la lune

“You know, this is a disgusting abuse of your power.” You say, setting your elbow down on the coffee table and holding your hand out to him.

“You made the bet!” Connor exclaims, even though he egged you on until you made it.

“You said I didn’t stand a chance against you!” You exclaim back, laughing as you see the smile on his face.

“Because you don’t, but I’m happy to indulge you.” He says, and you throw a pillow from the couch at him.

“Connor Bedard you are so full of yourself.”

“Come on, stop stalling.” He says, his elbow resting on the table, his face stuck in that grin that makes you feel sparks. Your eyes drift to his forearm, the muscles in it flex, and your eyes travel along the pronounced veins.

“I hate you.” You say, finally putting your hand into his. Putting your left hand behind your back.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Do you want to quit?” He asks smugly, but you shake your head.

“I know I can’t beat you-“ You start to say as Connor makes an amused laugh. “BUT!” You exclaim, digging your nails just slightly into the back of his hand to get him to pay attention. “I can withstand eight seconds.” You say boldy, and Connor’s eye brows raise.

“Eight seconds?” He says, and you nod like you’re trying to convince yourself of this. “And what do I get when I win?” He asks you, and his cockiness is really starting to make you want to prove yourself.

“IF, you win. You get to pick.”

“When I win, you have to come work out with me.” He says, and he laughs as your face drops.

“Connor.” You whine, hoping he’ll change his mind. “Your arms are fucking huge. I’ll never beat you!” And you look down trying to hide your blush at your words.

“If you don’t like my terms, then you better be sure to last against me for those eight seconds.”

“Start the timer, Bedard.” You say, scoffing and leaning forward just a bit.

He counts you down, and when he starts the timer, you pour every ounce of strength into it that you have. For one glorious second, you think you actually stand a chance, but you watch him, and realize he isn’t even trying. And after that one second is up, Connor applies pressure. He doesn’t slam your hand down, but he lowers it without breaking a sweat, and as the back of your hand touches the table, he pauses the timer.

He looks from the timer, to you, and he doesn’t even have to tell you the time for you to know you’ve lost.

“Three seconds.” Connor says, turning his phone and showing you the proof.

You groan, setting your head down on the coffee table as Connor bites back a laugh.

“Do I have to?” You groan out with a laugh, plopping down on the couch.

“Yep.” Connor says, clearly trying not to gloat. “I’ll bring you on a quiet day though, it’s just going to be you and I there.”

And like he knows that calms you, you smile. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

—

By the time you make it to the Blackhawks facility you almost call Connor to cancel twice. But if you cancel, you know he’ll make you reschedule. After all, when you win a bet you never let him back out of it.

You step out of your car, suddenly feeling a little self conscious in your outfit. Your t-shirt is tight, and so are your shorts, but you decide to hell with it. If he’s going to torture you, he can do it with you looking hot.

“Woah.” Connor says as he holds the door open for you. His eyes raking up and down your figure. You instantly feel warm, but you can’t also act like you’re not doing the exact same thing to him.

Connor stands in front of you, black shorts and a black top that is basically a second skin due to how much it hugs him.

“Let’s get this over with.” You say, and he laughs as he leads you in.

Connor starts the workout with having you do mobility, which sounds innocent enough until you are five minutes in and already questioning the choices that brought you here.

But true to his word, Connor talks you through everything. He does not rush you, does not laugh when you lose your balance, does not make you feel stupid when he has to show you the same movement twice.

Instead, he stands near you, calmly demonstrating each exercise with the kind of control that reminds you exactly why you lasted three seconds in that arm wrestle.

“Keep your chest up.” Connor says, demonstrating the correct stance for you.

“Like this?” You say, straining slightly but trying again.

“That’s perfect.” He says, and that proud little gleam in his eyes makes you keep going. It pushes you to fight through the rest of the warm up, and by the time you’re done, you’re already a bit out of breath.

“That was just the warm up?” You say, watching as Connor’s shoulders shake with a laugh and a nod. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He says, telling you to drink some water. And he watches you as you listen, lips going around the top of your water bottle, and he bites his lip for a second before looking away.

The next was working on your lower body, step ups to be exact. You watch Connor do a few, before he switches to the next foot and repeats himself.

He watches you as you start to do them, and he keeps a hand out behind you, just in case. You scoff at that in the beginning, but by the third round you’re grateful for it.

“Plant your foot, otherwise you’re going to-“ He says, but he’s cut off by you tripping, doing the exact thing he was trying to prevent. “Fall.” He says, one of his hands catching your elbow, the other going to your waist. He steadies you immediately, and your breath catches as you feel how close to him you are. His body is warm, and so are his two hands placed against your skin.

“Plant.” You say with a little out of breath pant you’re totally going to blame on the work out and not on him. “Got it.” You say with a chuckle as Connor lets go, and you continue going.

The weight lifting is worse. Not because it’s harder, on the contrary it’s actually nice to sit down. But you’re distracted. While you were supposed to be listening to Connor explaining the correct way to lift a weight, instead you were watching the flex of his muscles through his tight shirt.

You watch him flex, relax, then flex again. And your heart skips as he lets out a little groan, and you can’t help but imagine him making that sound because of a different reason.

“Y/N-“ he says, snapping you out of your daze. “You okay?” He asks, and you wipe your forehead with your arm, nodding silently.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.” You say.

However it’s evident that you don’t have it. Not as you start lifting and you’re so distracted you doubt you’d notice if you grew another head. And especially not as Connor stops you, smirking slightly.

“Wait a second.” He says gently, setting his own weights down as he turns to you.

“What?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’re sitting.

“You’re pulling back too far.” He states, and he reaches out but before actually touching you he says, “Can I?”

You nod, swallowing thickly as Connor moves semi behind yet still semi beside you.

“If you keep doing it this way your shoulders are going to hate you tomorrow.” He states, and he guides you through just how far back you’re supposed to go.

“I think my whole body will hate me regardless.” You state, and he chuckles slightly.

“Try again.” He says, and his hands hover just a few inches away, ready to stop you if you brought them back too far. But you do it perfectly, and the praise Connor gives you is enough to make your eyes close.

It was during the cool downs as Connor liked to call them that you completely lost your control.

Connor was walking you through lunges and planks and whatever form of torture he deemed fit for the day. Sweat was dripping down your spine, and you could feel a few pieces of your hair become stuck to your neck with sweat.

You were shaking during the side plank, your arms feeling like they are losing all ounce of strength.

“How much longer?” You groan out, the shakes starting to go down your entire body. Connor noticed that, and he remembers how miserable these were when he started, so he opts for taking your mind off of it completely.

“Look at me.” He says, and his heart jolts when he realizes how commanding he sounds. But your eyes meet his immediately, and he has to fight back a smile at how well you listen to him, at how well you take direction from him.

“Con.” You say, gritting your teeth slightly.

“Be done if you want to be done sweetheart.” He says, and your body physically jolts at the name. But he’s not teasing you, not trying to get a rise out of you. After all, even though he loves the push back, Connor would never force you past your limits.

“How much longer?” You ask, your voice strained.

Connor looks to the clock, and lets out a laugh, the irony not lost on him.

“Eight seconds.” He says, and you watches the way your eyes light.

Determination floods your bones, and you lock your eyes onto his. They stay there for a few seconds, before they travel to a bit of sweat that is on Connor’s neck. You almost make a joke. Almost say something about how he’s no longer cool and collected. But Connor grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to wipe the sweat off of his neck.

You don’t mean to, really you should look away. But the sight of his abs makes your breath hitch. Your eyes catching on the trail of hair leading down into his shorts.

Your eyes shoot away as he drops his shirt back down, and you scan the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. By whatever guardian angel you’ve managed to keep, he doesn’t notice your gaze.

“Done.” Connor says, and you drop onto your back. The mat under you cool against your sweating skin. You raise one of your hands to brush the hair out from your eyes, and the shaking of your hand makes you groan.

You close your eyes, breathing heavily. You hear shuffling to your side, and you can tell that Connor stands up and walks over to you. As you peak up at him with one eye open, the other still squinting shut, you click the smirk on his face.

“You’re a sociopath.” You state, trying to catch your breath so you don’t embarrass yourself.

“What did you say the other day? Oh yea, this is just a disgusting abuse of my power.” He joked with a shoulder shrug, and as you look up to him you get annoyed.

Connor Bedard looks… normal. Sure, he’s a bit flushed, but he’s not panting, he’s no longer sweating, and he’s definitely not falling apart on the floor like you are.

“You look way too good after what we just did.”

“Uh oh, you’re complimenting me?” He asks. “I didn’t kill you did I?”

“You damn near did.” You joke, and he smiles as he offers you his hand.

You take it, and as soon as you’re right side up your legs shake and nearly give out. You make a little shocked noise as you register that you’re about to fall over, but Connor grabs you before you can.

His arms wrap around you quickly, pulling your shaking and almost limp body into his. One of your hands comes up to press on his chest, and you can feel the rapid beating of his heart.

“Careful.” Connor whispers, his heart speeding up even faster as he realizes how close you guys are.

Fully blaming your next move on the workout, you rest your forehead against his collar bone, your hands and body staying pressed against his.

“I feel like a wet noodle.” You mumble, and Connor laughs, the sound warming you. The breaths from his laugh scatter across your skin, and goosebumps rise from it.

Then you realize just how close you are. Just how close you are after working out.

“Oh my god.” You say, pulling away slightly as Connor looks at you questioning what’s wrong. “Gross. I’m so sweaty and you’re touching me.” You say, fully expecting him to realize this fact and help sit you down somewhere.

But he just rolls his eyes, his arm staying planted on you, still holding you up as he slowly makes his way to the door.

“I’m surrounded by sweaty hockey players every single day.” Connor says, slowly leading you down the hallway. “Trust me, this is nothing.”

“How romantic.” You chide, and Connor quirks an eyebrow at you, but he stays silent. He helps get you into your car, after spending five minutes trying to convince you to let him drive you back to your apartment.

“You couldn’t even walk properly, and I’m supposed to trust you can move between the brake and the gas?”

“You are such a worrier, Bedard.”

“When it involves you, yeah.” He says, and you realize he’s not trying to joke, he’s genuinely concerned.

You sigh, looking towards your passenger seat.

“Fine, but I’ll making you carry me to the other seat.” You say, eyebrows raised.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, carrying you from the drivers seat to your passenger seat. He sets you down with ease, grabbing the seat belt and buckling you in. He jogs around to the drivers side, and leaves the parking lot in the direction of your apartment.

Your music plays softly in the speakers, and with the slightly open windows the breeze hits your face as Connor drives through Chicago. Your eyes slowly close, the full exhaustion of the day taking over.

“You’re not going to fall asleep out here just so I’ll carry you to your apartment, are you?” Connor jokes, and it takes you a second to answer as you’re just about to fall asleep.

“I think you just want an excuse to carry me.”

He snorts, and he goes to lightly flick your thigh. But even with your eyes closed you can sense his hand coming near you. And instead of moving it away or going to flick him back, you simply grab his hand and pull it into your lap. Your fingers slot perfectly with his, and you can feel him tense before relaxing.

“Wake me up when we get home.” You say, and Connor’s heart stops at the way you phrased it. But he doesn’t want to keep teasing, he doesn’t want to keep doing this round about flirting or whatever the hell is going on between you two.

So instead, he lifts your hand that’s fully in his, and kisses the back of your hand. You hum softly, your eyes still closed, but a little smile appears on your lips.