first sentence:
Jack passes up to the point and Holster catches it easily, a smudge of a hickey sticking out the neck of his jersey, and okay, yeah, maybe Jack feels some kind of way about that.
Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and I’ll write the next five. Still accepting as of 7/7!
“I have a second chance,” Jack had said, fingernails digging into his biceps as he’d huddled in Jerry’s employee parking lot, moments after Holster had trailed after him to inform him his burrito was going cold. “I have a second chance and I can’t waste it — " He hadn’t realized what he’d said and how he’d said it until his boyfri — no, not his boyfriend, he’d made that very clear the night Holster had snuck up to his room for the seventh kegster in a row — until Holster recoiled, big hands dropping from Jack’s wrists like he’d been burned. “You can’t waste it on me, you mean,” Holster said, voice colder and sharper than the stinging spray of ice from a sudden stop during a game, and the venom in his voice is just as painful as hearing "I don't want Bob Zimmermann Lite" from a stranger on national television. Now, though, watching Holster dangle his way past a d-man before slapshotting the puck straight to the back of the net, a jubilant shout already on his lips as he launches himself into Ransom’s arms, Jack can't understand what the hell he was thinking. Okay, yeah, maybe Jack’s in love with the guy who just got over him.
