#eatingclouds

Matt’s taken to carrying a tube of concealer in his back pocket. Next to his wallet, key to Patrick’s house, Pepsi Center ID card, and the Joe Sakic playing card he’ll get signed when he finds the right moment.

Jess bought it for him.  Last summer, when Patrick invited Matt to Quebec City to meet the family, do a lot of fishing, and, Matt’s pretty sure, to make sure that Matt isn’t only attracted to the accent.

Matt’s attracted to pretty much everything about him. He’s pretty sure Patrick gets that now.  Matt had explained himself vigorously and often and in every spare corner he could find, for the fortnight he was there.  And had the beard burn to prove it.

Jess had met him at the airport, taken one look at his red, blotchy face, and marched him directly to the mall for a lesson from the austere woman who’s stood behind the Clinique counter since Matt was eleven. It’s gone down as one of the most embarrassing twenty minutes of Matt’s life.

It’s also saved Matt’s relationship on more occasions than he can count, now that Patrick’s lazy summer beard has become ayear-round kinda thing and Matt’s started using the concealer religiously.

He doesn’t know why, then, his teammates are being so weird.

It’s a normal practice, the third morning of an unprecedented three-day break.  It’s enough time to ease out the season’s aches and pains, and Matt’s feeling more relaxed and crink-free than he has in months.

He’s joking around with Max as he slips out of his street clothes, and just laughs when he realizes he didn’t pull out his under armour before undressing. When he bends over to fish in his bag, though, Max sucks in a breath and whistles.

Matt frowns over his shoulder. “What?”

Max holds up his palms. “What you do on your own time is between you and your hooker, Dutchy.”

“I don’t need to pay for it when I’ve got all this,” Matt chirps, motioning down his bare body.

Max chokes on his laughter, shaking his head as he backs away.

Matt’s pretty sure that level of amusement is uncalled for.

Neither is the high-pitched cat call he gets from Factor when he takes to the ice.

Or the ass-slap from Landy that’s more awkward than salacious.

Or the “didn’t know you had it in you, Dutchy” from EJ, followed by a long, drawn-out, high-pitched “kinkyyy” from Brutes.

He’s feeling self-conscious and confused by the time he gets back to the locker room. And, for the first time since Sacco left and Matt diagnosed his gluten intolerance, he hesitates before pulling down his under armour and heading to the showers with nothing but a towel slung over his shoulder.

He’s halfway to the showers when he feels a hand on his elbow. Danny urges him close, his lips light on Matt’s ear as he murmurs, “might wanna use that concealer on your ass, too.”

“I- what?” Matt twists away, trying to get a glimpse of his ass. All he can see is red, raw, scratched skin and he flames with embarrassment.

Danny just grins as him. “Unless of course you want people to know ‘bout your kinks. Patrick doesn’t seem to mind.”

He nods in the direction of Patrick’s office and Matt glances over to see Patrick leaning in his doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching Matt with a mix of pride and amusement.