under the edges of Eric's undershirt. Eric twisted his fingers into Jack's shirt over his waist and kissed back, mouth opening to let Jack in.
Jack stepped away, leaving Eric breathless. He stared at Eric for a long moment, then his eyes dipped down Eric’s body and back up.
“Finish getting ready.”
Eric laughed and pushed lightly on his stomach. "Get gone, then."
Jack smiled and stole one more kiss. Eric watched him cross the locker room to stop in front of another fighter’s cubby, one Jack’s friends. When Jack started wrapping his hands with tape, Eric tore his attention away from his lover to hang up his shirt and focus on taping his own hands.
Stripped down to their undershirts, hands and knuckles covered with tape, Jack held his hand out for Eric to take and led him down the hall to the club’s main room. The fighting ring sat in the center of the room, the floor bare and empty around it, lines of lights hanging from the ceiling. Eric paused in the doorway and stared out across the room.
This place he was familiar with, but he'd never seen it so bare or so bright. Most nights he came here, the overhead lights were dimmed, spotlights shining on the mat to throw the fighters into sharp relief. Men in dirty coats and slacks stained at the ankles, hats tipped lazily on their heads, jackets open and loose, would crowd around the ring. Few women came to these fights, but most who did wore short dresses, hems higher than was considered proper outside the doors of a place like this. They wore mink jackets or boas made of feathers. Their faces were made up, lips bright red, cheeks a stunning shade of pink. They cheered just as loudly as the men, shouted slurs just as vulgar, laughed just as delightedly.
They didn't lure Eric in, not the way they did with other men, men whose eyes dropped down to trace the hem of a dress against the curve of a thigh, but Eric loved to chat with them, loved to hook his arms with theirs and call out jeers just the same.
Like a few of them, he kept an eye out for the man whose eyes wandered where they shouldn’t. Unlike them, he kept an eye out for the man whose eyes were drawn to the tightness of his shirt across his chest and shoulders. He watched for the man who would lean in a little too far as he watched the fight, eyes trained on the bulge of muscle, the flex of an arm, the curve of a spine. Eric watched for the man whose gaze wandered a little too low, whose eyes were a little too dark, to be watching the fight for its sport.
It had only been an accident that he'd caught Jack watching him. Jack had leaned over the ropes, talking to his manager between rounds, and Eric had been crossing close, intent on a man across the room who had paid too much attention to Eric and too little to the fight. He'd crossed behind Jack's manager, pausing to let a couple of arguing men push past him. He'd looked up, curious, and caught the drag of Jack's eyes up his body, caught the part of his lips, the slip of pink tongue. Jack had met his gaze, his face- already red with exertion- had flushed darker, but he'd held Eric's gaze until the fight had begun again.
Eric had found the man across the room, let the man fuck him behind a restaurant already shut down for the night, but he'd closed his eyes and let it be Jack. Let it be Jack pressed up against his back, let it be Jack's hands on his hips, Jack's breath against his neck.
A month later and he hadn't had to pretend. A month later and he'd found himself in Jack's bed. A little longer than that and he'd found Jack in his home, something more between them that wasn't meant to be there.
Jack tugged on his hand, then let go.
Eric looked at him and caught the wink Jack tossed his way before he walked the carpet path to the ring. Eric followed after him, eyes wandering the empty floors. Jack climbed into the ring, slipping between the ropes with his usual fluid gracefulness. Eric bit his lip and ducked between them himself.
When he stood, Jack was already leaning up against the corner pole across the ring from him.
"You ready?" he asked with a not-quite-there smile.
Eric snorted. He held his hands out to the side. "Do I look ready, Jack?"
Jack grinned and pushed off the pole, moving to stand in the center of the ring, hands raised, knees bent, center of gravity dropped low. Eric rolled his eyes and bit his lip to hide his smile. He crossed the mat and raised his own hands, slipping down into a fighting stance of his own, more muscle memory than skill after all this time.
They held each other's eyes for a moment, then Jack stepped back, weight on the balls of his feet, shifting back and forth. Eric stepped back, too, bouncing lightly, eyes sharp on Jack, watching him closely. They circled each other, neither willing to make a move.
Then, Jack smirked; his shoulder shifted.
Eric ducked back, reacting instinctively to dodge the light jab. Jack's fist met with air, and he made a noise in the back of his throat.
"You're fast," he commented.
Eric pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in challenge. Jack narrowed his eyes- rocked forward- and that easily they were fighting, slipping in and out of each other's space, fists darting out to land hits on shoulders and ribs. By unspoken agreement they kept their hits away from the face. By unspoken agreement, they moved closer together than they should. They scuffled, slung arms around each other's necks and waists to drag each other across the mat, an excuse to press close together, an excuse to touch.
Jack used his weight to reel Eric around, letting him go to catch his balance with an awkward shuffle. Eric used his speed to dart in and out of Jack's reach, grinning each time Jack's questing hands met with air. He laughed, the sound broken and breathless, when Jack pouted with each missed opportunity.
"You're supposed to fight me," he complained.
Eric rolled his shoulders back, put up his hands. "Make me.”
Jack narrowed his eyes, body frozen for one breathless moment. Then he lunged.
Eric dodged, ready to slip by, but Jack caught his arm, fingers hooked into the bend of his elbow, and swung him around. Eric expected Jack to let go, but instead he pulled, dragged Eric back so that he was pressed against Jack’s chest. Eric arched against him, eyes closing, head turning, lips parting. Jack wrapped both arms around Eric's waist and pulled him close. He radiated heat; his uncovered skin was slick with sweat. His gasped breaths were hot and damp against Eric's neck. Against his palm, when he reached back, Jack's hair was damp, the strands clinging to his fingers.
Eric exposed his neck to let Jack drag his tongue up the column of it. He whimpered as Jack slid a hand down over his waist, hesitating at his hips. Eric's body strained, his cock already thickening with adrenaline and promise.
"Jack..." he whispered and Jack sighed.
"Home?" he asked, pulling back.
Eric opened his eyes, remembering then where they were. He nodded and Jack let go of him. Eric didn't look back at him, just crossed the mat to brace his hands against the ropes, fingers curled tightly. What he wouldn't give to have Jack take him here, maybe on the floor, his chest pressed to the mat, Jack's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him down. Eric shivered at the thought. He ducked between the ropes and headed for the locker room, careful to keep his eyes away from Jack.
He could hear, though, Jack's footsteps echoing behind him with the same restrained urgency.
Eric pushed open the door to the locker room and froze. A man lay stretched out on one of the benches, feet crossed at the ankles, hands folded over his stomach. He sat up at Eric's entrance, long hair falling around his shoulder, and flicked a salute at him.
"Where's Jack?" he asked.
"Um..." Eric glanced over his shoulder just as Jack entered the room.
Jack stopped when he saw Eric standing in place. His eyes darted over Eric's shoulder, and Eric turned to find the man standing, hands braced on his hips.
"Shitty," Jack greeted, crossing the room to his friend's cubby. He picked at the tape on his hands and started to unwind it.
Shitty shot Eric a glance, then ignored him to straddle the bench closest to Jack. Eric picked at his own tape as he headed for Jack's cubby. He kept his head down, pretending not to listen.
"You're really fucking difficult to find when you want to be," Shitty groused.
"I'm at the club," Jack rebutted.
Eric balled up his used tape and set it on the bench to throw away later. He glanced over his shoulder to see Shitty shaking his head, wiping fingers across his mustache.
"You're usually at the gym on your days off."
Jack sighed. "Shitty."
"Alright, man, alright. Have you thought about it?"
"I don't want to discuss that here."
Eric swallowed thickly as he pulled on his shirt. He left it unbuttoned; he needed to shower. He turned to find Jack glaring at Shitty. Shitty glared in return, but he relented, leaning back and turning his attention to Eric. Jack's shoulders relaxed.
"And who's this?"
"Shitty, this is Eric. Eric, my manager Shitty." Jack pulled his own shirt on, also leaving it open. He sent Eric an apologetic look as Shitty slung his foot over the bench to face Eric fully, eyes narrowed as he stared.
"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Eric greeted. He offered his hand. Shitty accepted it and shook it vigorously.
"He calls me sir." He looked at Jack over his shoulder. "Why don't you call me sir?"
"He has better manners than I do."
Eric laughed and shook his head. He stepped back as Shitty stood and clapped his hands together.
"So where are we eating?" he asked, grinning widely.
Jack glanced at Eric before he frowned at Shitty. "Eric and I have plans."
Shitty stared at Jack, his head cocked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He turned to look at Eric, eyes darting up and down his body. Eric felt his face flush. He lowered his eyes as Shitty turned to Jack.
“Right then. I'll get out of your hair. Jack, you gonna be around later?"
Jack glanced at Eric before shrugging.
Shitty's eyebrow quirked and he grinned. "Well then. Good to meet you, Eric."
Shitty darted forward to hug Jack, slapping him on the back before letting go. He nodded at Eric and left them alone in the locker room. As the door thunked shut behind him, Jack turned Eric.
“You ready?” he asked, unconcerned, crossing the room to curl his fingers around Eric’s wrist.
Eric hesitated, staring up at Jack’s face, studying him. "Does he know? About us?”
Jack shook his head, then drew in a deep breath. "Well. I've not told him. But I've known Shitty for a long time."
Eric shuffled nervously. Jack's fingers tightened on his wrist briefly.
"He's good people, Eric."
Eric blew out a breath. If Jack trusted him, Eric would trust him.
Jack held onto him until they left the locker room. He uncurled his fingers, his touch lingering, then let go. They walked side-by-side out of the club and down the street. In the cool evening air, Eric buttoned up his shirt. Jack left his open.
"You're good, you know,” Jack said into the silence of their walk. “You could fight."
Eric swallowed thickly, shame curling in his stomach. He kept his eyes forward, focused on the street.
"I could only do it because I trust you. I'm not very good with hitting."
Jack said nothing, but his shoulder pushed up against Eric’s, his fingers caught and held for a heartbeat. Eric drew in a deep breath and looked up at Jack.
Jack smiled down at him, and Eric smiled back. They walked in silence again, easy and gentle. Empty streets let them sneak touches, the soft drag of fingers against palm, a hand flat to the small of the back, a lingering press of shoulder to shoulder.
They picked up food to take back to Jack’s apartment, the heat and smell of it warming Eric. The sun had set by the time they arrived, and Jack turned on a small lamp in the living room. They ate at his kitchen table, knees touching, and then Jack led him to bed where he licked the salt of dry sweat off Eric’s skin and made Eric forget everything but the way it felt when they moved together.
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It starts out as a repair job and grows out of hand, much like his relationship with owner.
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/William "Dex" Poindexter
Characters: William "Dex" Poindexter, Kent "Parse" Parson, Original Characters
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Trans Dex, Demisexual Dex, Falling In Love, Coming Out, Background Transphobia, Background Past Kent/Jack, Check Please! Big Bang, Check Please! Big Bang 2016
Summary: It starts out as a repair job and grows out of hand, much like his relationship with owner.
Notes: I volunteered to pitch-hit for the OMGCPBB and was given @kent-parsons-cowlick’s wonderful artwork. Hopefully I did it justice, especially since it's my first time writing Kent/Dex!
A @checkpleasebigbang fic by @downwardstroke
Art by @justaphage
Read the Story // Check out the Art
Summary: In order to help support and spread the word about his new charity, Jack agrees to go on a cooking contest show that partners professional chefs with amateurs. Jack isn’t expecting Eric to be one of the chefs. Even though they broke up five years ago, Jack still misses him. Being in the kitchen with him again makes Jack remember how their relationship fell apart— but it also makes him remember how good things were and how good they were together.
When they’re paired together for the finale, they cook together like they’ve never been apart. It makes Jack wonder if they can have a second chance. He just hopes Eric wants one too.
Part 1 // on AO3 // This part is for @omgcp-tropechallenge Trope #7: Secret Relationship
Eric's door was the last one on the right, just beside the only window in the hall. A patch of pale, early morning sunlight shone through a break in the grime on the window, highlighting the worn-down mat that sat in front of Eric’s apartment. It was the only spot of brightness in the hallway.
Jack hadn't expected Eric to live in such a rundown place, but maybe he should have. Maybe it was his own expectations that made him think of Eric in a sun-lit apartment decorated with plants and paintings and colorful furniture. Eric glowed in his mind, and it only made sense to Jack that he would live in a place as bright as he was.
Jack never would have expected Eric to live in a dark place like this. One where the few lamps that hadn’t burned out created pockets of pooling shadows. Where the wood of the floor creaked under his weight as he walked the hallway. Where the wallpaper had long since faded and peeled back in spots to reveal the plaster beneath.
Jack eyed the faded paint of Eric’s door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated. He pressed his palm flat to the wood and breathed out.
He shouldn't be here. Eric had told him he never brought men back to his home. He'd had to move a couple of times already after the wrong man had followed Eric home, wanting more than Eric was willing to give. He'd told Jack this, and then he'd left before Jack had woken, his address hastily scribbled across a ripped strip of paper, placed carefully on top of that day’s newspaper.
In case you need it
Jack curled his hand into a fist and knocked.
Eric opened the door a minute later, wearing only an undershirt and a pair of slacks half unbuttoned. His frown shifted into surprise when he saw Jack. He smiled, his face brightening with delight.
"Jack! What are you doing here?" He stepped back to let Jack in.
"You weren't there last night," Jack said.
He pulled off his jacket as Eric closed the door. He held it awkwardly until Eric took it from his hands and hung it on a coat stand by the door. Eric's red jacket hung on the hook next to Jack's already.
"I know." He made a face Jack didn't understand. "I didn't really need to go, and it's hard to go just because. Everyone who knows always thinks I'm working." Eric rolled his eyes. "Apparently a boy can't just like to watch a fight. Do you want something to drink?"
"Water."
Eric shot him a grin and then left him standing in the entry way. Jack swayed after him, but couldn't bring himself to follow. His shoulders tensed; his hands curled into fists. When Eric returned with a glass of water, he held it out and then paused. He looked at Jack, wide eyes searching. His hand dropped a little. Jack reached out to catch it, his fingers covering Eric's where they covered the glass.
"Oh," he said. "Jack." Eric's face went soft. He stepped close and cupped Jack's cheek. "I didn't realize."
Jack closed his eyes and shook his head, embarrassed. Eric's thumb caressed the line of his cheekbone before he pulled both hands away. Jack heard the glass click against the table. Eric wrapped a hand around Jack's wrist and pulled.
"Come 'ere, sweetheart."
He led Jack into his bedroom and undressed him slowly. They didn't talk. Not as Eric got naked and fingered himself while Jack watched. Not when Eric went to his hands and knees and looked over his shoulder at Jack, eyes wide and patient and warm. Not while Jack curled over him, his face pressed to the back of Eric's shoulder as he moved inside him.
It wasn't until after, Eric flat on his stomach, panting into his pillow, Jack holding onto him, still hard inside him, that Jack said, "I don't have any money."
Eric was quiet for a moment. Jack worried he'd offended him, but Eric only slid his hand down to where Jack’s rested against his stomach. He slotted their fingers together and squeezed.
"That wasn't work, Jack," he said.
Jack pressed his face into Eric's shoulder and held onto him tightly as he fell asleep.
---
"What the fuck, Jack?"
Jack looked up from where he was fumbling out of his shoes to find Shitty standing in his living room. His hair was disarrayed, half tied back, half wild around his head. He ran a hand through it as Jack stared at him.
"You can't just disappear like that!" Shitty growled at him. "Where the fuck were you anyway?"
"Out."
Shitty rolled his eyes. He stalked over to Jack and pulled his jacket from his hands to shake it out and hold it up. When Jack just stared, he wiggled it.
"Lardo's waitin' for us. She was nice enough to not kick my ass when you disappeared last night, but we have to go this morning."
Jack sighed. He turned and slid his arms through the sleeves. "I don't have time to change?"
"No, man." Shitty slapped him on the back. "You smell fine anyway. Did you shower?"
Jack shrugged. He shoved his feet back into his shoes and let Shitty lead him out of his building. He had a car, rare enough these days, and Jack hated riding in it, but Shitty insisted, pushing at Jack's shoulder until Jack gave in and got into the passenger seat.
They bumped along the road in silence until they came to the club house. Shitty pointed at the alleyway beside it. "She's waiting."
Jack nodded and slipped out of the car. He slammed the door shut. Shitty rumbled off. Jack watched him go before he fished his hat from his jacket pocket and pulled it down low on his head.
The side door was open, a man sitting on a stool in front of it. He muttered something in Vietnamese at Jack, but didn't try to stop him. Jack stepped into the dim hallway. He paused, thrown back to that morning. Comfort didn't wait for him at the end of this hall, no warm body or sweet voice or soft bed. Jack sighed and headed for Lardo's office.
He rapped on the door and waited. It finally opened to reveal a large man Jack didn't recognize. He loomed in the doorway, staring down at Jack until Lardo spat something at him in Vietnamese. He stepped back to let Jack in. Lardo rolled her eyes at him and gestured at the chair across from her desk.
Jack pulled his hat off as he sat.
"Lost a lot of bets last night, Jack," Lardo said. She leaned forward on the desk, resting her chin in her hand. She had a newsboy cap set low on her head emphasizing the uneven cut of her hair.
"I didn't expect-" He cut himself off and settled for nodding.
Lardo sighed and sat back in her chair. She wore pants and suspenders, a man's shirt tucked in with the sleeves rolled up and the front opened to reveal a black tank top. Jack could see the fabric that bound her breasts peeking out from the edges of her top.
Running with Parse, he'd known a few women who dressed like men in order to work in places they weren’t normally allowed. Most of them had needed it to be kept a secret, but Lardo had no problem with telling people she was a woman. Jack supposed that when you ran the local fighting circuit you had freedom others lacked.
"Let me in," Shitty's voice echoed from the hallway. "My boy Jack's in there."
Lardo called out something and Shitty entered the office a minute later. He dropped into the chair next to Jack with a huff. "You got this place locked down."
Lardo snorted. "Of course I do."
Shitty wiped a hand over his mustache to hide his grin. "What're we discussing?"
"Yesterday's fight."
Shitty grimaced. "Lards- Lardo," he corrected at her glare. "That's not the fighter Jack was told he'd take on. That guy had at least 50 pounds on Jack."
"I'm aware." She leaned forward and shuffled some papers around before pulling out one with a series of scribbles. She shoved it across the desk toward them. Shitty picked it up and scanned it. Of the two of them, he read better. Jack was working at it, but for business he left the reading to Shitty.
Shitty tugged on his mustache as he read. "Jack did pretty good."
"He did. Even though we lost a lot of bets last night, we actually won more." She pushed another sheet of paper at them.
Shitty's eyebrows rose higher and higher on his forehead as he read.
"What?" Jack asked him.
"Most of the bets we placed had people winning if you went down in three rounds or less," Lardo said.
Jack looked at her. He'd gone down after six.
"They won a shitload of money saying you'd hold out longer than that." Shitty passed him both sheets of paper. The first was a scorecard. The second was a list of bets. Not many had bet Jack would win. Most had bet he would lose spectacularly. Lardo had certainly won a significant amount of money by him holding out as long as he did.
"That's not what this is about though." She held out a small business card. Shitty took it from her and let out a low whistle.
"Really?"
"She wants to meet him."
"You'd lose your best fighter."
Lardo smirked at him. "Yeah, but there are other deals in the works. And she's not someone whose bad side I want on."
Jack leaned over to look at the name on the card. "George?" he asked.
"She hosts bigger fights. Like, the kind the politicians sneak into even why they pay lip service to shuttin' us down," Shitty said.
"She's interested in me?"
"Looks like."
"Get in touch," Lardo said. "You won't be disappointed." She flicked her fingers at them. "Now get out of here."
Jack followed Shitty out of the building and down a couple blocks to where the car was parked behind a housewares store. Jack paused in front of it to eye some baking pans. Shitty stood next to him.
"The kind of shit they come up with these days," he said pointing at some contraption Jack had actually seen in use this morning. Eric had explained its purpose to Jack, but he'd been naked at the time, hips still streaked with red from Jack's fingers, thighs still shining with lube. He couldn't remember a damn word Eric had said.
Jack grunted at Shitty only to have Shitty sigh back at him, loud and obnoxious.
"Look," Shitty said, turning to face Jack. "I'm gonna set up a meeting with George."
"I'd have to move," Jack said. If she hosted fights for politicians, then she wasn't located in this shit-hole town. She'd be a couple hours away at least.
"Yeah, but, Jack, come on." Shitty grabbed his arm and shook. "What do you have here? Seriously. You don't got a girl. You don't date to get a girl. I don't even know when the last time you got laid- I'm hoping you actually have been, here."
Jack rolled his eyes. He headed for the car, climbing in and slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't think Shitty would have a problem with him being a little bent, but it was something else when you paid to fuck other boys. It was something else when you thought you might be in love with a boy who got paid to fuck other boys.
Jack ran a hand over his face as Shitty climbed into the car.
"Look, I'm setting up a meeting. It won't hurt you to go. You need to think long and hard about why you're still hanging around here, Jack. You aren't happy."
Jack looked over at Shitty. He stared back. Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked out the front window. Shitty made a noise in the back of his throat and took off.
He dropped Jack off in front of his apartment. Jack waited until he disappeared around a turn a couple of blocks away and then crossed the street to walk in the opposite direction. It was dark by the time he reached Eric's apartment, the lamps doing nothing to fight the darkness of the hallway now that there was no sunlight to help. Jack knocked on his door.
It took long enough for Eric to answer that Jack thought he might be out, maybe out working some place for the night. Jack didn't even know where all he went on the nights there were no fights.
Just as he was about to leave, though, the door swung open. Eric beamed at him.
"I didn't expect to see you twice in one day," he said. "Come in."
Jack stepped in and let Eric close the door behind him. Jack waited until he turned back around and then he stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around Eric and pulled him in close. Eric's arms slipped around his waist and he pressed his face into Jack's shoulder. He sighed, soft and quiet, and his body melted into Jack's.
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Shitty's Flow/Jack's Ass OTP: The Samwell Men’s Hockey Team Tumblr
For the @omgcp-tropechallenge #6 Social Media // on AO3
Someone runs a Samwell Men’s Hockey Team tumblr. No one’s really sure who. Most people, when they hear about it, they think it’s going to be Jack Zimmermann’s ass and Shitty’s flow and Nursey’s flower crown and Ransom’s perfect cheekbones.
And it is. Sometimes.
(Okay, it’s always Ransom’s perfect cheekbones. Seriously. There are so many close-ups of Ransom’s cheekbones. Occasionally you get lucky and see the corner of his eye or really lucky and see the corner of his mouth.)
Mostly it’s Bitty from six different angles chasing after Shitty, wielding a wooden spoon and shouting angrily at him. Shitty has a pie held above his head; his face is triumphant. There’s a shot of some kind of pastry strewn across the kitchen floor of the Haus, Bitty waving a serving tray at a group of cowering men all larger and taller than him but definitely less scary than him. It’s a series of shots of various hockey players and one hockey manager sneaking mini pies from the kitchen while Bitty’s back is turned, and then the reaction shot when Bitty turns around and finds another pie gone.
It’s Holster sniffing his armpit. There’s a #sniff it sniff it good tag dedicated to Holster sniffing his armpit and it has 36 pages.
36.
Pages.
There’s one picture of Nursey wearing a flower crown, but then, inexplicably, there’s a picture of the flower crown on the ground, a single brittle red leaf on top of it. That’s followed by a series of pictures of Nursey with a single red leaf on top of his head, tangled in his hair.
#Nursey’s pet
Sometimes there are pictures of notes taken in classes or of homework. One shot shows a page of tiny, cramped handwriting that fills the whole page. It's illegible. A close up shot shows it to be a Sid Crosby/Kent Parson fanfic written on top of a calculus assignment. Another shows sketches of hockey plays in the margins of class notes. (The tags and replies on this one are all variations of JACK ZIMMERMANN.) One notebook is covered in sketches of sharks. There's a picture of a perfectly typed, 10-page paper. 12 point, Times New Roman, double spaced. Numerous attributions. A bibliography three pages long in APA format with a backup version in MLA format. There're no tags on the post, but when you read the paper, it's an ode to The Corner Jockey complete with proposed owners of said jockstrap. Someone has written on it in red ink: HOLSTER, IT'S YOUR JOCKSTRAP
The most popular tag is #secretly in love. It's Jack with his arm around a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs. It's Nursey reading a book of poetry. It's Chowder cuddling his shark plush. It's Lardo at a table, clearly in the middle of a game of beer pong, a crowd of boys and girls looking at her with hearts in their eyes. It's the back of Shitty's head, his long locks spread across a beautiful ass that can only belong to Jack Zimmermann. It's Bitty asleep at the kitchen table, his arm wrapped around his rolling pin. It's Holster watching 30 Rock. It's a lot of Holster watching 30 Rock. It's Ransom and two girls no one's ever seen before?? (That post gets deleted before too long and even the reblogs can't be found. Many people swear they reblogged it.) It's Ransom and his biology textbooks. It's Dex and his computer. There’s a lot of hockey equipment. So much hockey equipment.
There's a tag #obviously in love and it's all Nursey and Dex fighting. (It's mostly Nursey and Dex fighting. There's one picture of them, half the picture obscured by something, like the photographer was hiding. Dex is sitting on the porch, elbows on his knees. Nursey is next to him, his arm slung over Dex's shoulders. They're looking at each other, faces very close together.)
The second most popular tag is just shots of Lardo playing various drinking games. Winning various drinking games. Each picture is accompanied by a final score and the name of the loser. Occasionally fights break out in the replies where the loser tries to claim they are not, in fact, the loser. They never win these fights because everyone was at that party and they clearly remember that Lardo won. Lardo always wins.
#the great debate tag is only made of video posts. Every single one is video of Jack and Bitty arguing various language semantics. Some of the most popular debates include:
the pronunciation of "about"
the letter Z
coke vs. pop
aunt vs. aunt
pecan vs. pecan
The "pecan vs. pecan" debate is split over three separate video uploads. A second round was uploaded two days later. There are remixes and fan mixes and linguistic experts weighing in on the "pecan vs. pecan" debate.
The final comment on the matter is a picture of a pecan pie tagged with #he who bakes it wins it
The science side of tumblr is in love with Ransom. #ransom knows best is filled with videos and pictures of Ransom going into detailed explanations of various biology concepts. Every test he takes ends up on the tumblr. Asks are turned off, but the #ask ransom tag is a cult hit. (Ransom finds it one day and starts replying. No one knew he had a tumblr. He goes from three followers (two of which are porn blogs and the last is Holster) to 700 in a week. Followers of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team tumblr briefly experience an influx of smug Ransom pictures.)
The only picture of Jack's ass is the Shitty's Flow/Jack's Ass OTP post. The rest of the pictures of Jack are of Jack standing in random places, arms by his sides as he stares blankly into the distance. People are so confused by the pictures they mostly don't notice the tiny, tiny link included. When they do find it, it leads to a music video of an artist no one has ever heard of, the singer's voice so slurred no one can make out what's being said. When the link is found, the pictures change. Jack sits at the kitchen table with a plate of chicken tenders. So many chicken tenders. There's no hidden link, but tumblr is not convinced of this. They will find it. There is a message in Jack's chicken tender pictures, they're sure of it.
Occasionally someone posts a picture of a sheep. Fights break out in the replies. There's screaming and yelling and name calling that makes even the most seasoned cusser blush bright red. These fights are more popular than the sheep pictures. No one really knows what they are about. There's meta.
Untagged is a whole series of Cards Against Humanity shots. The card combinations get posted first. Then the reaction shots. The reaction shots range from scandalized faces to Bitty crying, his face bright red as he rolls on the ground laughing. Soon, the reaction shots stop being of the team and start being of the tags on the posts. (There's a link on the theme to a page that tallies points. Dex is winning. Dex is winning by a lot. Dex is also winning by a lot in the Haus. He also has no reaction posts.)
There's a whole collection of pages. Each page is a tally of points. One page is dedicated to the different types of pies Bitty makes. For a long time there's no clear winner, then Maple Sugar Crusted Apple takes the lead by a large margin. One page is hockey stats, but not the stats that can be found on the Samwell Men's Hockey Team official website. No, these stats are things like: splits done on ice, flow-induced vomit incidents, chirps that make the other team laugh instead of fight, number of autographs requested of PEOPLE OTHER THAN JACK (Ransom is in the lead, Holster a close second; there’s a special mention section dedicated to the number of times Bitty’s been approached by someone who likes his vlog). There's also a page that tallies guesses on who runs the tumblr. Jack has the least number of votes. Bitty has the second most. The most guessed is all of them.
75% of Shitty's posts get tagged NSFW. He's naked. He has a tendency to bend over in the photos. His asshole is really, really hairy. Too many people in the world know this now. A couple of different gay porn blogs have reblogged his photos. Shitty's most reblogged photo, though, is of him in a dress. And not the good kind of dress. No, this dress is a grandma dress with an awkwardly floral pattern and a high neck lined with a lace collar. It's made for someone with large breasts, but Shitty has stuffed the top with soccer balls. Shitty wore stockings. The dress is caught in the stockings, and no one can decide if he did it on purpose or if it just happened. He's not wearing shoes and the stockings have runs. There are so many angry replies about his mistreatment of the stockings. He deserves them.
Aside from Lardo's drinking game domination, there are, strangely, no pictures of the kegsters.
That's a lie. There's one. It was taken across the street from the Haus. People are running in terror from the Haus, jackets and skirts and purses and baseball caps blowing back in the wake of their fleeing. The house glows an ominous orange in the windows and the doorway. It looks like the Haus is on fire.
The next post is video of Nursey, Dex, and Chowder in the living room playing Dance Dance Revolution. Nursey keeps tripping over his feet. Dex is halfheartedly trying. Chowder is owning both their asses and giggling while he does it. There's no sign of any fire damage. Not in that photo and not in any of the ones that follow.
Video game posts are a thing. Most of the posts are Smash Brothers and Mario Kart. Some first person shooters make an appearance but they don't stick around long. There's a lot of posts with videos of the game itself and someone on the team screaming each time someone gets knocked off the fight platform or bounces off another kart and into some ditch. Everyone screams when a blue shell makes an appearance. There are a lot of reaction shots of Jack. He makes the best faces. The only level of Mario Kart he's any good at is Rainbow Road. There's no screaming on Rainbow Road. There's just a softly whispered "How are you so good?" The person asking changes with each video.
Sometimes there will be a picture of a roach.
Sometimes there will be a picture of the silhouette of a man in the attic window.
Someone takes video of Dex repairing things around the Haus. Someone must be asking questions, because Dex will look over his shoulder like he's listening and then he'll answer, but the voice asking questions is edited out. Dex explains the ins-and-outs of repairing freezers and ovens and broken doorknobs and leaking toilets and there are even some basic carpentry posts. Several DIY house repair blogs follow the Samwell Men's Hockey Team tumblr just for Dex's posts. There are also pictures of him post-repair where he's sweaty, his cap on backwards, grease on his face and hands, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he wipes his hands off on a towel. Several gay porn blogs have reblogged those posts as well.
There are a lot of selfie pictures taken by Chowder with the team in the background, Chowder grinning widely at the camera. Chowder surges ahead as the best guess for who runs the tumblr but then there's a post of Chowder taking a selfie with Chowder. Both Chowders grin widely at the camera, their braces glinting with reflected sunlight. No one can tell if it’s photoshopped. No one knows how it couldn’t be. Twin theories get tossed around, but no one can find evidence of Chowder having a twin; his Facebook posts all have pictures of his parents and two little sisters.
The only reblogs on the Samwell Men's Hockey Team tumblr are shark related posts. Not just posts about the San Jose Sharks, but also posts about great white sharks and hammerhead sharks and Nurse sharks. After that post, there are a lot of jokes about Nursey. Nursey/Chowder becomes the ship of choice. A picture of Dex looking disgruntled gets posted. There's no context. The shark posts stop. The Nursey/Chowder and the Nursey/Dex shipwars are the worst tumblr has ever seen.
The less said about the shipwars, the better.
(Holster has Thoughts on this. He was at the forefront of the wars. He didn't even use a sideblog. He went from 60 followers to 450 followers in a three week period during which he enumerated his Thoughts. There might have been (Nursey/Chowder/Dex) fanfic written. (There is always fanfic written.)
Other series tags on the Samwell Men's Hockey Team tumblr:
#art my heart: Lardo's art projects in progress (there are never any final shots)
#felonious: Empty pie tins (there are never any whole pies)
#existential tango: Questions as posed by the newest member of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team (there are never any answers)
#TRAITOR: an exploration in the way one of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team's own can break their hearts (there are never any clear pictures, just blurry photos of people standing around)
#honk: goose shots (there are never any explanations)
There's a #zimmermann's ass tag but when you click on it, it takes you to a single post. That post is a shot of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team lined up, backs to the camera. Jack Zimmermann is not in the picture. It's captioned "OUR ASSES ARE FINE TOO"
Bitty tucked his fist under his chin and frowned at the pair across the library from him. Jack flipped a page in his book, then went still again. Bitty glanced at his phone. Lardo shifted, lifting her head to look at Jack. Bitty raised his own head, eyes wide, attention on her. Lardo rotated her chin one direction and then the other, cracking her neck audibly. Jack didn't even glance up.
Bitty sighed as she went back to her own reading and marked a tally in the margin of his text book.
"Whatcha doin', Bits?" a voice whispered in his ear.
Bitty squeaked and tried to jerk away only to crash into a warm, solid body on his other side. Bitty spun in his seat before gasping out an annoyed swear.
"Ya'll 'bout gave me a heart attack," he growled, kicking at Ransom's foot.
Holster laughed and ruffled Bitty's hair. Bitty scowled and ducked down toward the desk away from his hand. Ransom spread his books across the desk and then buried his nose in one, muttering under his breath. Holster tossed his bag on the desk and slung his arm across the back of Bitty's chair.
"What's that?" he asked, gesturing to the tally Bitty had been keeping.
Bitty pointed with his pen. "They have not said one word since they sat down. This is every time I think they are."
Holster followed Bitty's gaze to Jack and Lardo and laughed. Neither of them looked up, but a girl a table over hissed angrily at them.
"Bits, Lards and Jack never talk when they study together."
"I know," Bitty whined. "I don't get it. How? Even Ransom talks."
Holster looked over Bitty's head at his d-man partner and grinned. "He doesn't say much."
"Yeah, but they don't say anything. Not even, like, pass me that pencil. And he does."
Holster raised his eyebrows at Bitty and then turned to watch Jack and Lardo. Lardo leaned back in her chair, dragging her book off the table and into her lap. Jack looked up and raised an eyebrow. Lardo shrugged at him. They both went back to their books.
Holster glanced over at Bitty as he marked down another tally. "How long have you been watching them?" he asked.
Bitty looked at his phone. "32 minutes."
Ransom hissed under his breath and tossed his book across the table. A couple of students glared at them. Bitty flushed and ducked his head, but Holster ignored them. Ransom flicked another book open and started scribbling in a notebook, still muttering under his breath.
Across the room, Jack reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He set his hand on the desk and tapped his fingers. Lardo reached out and pushed his water bottle closer to him. Jack glanced up at her briefly before he grabbed it and drank. Bitty added another tally mark.
Holster and Bitty continued to watch. Over the next 30 minutes he added tally marks for Lardo sneezing and Jack handing her a tissue without prompting, Jack clearing his throat three times until Lardo got up to refill his water bottle without being asked, and two different bathroom trips indicated with nods and tips of the head.
At some point, Ransom stopped reading and folded his arms across his books to also watch.
"They haven't said anything?" he asked.
Holster pushed his glasses up his nose. "Nope." He popped the "p".
Lardo stood up to stretch, arching her back and stretching her arms above her head. She yawned loudly and then dropped back down into her seat. Jack frowned at her, and she shrugged back.
Bitty sighed and added another mark.
"I don't get it. How can they go an hour without talking to each other?" he asked.
"Bro, Jack's like the king of silence."
"Yeah, not everyone's a chatterbox like you, Bits."
"Oh shut up," Bitty huffed. He scowled down at his book and picked up his phone, opening the Twitter app. "I swear," he muttered to himself. "They have to be psychic."
Bonus:
Jack shifted to see his phone better, carefully hunting and pecking his letters.
To: Lardo
You think theyll figure out were texting
Lardo tucked her chin into the collar of her hoodie to hide her smile.
To: Jack
Nope. They haven't even realized we can hear them.
For the @omgcp-tropechallenge #4: Hurt/Comfort. // on AO3
Will leans back in his hospital bed waiting for the cast to set and debates who to call. His first instinct is to call Nursey, but the thought of the sheer amount of chirping that Will knows he'd be facing makes him wince.
It's Nursey who's clumsy. Nursey who has tripped over countless objects, tripped over nothing. Nursey who broke six phones all told last year and is already on his second one this year. Nursey who has actually had to have the team stand up for him more than once when he spilt food over the wrong person in the cafeteria.
It's Nursey who's clumsy, but it's Will who has managed to break his arm. And in the most embarrassing way possible.
Will sighs. He knows Jack won't say anything, but he will have that extremely effective Disappointed Captain look now that Will's going to be benched until he gets the cast off. Will's pissed enough about that already so he’s going to pass on the extra guilt, thanks.
Chowder would be too excitable and too worried and just- too much right now. All Will really wants is to curl up and go to sleep. He debates driving himself even though he knows it's not feasible. He's got pain meds in him. His truck is still on campus, not that it matters, because it’s a stick shift and he’s broken his right arm.
A nurse comes in to check on the cast’s progress, smiling at him. "How are you feeling?" she asks as she runs delicate fingers over it.
He shrugs, and she offers him a sympathetic look.
"Well, you seem to be all set here. Do you have someone to pick you up?"
"Um... yeah."
She pats his shoulder. "You give them a call. I'll get your paperwork started and then we'll go over your care instructions, okay?"
Will nods. He waits until she's out of the room before he unlocks his phone. Bitty answers on the third ring just as Will is about to hang up.
"Dex!" Bitty greets, laughter in his voice. Will immediately feels bad. He slinks down in the bed and tries to rub his hand over his face, only to be stopped by the cast. He gives an annoyed grunt.
"Dex?"
"Hey, Bits."
"What's up, honey?" Bitty asks, then, phone pulled away from his ear, "Stop you! I'm- It's Dex- Stop!"
Will groans. Of course Bitty's not alone. He rarely is.
Bitty hears him and when he says Will's name again, he sounds worried. "You okay, Dex?"
"Yeah. I just, uh, I need a favor-"
"Of course!"
"No, but, uh- You can't tell anyone. Not yet."
Bitty's quiet for a moment. "Are you in trouble?"
Will winces. "Kinda. I need a ride."
"Oh! Did something happen to your truck?" Will can hear someone talking in the background, but Bitty ignores them.
"Um... not exactly." Will sighs. "I'm in the hospital."
"What! Dex! Are you okay?" Then, phone away from his mouth again, tone serious this time: "Stop!"
Will can't deal with this right now. "You know what- never mi-"
"William Poindexter." Bitty's voice is cold and hard and though it has nothing on his mom's when she's angry, it runs a close second. Will's mouth snaps shut. "You better not be about to tell me never mind. Now, honey, I would love to give you a ride, but I don't have a car. Are you sure I can't tell someone else?"
Will drops his head back against the pillow. "Who are you with?"
"Jack."
Will makes a face. When he takes too long to answer, Bitty sighs into the phone. "Dex, it'll be okay. Jack and I are coming for you. We won't tell anyone else."
"Yeah. Fine."
"Which hospital are you at?"
"Samwell General."
The nurse pushes his door open again and waits until Will hangs up after Bitty promises again they'll come for him. She tells him how to care for his cast and gives him instructions for follow up appointments. Then she runs over his discharge papers.
"You have someone on your way?" she confirms.
Will nods and checks the time. "They should be here soon."
"Okay, well, when they get here, we'll get you outta here."
She pats his unbroken arm and leaves him alone. Will presses his arm over his eyes and tries to relax. It's not long before Bitty and Jack arrive, the nurse showing Bitty in. Will swings his feet over the edge of the bed just in time to catch Bitty's hug.
"You poor thing," Bitty mourns when he pulls back to check on Will's arm.
"Can we just go?" Will asks.
Bitty gives him a chiding look, but lets the nurse load Will into a wheelchair without comment. She follows Bitty out to the front of the hospital where Jack is sitting in his truck as it idles in the patient pick-up lane. He climbs out to help load Will into the passenger seat while Bitty squeezes into the tiny backseat.
"Did you get a pain prescription?" Bitty asks.
"Yeah, it's in the paperwork." Bitty insisted on carrying it all for him.
Will hears the papers shuffle and then Bitty hums. "Okay. We'll get this taken care of it." He pauses for a second, then continues, his voice taking on that stern tone again. "We're taking you back to the Haus."
"No, Bits-" Will starts to protest, stopping when Jack sends him a warning look.
"No arguing." Bitty leans over the seat to glare at him. "You're hurt, not just sick. You'll take my room and tomorrow you can go back to your dorm room."
Will gives in. When they get to the Haus, he lets Bitty guide him upstairs and sits in Bitty's desk chair cradling his arm while Bitty changes his sheets. Bitty stops short of actually tucking him in, but Will can see it's a close thing. Bitty sets a bottle of water on his desk and then leaves him to sleep.
When he wakes again, it's dark out. A note is propped up between his water and a prescription bottle. The meds he'd been given at the hospital have worn off and his arm aches up into his chest. He manages to sit up and read the note. It's from Bitty, telling him to text when he's awake. The pills need to be taken with food and Bitty has stuff already made he can heat up quickly.
Will debates just taking the pill and going back to sleep, but his stomach growls so he does as Bitty has asked.
Ten minutes later, the door to Bitty's room opens and Chowder backs in carrying a tray, closely followed by Nursey.
"Oh Jesus Christ," Will swears.
"We brought you food!" Chowder smiles and shows Will the tray which contains a sandwich and a bowl of soup. He waits while Will drags himself slowly up the bed. Once he's propped up, Chowder carefully sets the tray in Will's lap. If he has to deal with these two now at least Nursey wasn't in charge of the food or he’d be wearing it. Chowder sits at the foot of the bed while Nursey sits in the Bitty's desk chair.
Chowder yammers on about his day while they watch as Will tries to navigate feeding himself soup with his left hand. The spoon at least is a broad, deep thing which means it's not as bad as it could have been. Eventually he gives up and settles for eating the sandwich. He's barely finished the last bite before Nursey snatches up the prescription bottle and gives Will a pill. Will pops it into his mouth and swallows it with a mouthful of water. He sinks down into the bed, letting Chowder take the tray back downstairs to Bitty.
It's only once Chowder's left the room that Will realizes Nursey hasn't spoken once. He shuffles down on the bed, heaving an exhausted sigh when he manages to lay flat, his arm braced carefully against his body. He adjusts the pillow under his head and looks over at Nursey to find him frowning.
"What?" he asks.
"Why didn't you call me?"
Will groans and covers his face with his arm. "Just didn't," he mutters.
"I would have come to pick you up," Nursey says.
"I know."
"So?"
"So what?" Will moves his arm to glare at Nursey.
Nursey rolls his eyes. "Come on, Dex."
Will runs his hand across his face, rubbing his fingers into his eyes until spots danced behind his eyelids. "Just didn't, Nurse. It wasn't anything personal."
"Okay, then why didn't you tell me?"
"Do we have to do this now?"
Nursey sighs. "No, guess not," he mutters. “I brought you some stuff.”
Nursey crosses the room to grab Will’s duffel bag and set it in his chair. Will sits up and catches the clean t-shirt and sweats Nursey tosses to him. Nursey has to help him with his shirt, but he turns away when Will shucks off his jeans and pulls on the sweats. He sighs in relief and hands off his dirty clothes before crawling back into bed. Nursey tucks them away and sets the duffel back to the floor by Bitty’s closet.
Will expects him to leave, but he doesn't. He considers asking him to leave, but he doesn't. Instead he drapes his arm over his face again and watches Nursey from beneath the curve of it. After a few minutes, Nursey spins Bitty's chair around and starts digging through his desk. He finds a few scraps of paper and a pen and starts writing. Will falls asleep to the scratch of Nursey's poetry.
---
Will wakes before he's ready the next morning. His arm hurts and his bladder is insistent. Will crawls from the bed and heads for the bathroom to relieve himself. He splashes water across his face and breathes. When he gets back to the room, he discovers Nursey asleep over Bitty's desk.
He winces at the thought of the cramps Nursey's going to have to deal with before he thumps Nursey on the shoulder, startling him awake. He staggers out of the reach of Nursey's flailing limbs and waits until he orients himself. Then Will sits on the bed and grabs his pain pills. He dry swallows one.
"You're supposed to take that with food," Nursey says, his voice scratchy.
Will looks up to see him blinking blearily back at him. He shrugs with his left shoulder. "Hurts."
Nursey blinks and looks infinitely more awake. He frowns down at Will's arm. "Do you need me to get anything?"
"Breakfast? Something that doesn't take long."
Nursey nods and slips out of the chair. He trips over his feet and nearly crashes into the door frame. Will rolls his eyes and hopes Nursey doesn't bring him anything liquid.
He doesn't. He brings some kind of breakfast bar he assures Will Bitty baked. It's as good as Will expected.
The pills have kicked in by the time Will finishes eating and Nursey takes his plate, pushing him down into the bed. He falls asleep before Nursey's left the room.
He wakes later in the day to Bitty bustling about his room, gathering things up into a duffel bag.
"Bitty?"
"Dex!" Bitty spins, startled, a hand pressed to his chest. "How are you doin'?" he asks as he comes over to check on Will.
Will groans as he sits up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "What time is it? Where's Nursey?"
Bitty glances at his phone. "Just after 2. Nursey's in class. I came in to gather some things since you were passed out."
Will realizes abruptly that he's kicked Bitty out of his room. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and tries to get up, but Bitty catches him by the shoulders.
"Where do you think you're goin'?" he asks.
"I shouldn't kick you out of your room." If there's anything he's learned from his parents, it's to not be a burden.
Bitty just makes a face and urges him back into the bed. "You’re fine, honey. Lay back down. I've got an air mattress in Jack's room and you shouldn't be alone right now."
"It's just my arm," Will protests. He relents finally at Bitty's narrow-eyed look and settles back in bed. He'll have to use the bathroom soon, but he's okay for now.
Bitty sits in his desk chair and regards Will. "I broke my arm once." He holds out his left arm and shows Will the scar that runs up the inside by his elbow. Will's never noticed it before and feels guilty for it. "It was actually during a competition. One of my first. Messed up a jump and landed hard. I had to have surgery." He smiles at Will and pats him on the shoulder. "Just let us take care of you for a couple days, Dex. Lord knows I owe you for all the times you rushed over here to fix Betsy. Now, are you hungry?"
"Uh... I guess."
"I'll heat somethin' up for you."
While Bitty's downstairs, Will uses the bathroom and drinks some water. After he’s eaten the food Bitty returned with, he watches Bitty gather a few more things and then he leaves with Will's dirty dishes. Will lets the pills drag him under again, but sets an alarm for when he knows Nursey will be out of class. He ends up resetting it when it goes off the first time, but the second time Will wakes to Nursey fighting with his phone, trying to turn it off.
"What're you doin'?" he slurs.
"You should sleep if you're tired."
Will groans and covers his face with his arm. "Sleepin' too much," he grumbles.
Nursey snorts and gets the alarm turned off finally. "You hungry?"
Will takes a moment to consider. When he nods, Nursey texts Bitty. He's not ready for a pill, so he pushes himself up to lean against the wall, watching as Nursey fusses with his laptop. He notices a pile of books stacked against the wall and, after a moment, realizes they're his books. Nursey sees him looking.
"I let your professors know what had happened. They gave me your assignments."
"Shit. I forgot completely. Thanks."
Nursey shrugs. "No big." His phone goes off and he picks it up to read the text. “Chowder’s on his way over.”
He texts back while Will sits up a little more. He pulls the stack of papers off the top of the books and starts flipping through them. He’s on good terms with most of his professors, so there are notes of sympathy and a few have alternate assignments. His programming teacher has sent a debugging assignment in place of a coding assignment since he’ll have limited use of his hand. His English teacher will accept an oral report as long as it meets certain criteria. Will skims through it and decides it’s doable.
Will puts it all aside and watches Nursey as he works on his own homework. He hunts and pecks at the keyboard. Will watches with interest, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.
Nursey catches him looking. “One word and I’ll ask what happened,” he threatens.
Will makes a show of pressing his lips together tightly.
Pounding footsteps catch their attention and they both turn in time for Chowder to burst into the room. He grins at Will.
“Dex! You’re awake!”
Will shrugs. “I haven’t taken a pill yet.” He feels like crap and wants to go to sleep, but he’s also hungry.
Chowder gives him a sympathetic look. He drops down on the other end of the bed and starts pulling his books from his backpack. “I think Bitty’ll be up soon with food. He said he’d bring us all something.”
He does. He comes up carrying a large tray Will has never seen before. There’s a plate piled high with sandwiches, a couple of sides, and a pie. Jack follows him into the room carrying two tables. One is for Will, a folding tray that he can set in his lap. The other is for the boys. Bitty serves Will first, then sets up the table. Nursey and Chowder sit on the bed, Bitty sits in his desk chair, and Jack wheels his over from across the hall.
He’s a little separate, but that’s okay mostly. His arm hurts and he’s tired. They bring him into the conversation sometimes- Jack wants to know what the doctor said and if he knows how long the cast will be on. He only stops talking hockey when Bitty rolls his eyes and chides him about taking a damn day off. Jack flushes and offers Bitty a sheepish shrug, but he lets Bitty change the subject.
It’s not long before they’re back on hockey though, this time the NHL. Chowder talks about the Sharks and Jack talks about the teams that have approached him. Bitty seems focused on Jack, but he notices when Will tries to open the prescription bottle on his own. He takes it from Will and hands him a pill, followed quickly by his water. He clears Will’s tray away and then Will listens to them talk until he falls asleep again.
---
He feels better the next day and makes some progress on his homework before he has to take another pill, which puts him to sleep again. He startles awake when Nursey shows up after his classes.
“You’re up,” he comments as he drops into the desk chair. He pulls out his laptop and then starts piling literature books on top of it.
Will squints at the stack of books before rolling his eyes. “I am now, thanks,” he grumbles. He uprights himself and watches as Nursey starts flipping through the books, stopping every so often to compare passages. He debates doing more homework, but he’s still groggy.
“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?”
Nursey glances at him. “Yeah. Do you mind if I-?” He points at the foot of the bed.
Will shakes his head, then gives Nursey a dirty look when he sets the laptop in his lap instead of just handing it over. Nursey smirks at him before climbing over Will’s feet to wedge himself in the corner.
Will likes the setup of Bitty’s bed, a wall at either end and the window in the middle. It’s cozy, comfortable. Tucked away with Nursey on the other end, it’s intimate.
The thought makes Will flush in embarrassment. He ignores the way his heart pounds and focuses on finding something to watch on Netflix. He sinks down a little in the bed and watches through half-closed eyes as The Agents of Shield plays. He hadn’t been interested in any of the superhero movies, but Nursey, Holster, and Bitty had insisted on a Marvel marathon when they found out he’d not seen any of them. Nursey had grabbed Chowder and Holster had grabbed Ransom. When Bitty had called Jack and Shitty, Jack had decided to make it a team bonding experience and spread the word. Will had enjoyed the evening and the movies more than he had expected.
Nursey flicks him an amused grin when he realizes what Will’s watching, but otherwise doesn’t comment. He focuses on his homework, using Will’s shins as a bookrack, dropping books face down on them to hold his place.
Will finds his attention drawn to Nursey instead of the movie. The light in the room has gone gold and red as the sun started setting, and it makes Nursey glow. Will studies him, fascinated. He himself never tans. He burns a bright red and then freckles worse than before. He’s seen Nursey burn, but it mostly comes across as a slight redness over the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheeks. Will had been endeared by it until he’d caught the tail of Ransom’s lecture about how people with dark skin needed to use protection, too, and then he’d always make sure to share his sunscreen.
Nursey frowns slightly, eyebrows drawing up in consideration, eyes moving back and forth as he reads. Will tracks their movement. They’re darker than his, a muddy green compared to Will’s light brown, but sometimes, when he’s in sunlight or turned so that a room light shines on his face, Will can see the flecks of brown and gold in them. With his head turned down, Will can’t see the detail of them, but the light makes them saturated, turns them a rich dark green.
Nursey’s eyebrows relax, his frown shifting into a smile, slower and more satisfied than it usually is. It starts at one corner of his mouth and crawls across his face, curving up the other side and crinkling the skin around his eyes. Will likes this smile. He likes Nursey’s smile even when it’s a sharp teasing thing, or lazy with amusement. When he’s really amused, his eyebrows go up too. He’s never surprised, though. Will looks back up at his eyes and tries to imagine them wide with shock or delight or any sudden emotion, but he can’t. He knows now that Nursey feels things deep, but he’s also learned that it’s not sudden, it never is. Will wonders what that’s like, to have things build instead of be sharp and unexpected and overwhelming.
Will wouldn’t ever admit it, but he’s fascinated by Nursey. He’s never met anyone so beautiful as him, not really. A lot of the hockey team is good looking- Jack gets a lot of comments and doe-eyed stares when they go out. Ransom has girls hanging off him all the time, too. The number of guys that hit on Bitty is astounding given that he’s never seen Bitty go home with any of them. Nursey, though, he’s in an entirely different league, and Will’s not sure why.
Maybe it’s the way Will likes all of him. The way all these little pieces- his curly hair and his dark eyes and his slow smile and his broad nose and his perpetual stubble- come together. But it’s also maybe more than that. It’s the way he’ll sit and read for hours, or the way he makes faces as he does. It’s also the way he knows his friends so well, because now that Will knows him better, he can see the way Nursey will pick his words and time his comments. He knows what to say to make Bitty blush, and to make Holster and Ransom roar with laughter, or Chowder light up with delight.
It’s only when Nursey glances up and catches him that Will realizes he’s been staring. He feels the heat of embarrassment burn across his face, but Nursey only smiles at him and goes back to his reading.
Will likes that about him too, the way things can be no big deal with him. He won’t ever not care the way Nursey can, but Nursey makes it easy to not be embarrassed or shy or too worried. Nursey makes it easier to relax sometimes.
Will shifts a little lower into the bed and focuses on his show. He watches Coulson and May snark back and forth and enjoys the quiet.
---
Will wakes early the next morning, the sky barely beginning to lighten in the distance, and it’s like a switch has been flipped. He still aches, but the sharpness that meant he needed a pain pill has receded. The exhaustion has also eased, to his relief. Will sits up and realizes that Nursey’s still in the bed with him. He’s propped up in the corner, arms folded across his chest, snoring slightly. Will snorts a laugh and climbs out of bed to use the bathroom.
When he returns, Nursey is sitting at the edge, blinking around the room in confusion. He startles when he catches sight of Will.
“Where’d you go?” he slurs, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes.
“Bathroom.” He sits next to Nursey on the bed and cringes as a he gets a whiff of himself. “Man, I need a shower.”
“So take one,” Nursey grunts.
Will looks over at him, amused. Nursey’s still squinting around the room, obviously not really awake.
“I can’t,” he says and holds up his cast.
Nursey looks down at it and it’s a few moments before his eyes focus enough to actually see what Will’s getting at.
“Oh, right.”
Will laughs. Nursey looks up at him and smiles with the corner of his mouth.
“You feelin’ better?” he asks.
“For now.”
“You can’t get it wet, right?” Nursey asks. When Will nods, he pats Will’s thigh. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
He disappears out the door, and when he returns he’s carrying a couple of garbage bags and a roll of tape. “Bitty got ‘em for you. I’d forgotten until just now.”
Will frowns down at his arm. He wiggles his fingers. The cast comes right up to his knuckles and circles the base of his thumb completely. He’ll have to wrap his whole hand, leaving him with just the one to wash with.
“What?” Nursey asks.
“Just…” Will sighs. “Not sure how well I can manage a shower with one hand.”
Nursey is silent long enough that Will looks up at him. He watches Will, a strangely hesitant look on his face. “I could help,” he offers.
Will stares at Nursey. “What?”
Because Nursey can’t really mean that he’ll get in the shower with Will. Sure, they shower together all the time after practice, but that’s a locker room, with wide showers and separate shower heads and no actual touching. And just how much help is he offering? Is he going to wash Will’s hair? His body? How much of his body?
Nursey smirks, but it’s forced. “Come on, man, we shower together all the time.”
Will’s face heats in an instant.
Nursey laughs. “We can keep our boxers on, you prude.”
That doesn’t solve, like, any of Will’s issues, but he also really wants a shower. He holds out his cast without saying anything. The laughter drains from Nursey’s face. His eyes dart back and forth between Will’s, and when he swallows the sound is loud in the room.
Carefully, Nursey helps Will out of his t-shirt, dragging it over the cast without knocking Will’s arm too much. He covers Will’s cast with the garbage bag, taping it closed around his upper arm just above the elbow.
Will heads for the bathroom while Nursey gathers towels from Bitty’s closet. He starts the water running to warm up and wiggles out of his sweats, leaving just his boxers on. He sits on the toilet and waits for Nursey to come back. By the time he does, Will’s nearly talked himself out of this. He stands, ready to turn the water off, but freezes when the door opens.
He watches as Nursey shuts the door behind him, drops the towels on the edge of the sink, and pulls off his shirt. He doesn’t hesitate, just undresses as if this is normal for him, as if his heart isn’t beating out of his chest the way Will’s is.
It probably isn’t, Will realizes abruptly. Nursey isn’t going to go for someone like Will, and whatever that was back in Bitty’s bedroom, it wasn’t sexual tension.
Will turns away from Nursey and climbs into the shower. He swallows back his frustration and ducks his head under the water. He runs his hand through his hair to get it wet and tries not to flinch when Nursey climbs in after him, closing the door.
“Fuck, why are there so many bottles in here?” Nursey mutters when he kicks them over and has to spend five minutes picking them up.
Will snorts. “I’d say because of Bitty but you know Rans and Holster are just as bad.”
Nursey gives a sharp bark of laughter. It's almost derisive so Will adds, "Like you don’t have just as many."
"Meh. I usually just use what my stylist tells me to."
Will rolls his eyes even though Nursey can't see, but he thinks about that. Nursey's hair is always slicked down and styled so that his hair shines and curves in waves when he comes back from the salon. Will likes it best a few days after that, when whatever's in his hair has washed away and his hair curls up with just a bit of frizz, but the sides are still shaved into that soft, downy look. It makes Will want to cup the back of Nursey’s head, to feel that hair against the palm of his hand before he slides his fingers up into Nursey's curls and tangles them there. It makes him ache to touch. Will likes it best then, but he also hates it the most too.
Behind him Will hears the click of a lid open, then the snap of it closing. After the third bottle, Will glances over his shoulder, blinking water out of his eyes, to see Nursey opening bottles and sniffing them. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t know what. Instead he turns back and focuses on rubbing his hand over his body, doing a quick water-wash. The idea that Nursey wants to pick what he smells like sends a strange shiver down his spine. He pushes the thought away when heat starts to pool in his groin.
"Here, tip your head back."
"Find something you like?" he asks even as he steps back, tilting his head. He collides with Nursey, his back pressing to Nursey's chest. There's a moment where they both freeze. Will's skin is slick with water and hotter than Nursey's. He can feel the way Nursey's chest rises against his back but doesn't fall again, the way a hand rests feather-light on his hip, the sharp press of hipbones against the top of his ass. Nursey shifts, and there's a glide of skin on skin that sticks slightly. Then he steps back and clears his throat.
"I said tilt your head back, man."
"I was trying to get out of the water."
Nursey doesn't respond, but Will hears the bottle fart and then the lid snap shut. There's a strange slicking sound and then Nursey's fingers are in his hair massaging. He scratches his nails along Will's scalp, making Will groan and tip his head all the way back. He works the shampoo into Will's hair longer than necessary, but Will doesn't complain. It smells sweet and natural, maybe like herbs of some kind. Will likes it. He guesses Nursey does too.
He shudders slightly as Nursey rakes his nails through his hair. Nursey's hands wander down his neck, over his shoulders and then disappear.
"Can you rinse off?" he asks, his voice rough.
Will blinks his eyes open, uncertain when he’d even closed them, and lifts his head. He steps forward under the spray, scrubbing with his left hand. Nursey's fingers join his after a moment and Will lowers his hand to let Nursey take charge of rinsing the shampoo from his hair. When the water runs clean, Nursey removes his hands, but it's not long before they're back, this time working soap over Will's shoulders and back, fingers digging in where he's tense. They don't speak, either of them, and Will struggles to control his breathing.
Nursey washes his right arm, careful to keep from getting soap on the tape, then switches to his left arm. He turns Will slightly so that he can wash all the way down to Will's hand, slipping his fingers between Will's. Will watches, breathing heavily, equal parts mesmerized and baffled by the way Nursey is touching him.
Nursey turns him forward with a gentle touch to his shoulder, then steps up behind him, pressing his chest to Will's back. Will goes tense again. His breath catches in his throat when Nursey wraps his arms around Will's chest and sets his chin on Will's shoulder.
"Would you chill?" Nursey says directly into his ear, his voice low.
Will swallows. He can't even bring himself to be irritated, not when Nursey's skin is pressed flush with his, hot and damp with humidity, slick with the soap between them. Nursey flattens his hands against Will's ribs. One dips low, stroking across his abs, then lower. Will catches it before it can reach the waistband of his boxers. He doesn't dare look down, not when he can feel the weight of his arousal low in his gut and in the way his dick is filling out. He doesn't want to know what it looks like to Nursey from this angle, boxers so wet they hide nothing.
"What is this?" he asks.
Nursey shifts his chin to the curve of Will's shoulder, turning his head so that Will can feel his breath against his neck.
"What do you think it is?"
Will rolls his eyes. He tries to step away but Nursey tightens his arms.
"I don't do casual," Will says, bitter. Will doesn't really talk about it, about how he gets turned on and jacks off, but how it's rarely directed at a person. He'd learned from Shitty's introductory speech his frog year that he was somewhere on the ace spectrum, but he hadn't bothered to find out more. College was enough to think about. Had been enough until Nursey had worked his way under Will's skin.
"I do?" Nursey asks.
"Oh my God." Will struggles against Nursey's hold, but he doesn't get far, not with the Nursey holding on and the slick tiles and Nursey going, "Hey, Will, stop," right in his ear.
"What the hell, man?" Nursey asks when Will finally does stop.
"You were the one who went on this big speech about how relationships weren't 'chill' enough for you," Will grumbles. He wraps his hands around Nursey's wrists, but he doesn't pull his hands away.
"Yeah, okay," Nursey agrees, "but I also haven't had a one night stand in months, dude. Or did you not notice?"
"I don't exactly keep track of your conquests."
Nursey doesn't respond. His fingers drift a little, stroking over the lines of Will's stomach. He sighs and digs his chin into Will's shoulder. Will waits.
"Look, I love my parents, right?" Nursey starts.
Will hadn't meant for him to do more than just say he wasn't using Will for some relief. He opens his mouth to say that, but Nursey squeezes him gently. Will shuts his mouth and lets him talk.
"I think they did love each other at one point, but now their relationship is more about... just having a relationship. Like, less about love than about being with someone." Nursey pauses. He shifts his chin until he can press his lips against Will’s skin. Will lets himself relax, just a little. "I just... I mean, I always wanted to fall in love and have some grand romance, but as I got older, it was like relationships were less about being in love and more about, I dunno, having sex. Or not being alone. Or having someone to show off."
Nursey pauses again. His fingers flex into Will's skin. "Bitty still believes in it, ya know. Some great love. Lardo's kinda hinted that she does too, but she won't talk about it so much. And all those poets."
Will snorts in amusement.
"I wanted it," Nursey admits. "Just didn't think I'd ever meet someone who made me feel that way. Then I met you. And you're kinda awkward and definitely tense and you'd piss me off in ways I'd never been pissed off before. But you're also, like, really hot. And really clever. And you don't stop, like at all. You get on the ice and you play until you can't. You insist we get every goddamn move down before going home."
Will closes his eyes and drops his head back against Nursey's shoulder.
"You're like goddamn perfect for me, Will. You make me think there's something to it."
Will swallows through a thick throat. He's never had someone talk about him like that. It makes his chest ache in the best way.
"You coulda just said you like me," Will finally says.
"Oh, fuck you, Dex," Nursey laughs. He presses a soft kiss to Will's neck. "You gonna let me jerk you off or not."
"And there's the romance," Will snorts, but he lets go of Nursey's hands.
Nursey pushes him up to stand on his own feet. When Will's upright, he slips his fingers under the waistband of Will's boxers.
"Can I take these off?"
"Yeah."
Nursey pushes them down his thighs until they fall to Will's feet on their own. Will kicks them aside and then reaches behind him to tug on Nursey's.
"Yours too."
Will hears the wet splat of Nursey's boxers hitting the tub floor and then they go flying past his ankles to slap against the wall. Will laughs, but the sound catches in his throat when Nursey's hands, soapy and slick, curve around his ribs to press him back against Nursey's body again. Will looks down to watch as Nursey runs his hands over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscles. He presses his palms flat over Will's pecs, presses against Will's nipples.
"Do you..."
Will nods. Nursey plays with his nipples, rolling them between his fingers, tugging on them until Will groans. He leans back against Nursey so that his hips press against Will’s ass. Nursey's hard already, and Will feels him rub up against him, against the curve of his ass and the small of his back. He shudders and presses back, grinding against Nursey's cock.
Nursey slaps his chest lightly. "Just let me," he says even though his voice is rough and his hips roll into Will's when Will stops moving.
"I'm okay."
"Just let me," Nursey says again, so Will does.
He closes his eyes and focuses on the way Nursey runs his hands down his abs. He traces down the thin trail of hair that leads to between Will's legs. Just as he's about to touch Will's cock, Nursey pulls his hands away.
Will groans in complaint, but Nursey only laughs. His hands are soapy again when he wraps them around Will's hips and tugs him closer. Will relaxes back against Nursey and closes his eyes as Nursey's hands slip down over his thighs, then curve inward. Will moans when one slips up to cup his balls. Nursey massages them, rolling them in his palm. He brings his other hand up and wraps it around Will's dick, stroking without hesitation.
Will opens his eyes and looks down. He doesn't really believe what he's seeing, watching the way Nursey strokes him, curving his fingers over the head of Will's cock before slipping down again. It's obscene. It's wonderful.
Will twists his head to look at Nursey where he's got his chin on Will's shoulder, also watching his hand. He glances up at Will and smiles that lazy smile that starts at one side of his mouth and works its way to the other. His eyes are warm and pleased. His gaze flicks down to Will's mouth and his lips part, the smile fading. Will's breath catches in his chest. Nursey doesn't close the gap between them, but he tightens his hand and twists it around the head of Will's cock, and Will has to turn away, a low groan breaking free.
He braces his hand against the shower wall and spreads his feet a little wider. Nursey mutters encouragement under his breath as he keeps his grip tight and strokes faster. Will presses back against him, moaning low in his throat, unable to catch his breath completely. His hips jerk forward when he comes, and Nursey’s encouragement changes to praise. Will shivers in his arms until his orgasm wanes.
He relaxes against Nursey for a moment, letting him support his weight, but when he stands up, his vision snows out and Will finds himself listing.
“Woah, man!” Nursey grabs him and keeps him from falling. “You okay?”
“Dizzy.” Will reaches out for the wall and Nursey helps him find it.
“Can you stand long enough for me to wash you off?”
“Yeah.”
He leans forward against the wall, bracing his weight on his good hand while he helps balance with the first of his right hand. After a moment, he fumbles with the water faucet, turning down the temperature. The coolness helps dissipate some of the dizziness as the foggy heat of the shower lessens. Nursey runs his hands over Will’s body, his touch perfunctory and quick instead of the slow, dragging touch of earlier. Will grunts when his hands slip between his legs again to rinse the soap there, too.
“Okay for a sec?” Nursey asks when he’s done.
“Yeah.”
Will hears the curtain pull back and listens to Nursey’s feet thump until he feels a hand on his back.
“Come here, Dex.”
Will lets himself be helped out of the shower. Nursey sits him down on the toilet lid, cushioned by a towel. It’s a relief to be sitting and he sags under Nursey’s touch when he slings another towel around him and dries him off.
When his dizziness eases up, Will opens his eyes to find Nursey’s crotch right in front of him. He stares even as his face heats. Nursey’s still a bit hard, his dick jutting out toward Will and bouncing slightly as he moves around to take care of Will. He feels guilty and reaches out to touch Nursey’s thigh.
Nursey jumps, startled, and looks down at him with a frown.
“You didn’t get anything.”
Nursey shakes his head. He wraps the towel around Will’s shoulders. “I don’t need anything right now, man. Later.”
Will frowns at him.
“Okay, first off, it’s not tit for tat. Second off, you’re not even able to sit upright.”
Will doesn’t argue, but he keeps staring. Nursey stares back until his face goes soft.
“I take it back. I do need something.”
Before Will can respond, Nursey cups his face and leans down to kiss him. His mouth is warm and open and Will feels like he can’t react fast enough before Nursey is backing away. Will reaches up and grabs him, pulling him again to tilt his head and slip his tongue into Nursey’s mouth. Nursey chuckles against his lips, gives him one last quick peck, and pulls away.
Nursey’s fully hard again, but he pays it no attention as he wraps a towel around his waist. He helps Will stand and ties a towel around him too.
“Can you make it to the room okay?” he asks.
Will considers. The dizziness has passed. He’s exhausted and overheated, but he’s not worried about falling.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.”
Will heads to the bedroom where he gets dressed in clean boxers and a new pair of sweats. He stays shirtless.
It’s light enough out now that the room is dimly lit. Will sits on the bed and pulls back the curtains to let more sunlight in. He leaves the room light off and focuses on picking at the tape holding the bags on over his arm. He manages to get them removed before Nursey returns, leftover towels and their boxers bundled under his arms. He tosses them in the corner of the room and digs around in Will’s bag for a pair of boxers. Will’s wearing the only pair of sweats, so Nursey settles for pulling on a shirt in addition to the boxers.
Will watches, swallowing hard at the sight of Nursey in his clothes. Nursey catches him and winks. Will is embarrassed but only because he can’t seem to stop staring. Nursey sits next to him and wraps an arm low around his back, pulling him close and kissing him.
They only break apart when Will shudders, pulling his arm to his stomach as he winces through a wave of fresh pain. Nursey rubs a hand over his back.
“Let’s get you fed and then you can lay back down.” He points and Will looks to see a plate of food on Bitty’s desk, covered with saran wrap. A yellow post-it note sits on top. He picks it up to see that Bitty’s drawn a smiley face on it and under it: DON’T HAVE SEX IN MY BED
Will chokes on a laugh even as fresh embarrassment burns through him. He hadn’t thought he was that loud, but apparently it had been loud enough. He shows Nursey who tosses his head back and laughs.
They share the plate between them. Nursey sets it back on the desk while Will takes a pill. As soon as he lies back on the bed, exhaustion weighs him down.
“You gonna stay?” he asks, voice already slurring. He forces his eyes open to look up at Nursey.
“Not enough room,” Nursey answers, gesturing.
“Like last night?” He’s not sure he makes sense, but Nursey raises his eyebrows. He glances down the bed.
“You sure?”
Will nods and drags his feet up to give Nursey room to climb in. Nursey’s feet end up under his armpit. It’s a little uncomfortable, but listening to Nursey breathe, feeling the weight of his arm over his shins, the heat of his presence- all of it relaxes Will and he goes to sleep easy.
---
Nursey has a late afternoon class, so they get up together around noon. Will feels better than he had even that morning, so he dresses and joins Nursey downstairs for lunch.
Ransom and Holster are in the kitchen already. Ransom hoots while Holster whoops and they both get fist bumps.
“You don’t even live here and you’re gettin’ laid in the Haus,” Holster says approvingly.
Will groans and covers his face with his hands.
“I know how to take care of my man.” Nursey grins as opens the fridge door, then freezes as he takes in the contents. “Dude, Dex, check this out.”
Will peers over his shoulder, ignoring the mocking faces Ransom and Holster make at their backs. The top shelf of the fridge is packed with Tupperware containers and a sign sits front-and-center, labeling the shelf FOR DEX ONLY.
Will flushes, but he reaches around Nursey to pull out a container that ends up being filled with some kind of casserole dish. He slaps Nursey’s hand when he tries to grab his own container and points to the sign.
“Not cool,” Nursey whines.
“Right!” Holster exclaims.
“Bitty’s been cooking up a storm and he won’t let anyone eat it,” Ransom laments. He gives a sad look at the container in Will’s hands, eyes wide and wet.
Will shrugs and sticks the container in the microwave. “Bits likes me.”
He laughs as the boys all make offended noises. When casserole is heated, he stands at the sink and eats it, waving Nursey over to feed him bites. Holster makes gagging noises while Ransom’s eyes get larger and sadder.
Bitty and Jack show up then, bringing the smell of overly sweetened coffee with them. Bitty hugs Will, pleased to see he’s up, and then gives in to Ransom’s sad eyes and serves them all from his Dex shelf.
It’s nice, even if all of them make fun of him for kissing Nursey goodbye when he leaves for his class.
---
Bitty convinces him to spend at least one more night in the Haus. Despite Will’s reservations, Bitty promises that Jack doesn’t mind sharing his room with a flush coloring his cheeks. Will debates calling him out, but then he still hasn’t told anyone what he did to break his arm.
It’s only when he’s sitting in bed with Nursey later that night, both of them working on homework, that he realizes he’s forgotten something. He puts Nursey’s laptop aside and crawls across the bed to stack Nursey’s books up out of the way so he can straddle his lap.
Nursey lets him, but as he wraps his arms around Will’s waist, he says, “Dude, I said it was fine if we don’t do anything.”
“No, I know. This isn’t-” Will takes a deep breath. He’s never been very good at this, but he needs to do it. “This is- what you said in the shower-” He tightens his grip on Nursey’s shoulders and forces the words out. “I just- me too. You make me so mad, like all the time sometimes, but I like that you don’t back down just ‘cause. And you’re passionate when you stop pretending you don’t care. I like listening to you read your stupid poems and the way you’ll spend half an hour explaining what two lines mean. And you’re good with kids. And I know I get caught up in getting things perfect, but you know when to let go and I need that sometimes.”
Will knows he’s rambling and that his face is growing redder and redder as he talks. Nursey just watches him, his mouth curved up and his eyes warm and dark. Just as Will’s ready to hurl himself across the bed to get himself to shut up, Nursey covers his mouth with his hand. Will exhales noisily in relief.
“Chill, dude,” Nursey says, and for once, Will cracks up laughing. He buries his head in Nursey’s neck and is stupidly grateful for this idiot under him.
---
Nursey helps Will back to his dorm room the next day, but he's only there long enough to grab clean clothes and his school stuff. His roommate winces when he sees Will's arm but doesn't comment when Will tells him he's going to stay at his boyfriend's for a few nights.
Nursey makes a weird squeaking noise that he pretends never happened.
After they get Will's stuff settled, Nursey backs him onto the bed, stretching over Will’s body. It's a little wider than the one Will has in his room since Nursey has a single with a private bathroom, but it's still a tight fit for the two of them. Not that Will's complaining since he's left with Nursey pressed up against him, knee to thigh to hip to chest.
Nursey kisses him, hot and wet and eager, his hands roaming over Will's body, slipping up under his shirt to press flat to his skin.
"Fuck," Nursey breathes against his mouth. "Are you up to this?"
"Depends on what this is, I guess," Will answers. He curls his hand around Nursey's neck, then changes his mind and slides his hand up to cup the back of his head. It's been a little while, so Nursey's hair is longer than normal, the short strands standing up between Will's fingers. It's as soft as he imagined, and he can't help smiling. He rubs his palm gently against Nursey's skull, then drags it up to twist his fingers into his curls. He toys with Nursey’s hair, running his fingers through the strands, twisting them into the curls to feel them wrap around his fingers.
Nursey lowers his head to rest his chin against Will's chest and watches him.
"What?" Will asks.
"You're into my hair?"
Heat flushes his face and he shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't stop playing with Nursey's curls though. "I like it."
"That's okay. I like yours too."
Will makes a face that has Nursey chuckling. He presses a kiss to Will's sternum through his shirt. He folds his hands over Will's chest and rests his cheek on it.
"Hey. You never told me what happened."
"With what?" Will stalls.
Nursey snorts. "With what?" he mocks. "With your arm."
"I broke it."
"Yeah, but how?" Nursey sits up and frowns at him.
"It's not a big deal," Will tries, but Nursey just narrows his eyes.
"I will sick Bitty on you."
"Bitty wouldn't force me to tell."
"Ransom and Holster."
Will glares. "You wouldn't."
"Is it embarrassing?"
"Ugh." Will covers his face with his hand. "Yes," he mutters.
"So tell me."
"It's really not that big of a deal."
"You're only making it worse for yourself."
"I just... I tripped okay?"
"Tripped? Over what?"
Will sighs and gives in. "I tripped over my skates."
Nursey frowns at him. "I do that all the time."
"No, I- I was at Faber."
It takes a moment, one long excruciating moment. "Are you telling me you tripped on the ice?" Nursey asks, sitting up completely.
Will groans and drags a pillow over his head.
"Will!" Nursey laughs, bright and delighted, and Will lowers the pillow enough to watch. When Nursey sees, he gives Will a fond look. "I don't even do that."
"I know," he groans, pushing the pillow aside. "You can't tell anyone. I'll never hear the end of it."
"Oh, you already won't hear the end of it."
"Yeah, but I can shut you up with a blowjob."
"Man, pretty sure your dick has to be in my mouth for that to work."
"That can be arranged," Will rebuts sourly.
Nursey gives him a dirty grin. "Seriously, though, how'd you manage to trip over your skates?"
Will sighs. "I don't even know. I was just fucking around."
"Tripped over your own skates. That's fuckin' great, Dex." Nursey leans over to kiss him, his arms bracketing Will's body.
"If you don't stop laughing, I'll go back to my own room," Will says against his lips.
Nursey rolls his hips into Will's, making them both gasp. "I doubt it," he says, and he's right.
---
The next time Will goes to practice Jack tells him he’s not allowed back on the ice until he takes skating classes. He says he can recommend someone local who works with beginners. Bitty pipes up to add that he’s taught skating classes to elementary school kids and could certainly teach him. Ransom and Holster spend the practice falling, arms and legs flailing dramatically.
Will pouts until Nursey skates up and drags him halfway over the boards to kiss him into smiling.
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For the @omgcp-tropechallenge #3: Fake Relationship. // on AO3
It's set in the past, though I don't really have a specific time period in mind. Jack is an underground bare knuckle boxer, and Eric is a prostitute whose favorite place to work is the underground fighting circuit.
Eric woke to someone pounding on the door. He groaned and pressed his face into the pillow. Next to him Jack stirred, then echoed his groan. When he sat up, Eric did too only for Jack to press a hand to his back, his palm broad and flat over the curve of Eric’s spine.
“Go back to sleep. It’s probably nothing.”
Eric let himself relax back into Jack’s bed, watching through slitted eyes as Jack stood. He stretched, arms above his head, back arched, muscles rolling beneath his skin. Eric bit his lip and smiled to himself, irrationally pleased with the memories he had of getting to feel that movement beneath his hands as Jack fucked him. The sight and sense memories made his cock harden, but Eric ignored it for the moment. If he was lucky, there’d be time enough for that later. With Jack he was almost always lucky.
Jack pulled on a robe, hiding his body from Eric’s sight, and left the bedroom. Eric gave a sad sigh, but closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep. He jerked awake again when Jack’s voice became audible through the bedroom door.
“I said no, Kent!”
Frowning, Eric climbed from the bed and crept up to the door, pausing only long enough to pull on some underwear. He’d never heard Jack raise his voice before. Even during his fights, when the crowd was yelling and throwing popcorn and bits of balled-up papers and hurling insults while his opponent catcalled or jeered at him, Jack had always been silent and brooding, standing in the corner of the ring, his taped hands wrapped around the ropes, face impassive and unmoved.
Eric still remembered the first time he saw Jack in the ring. He still remembered the shiver that ran down his spine at the sight of him.
“Come on, Jack,” the other man all but whined, pulling Eric from his thoughts.
He listened as the two of them argued back and forth, something about this Kent wanting Jack to switch circuits and fight with him again. Jack kept refusing. Their voices dropped, and Eric couldn’t hear them anymore. He started to go back to bed when Jack’s voice rose again.
“You gotta stop hanging onto this, Kent. I know we- I know we used to be somethin’ together, but that’s past.”
“We were just kids, Jack. We didn’t know shit.”
Jack laughed, dry and sad. “Still don’t know shit, Kenny. But it’s past.” Jack hesitated, then added, “Sides, I’m seein’ someone.”
Eric frowned. He knew that wasn’t true. Jack had told him part of the reason he paid for Eric was because he didn’t want to see someone. Fighting underground was dangerous. Jack knew enough fighters who’d been knocked down in the ring and then not got up again, leaving behind wives and kids. It wasn’t a wife Jack would be leaving behind, but Jack didn’t want to do that to someone. Eric had been around the fighting circuit enough to know the way it was.
“I don’t believe you,” Kent said. “I know when you’re lyin’.”
“I’m not,” Jack argued.
There was an undercurrent to his voice, one Eric was familiar with. A tightening that usually meant Eric was to take charge, to pin Jack down and tell him what was gonna happen. A tightening that meant Jack needed someone to take charge of him so he could take charge of himself. Before he could think, Eric snatched up Jack’s discarded shirt from the night before. He pulled it on and buttoned it up just a bit, leaving the neck gaping open. It fell down to mid-thigh on Eric, the sleeves covering his fingers.
He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and walked into the living room to find Jack standing in a fighting stance behind the couch. A blond haired man sat in one of Jack’s chairs, sprawled lazy and comfortable, built like Jack with the same ragged knuckles and the same scars marking his jaw and eyebrows, the same crooked nose from being broken time and time again.
Eric spared him only enough of a look to register his presence before he approached Jack. He hooked his fingers into the fold of Jack’s arm where he had them both crossed over his chest and used that hold to lift himself onto his toes. Jack ducked obediently, seamlessly, to the squeeze of Eric’s fingers, and Eric pressed a kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth.
“Good mornin’, sweetheart. Do ya mind if I make some coffee?”
Jack met his eyes and Eric winked at him. Jack’s body relaxed, his shoulders easing down, his arms dropping. He caught Eric’s fingers in his own and squeezed.
“Course not,” Jack answered.
Eric rewarded him with a smile and headed for the kitchen, letting his fingers linger in Jack’s hold as he walked away. He added a sway to his hips, knowing both men were watching.
Eric busied himself with making coffee and starting breakfast. Though he could hear Kent and Jack still talking, he couldn’t make out their words, which was fine. The conversation was apparently over as Kent left not long afterward, the door slamming shut behind him.
Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway and watched him cook without saying anything. Once Eric had turned off the stove and plated their eggs and bacon, he entered the room, stalking toward him with intention. Eric leaned up against the counter and waited.
Jack stopped just shy of touching him, the heat of his body stark enough to be felt in the chill air of the apartment. Jack’s eyes raked over Eric’s body. He arched his back, putting on a display for Jack, hope at being touched fluttering under his ribs.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Jack said, his voice soft, eyes on Eric’s face.
Eric shrugged. He tilted his chin up, parting his lips in invitation. Jack leaned closer. He curved his hands around Eric’s thighs. His palms were hot and firm, the tips of his fingers digging into the muscle there with gentle pressure. Jack breathed against his mouth, damp gusts of air that brushed across his lips and cheeks.
Eric wanted to close the distance between them, but he held firm. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, focused on the feel of Jack’s hands on his body. He waited and he let Jack come to him. Let Jack press close and cover Eric’s mouth with his own.
Eric opened to him, easy and willing. Eric wrapped himself around him, hungry and desperate. He let Jack take him back into the bedroom, leaving their food forgotten, and gave himself over, one more time.
Afterward, Jack stretched out on his stomach, arms folded under his pillow. He watched Eric as he dressed, pulling on his button down shirt and trousers. He clipped his suspenders in place, but did not pull them over his arms. Then he climbed back into Jack’s bed, sitting on his knees. Jack rolled onto his side to face him. Eric flattened his hand to Jack’s chest and leaned forward to kiss him. Jack cupped his hand around the back of Eric’s head, a quiet kind of intimacy they both ignored.
“You fightin’ again?” Eric asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Need me?”
Jack shook his head, but said, “We’ll see.”
Eric kissed his cheek and slid off the bed. Jack called after him, “Money’s in the usual.”
Eric stopped by the kitchen on the way out, pulling open the breadbox. An envelope sat inside. He didn’t bother to count the money; Jack was always good for it, usually more than.
In the hallway, Kent sat with his back against the wall opposite Jack’s door. He had his knees pulled to his body, his hands dug into his hair. He stared up at Eric, the betrayal clear enough that Eric knew he’d heard them.
Eric paused in the doorway, then stepped out. He pulled Jack’s door to, testing it to be sure it had latched. He waited while Kent climbed to his feet. They walked together in silence. By the time they reached the ground floor, Eric had pulled himself together, tugging his suspenders into place and pulling on his jacket. Kent held the door for him when they exited the building.
Eric waited to see which direction he would go, but Kent only stood on the sidewalk, eyes pointed across the street but seeing something Eric couldn’t. Kent turned to him, glanced down at the envelope of money in his hands.
“Are you two really together?” he asked.
Eric folded the envelope and tucked it into his pocket. “Does it matter?”
Kent snorted. He ran a hand through his hair. “I had him first you know.”
Eric didn’t know anything about this man. He only knew Jack and he knew that this man upset Jack, but that Jack forgave him anyway. Eric wasn’t sure he could be so forgiving, remembering the way Jack had been ready to fight, remembering that tone of voice that Eric hated most.
“I’ll have him last,” Eric said.
Kent flinched as if Eric had slapped him. His hands dangled by his side. Eric relented.
“He’d forgive you if you asked.”
Kent looked at him then, eyes wide. Eric stared back. He could see the flicker of emotions across Kent’s face, disbelief- hope- gratitude- anger. Kent settled there and he glared at Eric.
“If I wanted you, could I have you?” he asked instead.
Eric quirked a smile at him. “No.”
“Alright then.” Kent grinned and it was like looking at a different person. He tucked his hands in his pockets, turned his back to Eric, and walked away, whistling. Eric almost believed him.
It starts because of a kid on his peewee hockey team. The kid's dad was a major fan, first of Jack’s dad and then of Jack himself, and the kid had asked Jack for an autograph for his dad's birthday. Jack had signed the wilted, wrinkled photograph, but it had bugged him. He wasn't someone to be proud of. If there was anyone to be proud of it was these kids. They had come in with a wild mix of skills and were now leaving able to win every couple of games. They all tried so hard and had so much fun doing it. Jack adored them and he adored their spirit.
So, at the end of the season, Jack had taken off his jersey and had them all sign it. He carries it with him every time he moves, wrapped in a clothing bag meant for suits. Sometimes he'll take it out and look at it, but mostly he just keeps it close.
Bitty moves in with Jack after he graduates and finds it cleaning out the closet one day. When he asks Jack about it, Jack tells him about the kids. Each time Bitty points at a name, Jack smiles and tells him a story about the kid. He does it for every single name on the jersey. (Bitty may or may not go out and buy a wedding ring the very next day.)
Bitty takes the jersey and has it framed. He hangs it up in their bedroom and it makes Jack smile every time he sees it.
Later, once Jack and Bitty come out and Jack gets a little more settled in his career, Jack starts working with charities like You Can Play and kids' charities and organizations that promote mental health awareness. He likes working with kids best and each time he does an event, he has the kids sign the jersey he wore that day. George and the PR staff try to get him to bring a spare jersey, but Jack insists its not the same. They give up eventually, because Jack is stubborn and Bitty takes his side. (Once his husband takes his side, getting Jack to change is mind is like making the Earth change its orbit around the sun.)
Bitty frames every jersey Jack comes home with. Most end up in Jack's home office, but the ones that mean the most to Jack go in the bedroom or in the living room. He never gets rid of any of them, though, no matter how many he ends up with.
Once Jack retires, he looks into opening his own charity geared toward kids. For a while he doesn't know what to do. He wants to support kids going into hockey, LGBTQIA+ kids, kids with mental health issues, and kids in general.
After talking with Bitty and his contacts from other charities, Jack decides to focus on kids with mental health issues while partnering with existing charities for other areas of focus. Bitty helps him find a building for their home offices and to hire staff and coordinators and all the other people he'll need. Shitty helps him with all the legal stuff. Holster and Chowder are some of the first professional hockey players to offer their time. Ransom helps Jack track down mental health professionals who are willing to volunteer their services. He volunteers his own to help with physical injuries. Dex hooks him up with someone who can build and maintain his website and social media. Nursey ends up working with Jack to coach the teams.
Bitty and Lardo decorate the offices and plan the grand opening celebration. Jack is banned until then, working from his and Bitty's home. The day of the grand opening celebration, Jack arrives to find that Bitty's invited as many of the kids Jack's worked with over the years as he could. Most of them show up, including that first boy.
When they walk into the building, it's bright and colorful and clearly made for kids. Lardo's painted murals all over and Jack sees himself and everyone from Samwell in them.
The best thing though is the hallways lined with frames. There are dozens of jerseys covered with small, scribbled signatures lining the hallways and in Jack's office and in the common areas. Small gold plaques sit centered under each one with the name and date of each charity event. Jack rubs the tears out of his eyes and hugs Bitty so hard he squeaks. Then he hugs everyone else, too.
The kids from the jerseys are all now young adults or grown up with families. They all go hunting for their jerseys and at the end of the day, Bitty has a large collection of photographs of Jack and all the kids he's already helped in front of their jerseys.
In a few months' time, those pictures get hung up too, and it's not uncommon for Bitty to find his husband wandering the halls, looking at pictures and remembering. He may not remember each kid individually any more- there's so many of them now- but he remembers the events themselves. When Bitty points at a jersey, Jack'll smile and tell him a story about it.
I was waiting for my husband at the dentist and had to do a literal double-take when ALVINNN!!! and The Chipmunks started playing.
Now I’m debating the merits of writing an AU wherein Jack is raising three rambunctious chipmunks and Bitty moves into the neighborhood and is so confused because NO ONE thinks it’s weird for this man to be raising CHIPMUNKS as if they’re kids.
Bitty’s low-key convinced it’s a mass hallucination. He invites his college friend Lardo to visit and the first time she sees the chipmunks, she’s high as a kite. The next morning she idly comments to Bitty about this crazy dream she had. Bitty freaks because they’re real and he doesn’t know what’s going on and he thought he was going crazy, Lardo, omg.
Lardo calls in reinforcements in the form of Dex, Nursey, and Chowder. They aren’t very useful. Dex just... he’s happy to fix Bitty’s oven whenever, really, but knee high, talking chipmunks are above his pay grade. Then he learns that Simon is working on a computer program and their conversation devolves into words like variables and loops and graceful degradation.
Chowder listens raptly as Theodore tells him about buying a dragon egg and protecting it from the evil troll king and then they bond over their shared love of puppy dogs.
Nursey digs getting to jam with Alvin. Alvin insists on having Nursey write lyrics for some new songs. Bitty learns that Alvin and his brothers are part of a band and decides he needs to lie down with a cool cloth on his face for a week.
At least he still has Lardo.
Who is missing.
A few hours later, Lardo shows up with Camilla Collins in tow. She’s the proud mother of three girl chipmunks.
Bitty’s doing his best to keep it together until Jack shows up to fetch his wayward chipmunk children. Then Bitty’s a blushing, stammering mess.
Everyone notices, and suddenly Bitty is the focus of an episode dedicated to The Chipmunks hatching plot after plot to get Jack and Bitty together, all of which fail miserably until Jack finally realizes what’s going on and has the boys apologize to Bitty. Bitty’s bummed and when Jack asks why, Bitty shyly tells Jack he likes him.
Three years later, Bitty’s marrying Jack and adopting the chipmunks as his own. (He’s pretty cool with the situation now as long as he carefully doesn’t think about the fact that the chipmunks don’t age...)
Also, in this AU, Burger King Robber is available in a fashionable blue:
Jack leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. He slides his hands up Bitty’s thighs to tuck the tips of his fingers under the hem of his shorts. Bitty’s fingers are warm against his neck where he cups Jack’s jaw to tilt his head back. Bitty picks at the tape that holds the bandage on over his wound. Jack winces as it tugs on the skin and short hairs trapped under it.
“Oh, honey,” Bitty sighs as he traces the edge of the bruise around the cut, barely touching. His weight shifts in Jack’s lap as he leans forward to press a kiss to the other side.
“Does it hurt still?” he asks, his breath hot against Jack’s jaw.
“Stings sometimes,” Jack answers, thumbs rubbing the skin of Bitty’s thighs, the soft hairs there bristling under Jack’s touch. “If I knock it.”
Bitty tips his chin up further so he can see how it curves underneath. He makes a discontented noise in the back of his throat. Jack opens his eyes to see Bitty frowning. He reaches up and settles his hand against the nape of his neck.
“Hey,” he says. Bitty’s eyes rise to meet his. “Come here.”
Bitty lets Jack pull him in. He tilts his head so that he doesn’t bump Jack’s chin as they kiss. He fingers drift back to curl against Jack’s neck. He’s so careful it makes Jack’s chest hurt.
Jack opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, but Bitty keeps it shallow. He touches his tongue to Jack’s and then softens and pulls away. Before Jack can say anything or open his eyes again, Bitty curls against him, tucking his face into Jack’s neck and pressing his forehead against Jack’s jaw. He slides his hand up and settles his fingers against the back of Jack’s neck, stroking over the short hair there.
Jack wraps his arms around Bitty, flattening his palms to rub them down Bitty’s back, over the ridges of his spine. Bitty’s tense against him, so Jack holds him tightly, pressing him in close. He tips his head against Bitty’s.
“Hey,” he says again. “I’m okay.”
Bitty shakes his head slightly. “I love you so much, Jack.” He shifts again, his arm curling around Jack’s neck to hold tightly.
“I love you, too, Bits.” He doesn’t say anything else, just holds Bitty, petting over the curve of his skull, the knobs of his spine, the muscles of his thighs. He strokes and pets until Bitty melts against him, thighs parting a little more to bring them closer together, his chest flush with Jack’s. His breath is warm and even against Jack’s neck.
They sit together, hands moving idly, to comfort, to touch. Jack hadn’t known he could share this quiet with someone, couldn’t be this peaceful, even if it’s only for a moment. Bitty’s taught him so much. Jack tightens his arms around Bitty, lowers his head to touch his mouth to Bitty’s shoulder, his neck. Bitty sighs and tilts his head to give Jack room, his fingers digging into the back of Jack’s neck.
“Love you, Bits,” Jack says again. Bitty’s arms tighten around him and hold on.
For the @omgcp-tropechallenge Trope #1: Soulmate AU // on AO3
Eric didn't know of anyone who had initials. His parents had each other's names. His father even had "Suzanne" and not just the "Suzy" that he called her most frequently. His moo maw had his pa paw's full name too. Only one of Eric's cousins had a soulmate. She hadn’t known who her soulmate was because Elena had only known her by her dead name until the girl had come out. After that, Eric knew this meant that the marks know, so Eric had always thought he’d have a boy’s name on his wrist. Not this.
Still, Eric did his best to find out what it could mean in the weeks following his sixteenth birthday. He couldn't find any stories of people having initials, though he did find a lot of stories about platonic soulmates, either because they were in love with other people, or because one or both were aromantic. He also found stories about people who had multiple soulmates. Some were in polyamorous relationships while others were on some sort of team or in a group.
But all those people had a list of names on their bodies, not initials.
Eric tried googling his initials, but that turned up nothing. He was fairly certain that his soulmate was not a ukulele or some kind of hand tool. If Eric's soulmate was going to be an object, well then it was going to be figure skates or pie, for goodness sake.
As a last resort, Eric started scouring soulmate forums, looking to see if anyone had posted about having initials too. No one had, and so Eric resigned himself to fate and hoping that he would find his soulmate one day.
---
As it turned out, Eric didn't have to wait long at all. In fact, he had only to wait two years and countless pies later. It was standing in the kitchen of a rundown frat house, a line of overly tall teammates staring at him while he held a pie that it happened. Eric set the pie down and pulled off his oven mitts. He'd rolled his sleeves up and taken off the armband he wore to hide the tattoo. He hated getting questions about his mark, but he hated getting flour on the armband even more; it was damn near impossible to clean.
Eric turned, oven mitts in hand, and then three heavy hockey players were piling on top of him.
"Dude, brah, my man-" Shitty grunted in his ear, one arm wrapped dangerously high around his shoulders, threatening to choke him.
"Eric, we've waited so long for you," Holster moaned, his arms tight around Bitty's waist.
"Automatic dibs!" Ransom agreed, fingers digging into Bitty's side.
Eric wiggled, trying to free himself of the confusing mess of limbs. "What on Earth are y'all on about?" Eric exclaimed.
"Bro-" Holster said, eyes wide. He looked at Ransom, who nodded back, and then the two of them were dragging Eric down to the basement, Shitty following behind, yelling into his phone.
Eric allowed himself to be led across the floor to the far wall where Holster and Ransom flung their arms out in dramatic presentation of a series of names and dates sharpied onto the wall.
Eric squinted at it. "What am I looking at?" he asked.
"These-" Ransom started.
"-are the Samwell Soulmates," Holster finished.
Ransom nodded in agreement as Shitty slung his arm over Eric's shoulders. "These," he continued the explanation, "are all the players that came before us that were meant. To be. Here."
Eric frowned. "You called them soulmates."
Shitty let go of Eric to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ransom and Holster. Shitty spun around, dropped his pants, and bent over to expose his ass to Eric, who threw his hands up to block the view.
"Dude, look," Ransom said.
Reluctantly, Eric lowered his hands and looked. Ransom pointed to Shitty's ass- specifically to a dark mark on his ass. Eric leaned forward and realized what he was looking at. His mouth dropped open. His eyes shot up to look at Ransom, who grinned and hitched up the sleeve of his shirt. On the curve of his bicep sat the same initials. Holster lifted his shirt to show off the matching mark on his side.
Eric felt the smile grow on his face until his cheeks started to hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of pounding footsteps. The four of them looked over to see Jack stumble down the stairs. He stomped up to Eric and leaned down to frown into his face.
"Let me see it."
Eric grinned and lifted his wrist, showing off the stark, black letters there.
Jack studied it for a moment before he nodded and straightened up. He pulled off his shirt to show off the letters on his chest, right over his heart.
SMHT
Notes:
The Samwell Soulmates date back to founding of the hockey team. The first full team of 20 players all had the mark. After that, one or two of each year had the mark. The number of soulmates has waxed and waned over the years, but there are always some number of them in the Haus.
Johnson, Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, Holster, Bitty, Dex, Nursey, and Chowder all have the mark. Tango and Whiskey probably also have the mark, but they haven’t shared yet.
Lardo is the first non-player to have the mark, but she's also the first non-player to really be involved with the team to the extent that she is. While past managers have been involved with the team, Lardo is the first to really become good friends with them.
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“Hey, Bitty, I got your text,” Dex called as he entered the Haus, slamming the door shut behind him. He hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder and headed into the kitchen.
“Bitty?” Dex froze in the kitchen doorway, eyes going wide. Nursey lay spread across the kitchen table, arms dangling over the sides. Bitty stepped in front of him, eyes wide and manic. He clutched a bloody knife in his hand.
“There you are!” Bitty exclaimed, reaching out to grab Dex by the arm and drag him further into the room. “What took you so long? Whatever- doesn’t matter- what matters is that Betsy is on the fritz again and I cannot deal with this right now. You need to fix her. I told you I’d make sure that no one bothered you, so you just sit right down and get her workin’ again.”
Dex let himself be led across the room, his eyes riveted to Nursey’s body. He half expected Nursey to jump and shout “Got ya!” but the blank eyes and slowly spreading pool of blood across the kitchen floor dissuaded the other half.
Movement caught Dex’s attention and he turned his head to find Ransom and Holster curled into the opposite corner of the kitchen together, clutching at each other, blood smeared across the faces. Ransom had his head tucked into Holster’s shoulder, but Holster met Dex’s eyes and slowly shook his head.
“Dex! Are you even listening to me?” Bitty demanded.
Dex’s head snapped around to stare at Bitty, who frowned up at him, hands on his hips, knife still held tightly. Dex swallowed nervously.
“Yeah, uh, of- of course. I’ll get Betsy going Don’t- uh, don’t-” Dex trailed off and swallowed again. Bitty gave a nod and pointed to the counter with his knife.
“I’ll be right over here, preparing pie crust, because I know you’ll have her fixed in no time!”
Sweat dripped down Dex’s neck. He gave a jerky nod and lowered himself to the floor, inching away as Nursey’s blood slowly crept toward him.
on AO3 // mildly nsfw // content warning for anxiety, suicidal ideation (Jack’s past)
Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t find any fic about literal Hockey Robot!Jack when literal Hockey Robot!Jack was almost canon! I just… needed there to be at least one in the world.
Jack pushed his helmet down and felt it click into place. He blinked a couple of times and his sensors came on, flickering rapidly before settling into the warm, green glow that only he would see. As he glanced over at the opposing team, his retinas zoomed in on each player, identifying them and pulling up their recorded stats along with any personal notes he’d made during previous games.
A red flag on one of the big guys caught his attention and Jack skated over to Bittle’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Watch out for Anders; he likes to go for dirty checks.”
Bittle frowned and stared over at the circle of players, their green and gold jerseys contrasting against the ice. Beneath his hand, Jack felt Bittle’s shoulders hunch up.
“Hey,” Jack said, waiting for him to look up before he continued, “don’t forget: I got your back.”
Bittle smiled widely, eyes shining. Something tightened in Jack’s chest. With one last pat to Bittle’s shoulder, he skated away. He started a diagnostic on the circuitry in his abdomen while he called everyone into a huddle. As they broke, the results came back: everything functioning within normal parameters.
Jack hadn’t expected a different result, and it was one more worry to pile into the back of his mind.
---
Jack listened to the heavy thumping of the music as it echoed through the house, vibrating the floor beneath his feet. He sat on the edge of his bed, power cord running from the pocket on his side to the wall. He didn’t really need to charge up, not this soon, but he liked to do it after a game. He liked to feel the energy pouring back into him, pulsing in time with the music. He didn’t know if it was… well, he couldn’t say his imagination- Jack didn’t have one- but he didn’t really think the energy from the outlet worked that way.
Jack startled when a knock came on his door. Now that his attention was outward, Jack could hear the clumsy footsteps and the soft humming from just outside his door. Bittle knocked again.
“Jack?” he called, words slurring.
“One second.” Jack stood and unplugged his cord, winding it back into his body. He soothed his synthetic skin over the opening and checked it in the mirror before opening the door.
Bittle stumbled into him, collapsing as his support was taken away from him. His bare cheek pressed hotly against Jack’s naked chest. Bittle make a strange squawking noise, his hands coming up to fumble at Jack’s waist, and Jack could feel Bittle’s skin heating where it was pressed against him. Jack frowned down at him as Bittle managed to find his footing and straighten up. Without thinking, Jack reached out to cup Bittle’s cheek, taking his temperature. Bittle stared up at him, eyes wide, his face flushed red. His core temperature was normal, despite how hot his skin felt. Jack dropped his hand.
“Did you need something, Bittle?” Jack asked.
Bittle’s face lit up, some of the red receding. “You should come down! We won! You won!”
“Bittle-“
Bittle flapped his hands. “I know, I know- team effort. You should celebrate with the team then.”
“I like to recharge after a game,” Jack said, smiling slightly.
Bittle returned it with a blinding one of his own. “Then I’ll recharge with you.” He scooted past Jack into his room and plopped down on his bed.
Jack sighed and closed the door. He turned around to find Bittle frowning around his room.
“What?”
“What exactly do you do?” he asked, then continued on without waiting for a reply. “I like to bake- well- of course you know that-“ Bittle laughed, falling back into Jack’s bed. “I also like to listen to music- and you’d better not say one thing about that, Mr. Zimmermann; don’t think I don’t-“
Jack settled into his desk chair, listening absently as Bittle continued to talk, hands waving in the air with emphasis, his words slurring with accent and drunkenness. The music continued to thump up through the floorboards. Jack checked his power- 87%, not as high as he might like, but certainly not low enough to cause concern. He sent a wistful glance to the power outlet and then focused on Bittle.
Amusement, fondness, and another strange, strong feeling Jack didn’t understand welled up in him. His chest tightened again, but instead of worrying about it or running a diagnostic, Jack just let himself feel it. He was barely aware of the smile on his face, but the logs later would show it had been there the entire time Bittle was in his room, from the time he’d stumbled in to the time Jack had carried him across the hall, Bittle snoring into his chest.
---
The thing about Jack’s programming was that it was intended to adapt. It had been meant to adapt on the ice- letting Jack analyze opponents and draw conclusions about their behavior, but instead of relying on anticipated data- favorite moves, how often and when during a game the player scored, known weaknesses- some programming had been added to adjust for the human factor- to adjust for the days when someone played better or worse than usual, to adjust for new techniques, for spontaneous decisions.
No one had anticipated that his programming would decide that these things should also apply to Jack, that the human factor should be part of Jack himself in order for him to understand it better.
Jack was a thing of wires and circuitry. He was built to be the best, to analyze data and draw conclusions, to use those conclusions to act instead of react, to anticipate and intercept. They knew that, even with the coding to adjust for it, the human factor could still trump solid programming. They just didn’t know that, for a thing that was supposed to do one thing and do it well, not doing it and knowing he wasn’t doing it would have consequences.
With each missed pass, each missed goal, each unexpected and unanticipated reaction from an opponent, Jack grew more worried, worked his programming harder. He began to fiddle with his own circuitry, began to make changes to the coding, trying to determine how to best meet the goals set out by his creators.
It never worked.
So when Parse came to him, full of loud laughter and exceptional at encouraging Jack to forget about his worries, to encourage Jack to ignore the things that bothered him, Jack tried. He tried to follow Parse’s example, to let himself be drawn into Parse’s jubilance, but it sat in the back of his mind, in the periphery of his programming. On the bottom of every screen, whether he wanted it there or not, Jack could see a tally- points missed, passes missed, games lost.
Jack never knew if he did it on purpose. He knew what that line of code was meant to do and where he should have put it. He didn’t know why he didn’t double check its location or the parameters of the query. He didn’t know if he closed his eyes on purpose when he hit go. He just did it.
It took months to restore Jack’s programming. Bob and Alicia Zimmermann, Jack’s owners, had been told that it would be better to wipe Jack completely, that so many changes had been made, it was unlikely they could ever restore him to what he’d been before. Bob and Alicia refused. They liked Jack. He had come to be like a son to them, and they weren’t ready to let him go.
They stood together in the darkened lab, Jack spread across a table, wires connecting him to multiple computers. Bob wrapped an arm around Alicia's shoulders and she tipped her head against his.
"What should we do? About him, I mean?" Bob asked in Québécois, voice pitched low.
"We should send him to Samwell," Alicia answered. "He's only ever known hockey. Perhaps we should show him there's more to life."
Bob considered. "Okay,” he agreed. “Okay."
---
Jack was wire and metal and soldered joints. Jack was electricity tethered into synthetic skin.
Jack did not have a heart. He did not have lungs. He did not even have vocal cords.
---
Samwell was lonely at first. There were no teammates to slap him on the back, no Parse to chirp him into a night out on the town. Jack would wander the campus and ignore the wide-eyed stares and the whispers that followed him around. He would duck his head, pulling his cap low over his face, and walk a little faster. It wasn't until hockey started that Jack found himself falling into step with others.
It was Shitty first, slinging his bag across the table where Jack sat alone and hunched over a book.
"Brah, you got to embrace the team spirit," Shitty said. He set his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, raising his eyebrows expectantly at Jack.
Jack stared back, uncertain how to meet that expectation. "Team spirit?" he asked.
"Haus party, man. You got to let it all go. Shake your hair loose. Embrace the beer pong."
Jack frowned. "I don't drink."
"Dude." Shitty stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "That's cool. Do you dance?”
---
The first time Jack became aware of himself as something not-human, Jack had been six months old. He'd stood in his room, naked except for his underwear, his charging cord stretching from his side to the wall socket. He recharged every night, but this night, it made him realize that he was different.
He had the body of a 15 year old, a child just beginning to grow into adulthood. When he asked, Bob told him that he would grow. Jack had considered that.
"How will I grow?" he asked. He watched Bob eat from his plate of food, watched him chew and swallow. Jack pressed a hand to his stomach- but he had no stomach, no internal organs as such. He had no hunger, no body that craved things. "Will the lab make me grow?"
Bob stopped eating. He never answered, but that was what happened. On an irregular schedule, Jack found himself in the lab that made him and there they would adjust his height and his bulk and reprogram him to compensate for the differences.
Jack started researching human development, curious. Humans, he found, marked things with milestones: first smile, first word, first step. First kiss, first love, first time. First job, first car, first house.
Jack thought about these things. He tried to smile in the mirror, but it came out a grimace. The sharpening lines of his face made him look serious, and he was serious, he thought. So he did not try to smile, and he stopped worrying about human milestones in favor of hockey milestones.
It was only later, much later, that Jack decided those milestones might be worthwhile after all.
---
Humans smile for the first time in infancy. Anywhere from one and half to three months, Jack had read.
Jack was six years old when he smiled for the first time.
Shitty kissed him on the mouth for it. He didn't know it was Jack's first time smiling ever, but it was the first time Shitty had seen him smile since coming to Samwell.
---
Laughter comes shortly after smiling for humans. It took Jack another year to laugh out loud.
Ransom and Holster flanked him, reaching behind him and in front of him as they fought over their phones, sending texts to their other team members and the groupchat. Jack's phone buzzed steadily in his pocket, vibrating against his hip.
Someone slapped a phone free, sending it flying through the air. Ransom and Holster both scuffled for it, knocking each other over, tripping over their own feet, kicking the phone across the ground and into river.
Jack tossed his head back and laughed as Ransom and Holster watched it sink.
---
Curiosity is innate in humans. Jack was math and science, facts and figures and statistical probabilities. Lardo was gut instinct and human emotion and she poked at those things, she made fun of them by pouring them onto canvases and building monuments of clay and metal and rhinestones to them.
She gave Jack his first camera. She pointed him to the world around them and told him to take pictures.
“Of what?”
“Whatever you want.”
“But-“
“Just point and click, Jack,” Lardo said, slinging her arm over his shoulders. “Don’t overthink it. Whatever catches your interest. Whatever makes you curious.”
“Curious.”
Lardo smiled. She bumped her body into his. “Yeah, Jacky boy. Point it at a person who makes you ask why they are the way they are.”
For Jack that was everyone, but he lifted his camera and pointed it at Lardo and snapped a shot of her with her mouth stretched wide around laughter, eyes shining with mirth.
---
Jack had no heart to beat away in his chest. He had no lungs to breath shakily with. He had no vocal cords to make soft, surprised sounds with.
With Bitty pressed tightly against him, Jack could feel the pounding of Bitty’s heart echoing through his circuitry. He could feel the way Bitty’s chest expanded and contracted against him, his breathing rapid and hot and desperate. Bitty gasped with each touch of Jack’s hands, and Jack- Jack did the same with each touch of Bitty’s.
He hadn’t known he could feel this way.
---
Parse had been neon lights and frantic movement and one confusing night where Parse had gotten himself off by rubbing up against Jack’s thigh, his mouth a hot press against Jack’s, his fingers sharp points of pressure against Jack’s scalp and shoulders and ribs.
Bitty was golden sunlight and lazy afternoons in a warm kitchen. He was scents that Jack couldn’t actually smell, but that his processor supplied anyway: cinnamon, sugar, apples, maple syrup. He was a steady pressure along the length of Jack’s body and slow kisses and quiet laughter shared between them.
He was-
---
“What?”
Bitty stared at him.
“I’m not human.”
Bitty frowned, his hands twitching restlessly against his legs. He looked away from Jack, his mouth opening and then closing. His eyes flicked wildly around Jack’s room, taking in the bare walls and shelves lined with textbooks and the empty places that someone who’d had a childhood would be filling with memories.
“Jack… That’s not a normal thing to believe,” Bitty said, finally looking at him, his tone gentle and kind, like he was trying to comfort Jack.
Jack couldn’t help the smile it drew out of him, though it made Bitty frown deeper. Jack stood and pulled off his shirt. He twisted his body so that Bitty could see and he opened the pocket in his side. His charging cord dangled out, metal prongs glinting in the light.
Bitty reared back, startled. His eyes went wide and he was breathing fast- too fast, Jack realized belatedly. He sat next to Bitty on the bed and cupped a hand to the back of his neck, encouraging him to press his face between his knees and to breathe.
Bitty didn’t flinch under his touch, but it still took him a long time to get his breathing under control. He slapped at Jack’s hand and sat back up. He stared at Jack, eyes darting back and forth, before he lowered his gaze and looked at the pocket.
He reached out a tentative hand, pausing just shy of touching.
“Can I?” he asked.
Jack nodded.
Bitty reached out and felt around the edges of it. He touched the cord, then pulled on it, drawing it out of Jack’s body with a gentle whrr.
Bitty let go and lurched off the bed. The cord snapped up into place. He stood in front of Jack, eyes wide.
“You’re not human.”
Jack shook his head. “Bitty-“ He reached out, but Bitty flinched away. Jack dropped his hand.
“This isn’t right,” Bitty said. “You have a cord coming out of you!”
Jack didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. He ducked his head and focused on tucking the offending cord away and smoothing his skin closed. He looked up again to find Bitty watching him, tears in his eyes. Jack pulled on his shirt and by the time the fabric slipped over his face, Bitty was gone.
---
Jack was wire and metal and soldered joints. Jack was electricity tethered into synthetic skin.
Jack did not have a heart. He did not have lungs. He did not even have vocal cords.
Jack did not have a heart, but sometimes it felt like he did.
---
It took two months of Bittle avoiding him, of Shitty climbing into his bed at night to ask leading questions Jack refused to answer, of Ransom and Holster filling uncomfortable silences with more noise than usual, of Chowder’s overflowing happiness kicked up a notch, of Lardo’s narrow-eyed observation.
Two months in which the little counter in the corner of his screen- games lost, games lost, games lost- did not get higher, because there was nothing else for him to do but what he was meant to do.
It was two months until Jack opened his bedroom door to find Bittle sitting on his bed, his face red, his eyes swollen. Jack stood in the doorway and watched Bittle watch him. He looked sad and lost and so, so confused. Jack didn’t say anything, but he closed his bedroom door and sat down at his desk and waited.
“Can I see it again?” Bittle asked.
Jack pulled up the hem of his shirt and peeled open the pocket. Bittle hesitated, but he knelt on the floor next to Jack’s feet and cradled his shirt out of the way. He stared for a long time, then glanced up at Jack.
“Does it hurt?”
“I don’t feel pain. Just pressure,” Jack answered.
Bittle swallowed noisily and reached out to touch it. He traced the edges of it, fingers dipping inside. He held the plug in his hand but didn’t pull it out. Instead he pressed it inside and closed the pocket. He frowned at the ragged edges of Jack’s skin until Jack reached down to press them flat. Bittle’s expression danced- curiosity, confusion, horror, interest- as the skin sealed shut, a seamless closure. Bittle ran the tips of his fingers over it.
“How do you-?”
Jack shrugged. He dropped his shirt and Bittle sat back on his heels. “Just do.”
Bittle drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up to meet Jack’s eyes. His brown ones swam with tears, and he sniffed loudly before looking away.
“I’m sorry I freaked out. This is just… it’s so far out of my experience, Jack.”
“It’s okay, Bittle.”
Bittle gave a bitter laugh and rubbed his hands over his face. He pushed up off the floor and sat on Jack’s bed again. “You don’t even call me Bitty anymore,” he said, voice thick.
Jack shrugged and turned away. They sat in silence broken only by the gentle, wet noises Bittle made. Jack could sit there forever, but Bittle wanted something from him, so Jack turned to him. He met Bittle’s gaze and wondered how to tell him it was okay and to sound like he meant it.
Before he could speak, Bittle was off the bed and climbing into his lap, arms wrapped around his neck.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Jack hugged him back and he didn’t say it’s okay again because it hadn’t been, not really, but it could be. Bittle seemed to feel it and he relaxed against Jack with a sigh.
“I missed you,” he said as he leaned away to look up at Jack’s face.
Jack quirked a smile at him, because for all that they hadn’t been friends, not in the beginning, they had become that. Jack had missed him too.
“Can I kiss you?” Bittle asked, face open and hopeful.
Jack hesitated and nearly relented when Bitty’s expression fell, but- “I can’t. Not if- not if you don’t mean it.”
When Bittle opened his mouth to protest, Jack added, “Not if you’ll change your mind.”
Bittle’s eyes went wide with understanding. He ducked his head back down to Jack’s shoulder and squeezed him.
“Okay. Okay, Jack.”
---
“You don’t eat,” Bitty announced one day from Jack’s bed where he’d stretched out with his schoolbooks, phone set in the crease.
Jack turned from his desk to raise an eyebrow in question.
“I noticed it, you know, then.” Bitty’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“No, I don’t,” Jack agreed.
“I don’t know how I ever not noticed it,” Bitty commented. “It’s obvious once you see it.”
Jack shrugged. “Most people don’t. They take things for granted.”
“Huh.” Bitty pondered that while Jack returned to his homework.
---
“I’ve seen pictures of you when you were younger.”
“It’s- I was- well- altered, I guess.”
“So that it looked like you were growing up.”
“Yeah.”
---
“Can I ask…”
“What?”
“You missed the draft.”
Jack looked over at Bitty where he was curled up in bed with Jack. He’d taken to creeping into Jack’s room after everyone went to bed and peppering Jack with questions or rambling about his day. Jack liked it, but he’d known this question would come.
He rolled onto his back and spoke to the ceiling. “I’m programmed to do one thing, Bitty, and I didn’t understand why I wasn’t perfect at it.”
“You thought you should be.”
Jack shrugged. “I’m not human.”
“You were built by them though.”
Jack let that thought sit for a while, then pushed it aside to answer Bitty’s question. “I wasn’t on drugs or drinking- none of that affects me, but I was messing around with my programming.”
Bitty made a noise in the back of his throat. Jack knew he’d heard enough of Dex’s ranting to understand where this was going.
“I thought I’d found a problem script and I was going to delete it.”
The rest of the words stuck in his throat, and Jack wondered how he could be so close to human and still so far away. Bitty’s hand brushed against his shoulder, then settled on it, a steady pressure of warmth.
“How did you end up at Samwell?”
“Maman thought it would be good for me. Would give me something other than hockey to care about.”
“Do you think of her that way?”
“What way?”
“Do you think of her like a mother?”
Jack considered. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know that I have a frame of reference.”
Bitty made a questioning noise and Jack turned to look at him. He watched back, eyes dark in the dimness of the room. His cheeks were pink and Jack reached out to press a finger to one of them, taking his temperature. It was a little raised, but he was bundled in a sweatshirt and the sheets of Jack’s bed, so not alarmingly so.
“What did you just do?” Bitty asked.
“Took your temperature.”
Bitty’s eyes went wide. “You can do that?” He pushed himself up on an elbow.
Jack shrugged. He looked away. Bitty shifted closer to him, and Jack looked back.
“What else can you do?”
---
Bitty panted under him, hands pressed against his shoulders to put some space between them. His knees dug into Jack’s sides. His pupils were blown wide. His whole body trembled and Jack could feel it down to his core.
“You taste the same,” Bitty managed, hands tugging on Jack’s clothes and then pushing in the next instant, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted.
“I am the same,” Jack reminded him gently. Bitty laughed and curled a hand around the back of Jack’s neck.
“Jack- Jack. I’m so turned on but you don’t even- do you even?”
Jack hesitated. “I- I can get hard, but I don’t- It’s not the same as it is for you.”
Bitty looked stunned. He tipped his head to study Jack’s face.
“Do you- do you feel this at all?”
Jack lowered himself onto Bitty and Bitty let him. “I feel you,” he whispered into Bitty’s ear.
Bitty clutched at him, knees digging in.
“I feel you all the way through me, Bitty.”
Bitty whimpered. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and his legs around Jack’s waist. Jack rolled his hips down against Bitty’s hardness and Bitty whimpered again, rocking up to meet him.
“When we’re this close, I can feel your heartbeat echoing in my chest. I can feel the way you breathe.”
Bitty met each thrust down with one up. His hands scrabbled at Jack’s shoulders and back, trying to find purchase, to cling. Jack reached back and grabbed them, sliding his fingers through Bitty’s and pressing his hands flat to the bed. Bitty whined and chanted Jack’s name.
“You make me feel human,” Jack admitted. “Your heart is my heart, Bitty.”
Bitty cried out, body convulsing, fingers tightening around Jack’s, heels digging into his spine. Jack opened his sensors and felt the twitch of Bitty’s cock as he came in his shorts, tasted the salt of sweat on his skin, heard the hitch of his lungs as he tried to breathe through the pleasure.
He let himself be flooded with Bitty and he filed it away, a memory he would never lose, not tomorrow, not a year from now, not in ten and not in a hundred.
“Jack,” Bitty breathed. “Jack, you stupid, silly, romantic-“ Bitty wiggled his hands free of Jack’s and wrapped his arms around his neck to hold him. He kissed Jack and it tasted like tears.
---
Jack was wire and metal and soldered joints. Jack was electricity tethered into synthetic skin.
Jack did not have a heart. He did not have lungs. He did not even have vocal cords.
Jack did not have a heart, but Bitty shared his and gave him one.
