#guerinweek22

Michael Guerin Week 2022 | Day 3: Favorite Michael Dynamic

Michael Guerin Week 2022 Day 5: Michael + Music

A ficlet for Michael Guerin Week 2022, Day 1: “Is that how you wanted this to go?”

Very inspired by various “did you get probed”/“probe and tell” gifsets and the thought of Michael and Kyle as potential future brother-in-laws.

*

“Seriously Valenti, if I’d known the person you were making ’getting probed’ jokes about was my sister…” Michael takes a swig of his beer, very pleased with the scandalized tone he manages to pull off, and taking great joy in the way Kyle instantly turns beet red and starts to splutter, giving Michael a betrayed look. 

“What? That’s not what— I— I didn’t— You were the one who said—” His eyes flicker desperately between Michael and Isobel. “Is, I swear—”

It’s almost too easy. Valenti’s clearly let his guard down now that they’re practically brother-in-laws. This should teach him. Michael half turns towards the kitchen to hide a satisfied smirk as Kyle struggles to put a sentence together, but he’s of course immediately stopped in his tracks, deer in headlights-style, when he’s met by an unimpressed look from his husband, eyebrows arched, back from picking up the wine much quicker than Michael’s expected.

Damn.

Michael was just about nearing the end of his rope. He’d been bent over an engine that he was sure he’d fixed just last week, but somehow, Mrs. Bayson kept managing to break it down. She was a lean woman who always dressed like she was going to a fancy dinner party, but she seemed to have no other plans than to spend the day watching Michael slave away over her car in the scorching heat.

Michael had just barely managed to keep his shirt on because of the eyes that he always felt raking his body, but it was so drenched in sweat now that he might as well have not been wearing a shirt at all.

“Do you need a drink, cowboy?” Mrs. Bayson crooned from where she sat in the shade of the trailer, long legs stretched out in front of her. She held up her icy drink. “You can have a sip of my lemonade.”

No, thanks, Michael almost said, his jaw clenched. I think I’d rather drink lava.

“I’m good,” was all he said, not bothering to turn around or face the woman who’d been openly ogling him for the past several hours. Or minutes. He never knew. With her, time seemed to stretch on forever.

Then he heard a car drive into the junkyard, and he shut his eyes, exasperated. Every so often, Mrs. Bayson would invite her friends over so that they could watch Michael together, and he’d hoped today would be an exception. He was already exhausted, sweating, and he’d woken up to his bed empty because his husband had already gone off for work before dawn. He was not in the mood for anyone else stripping him with their eyes.

He kept working, hoping that whoever it was would ignore him. Then Mrs. Bayson breathed, “Wow.”

Michael raised a brow and looked up, wondering what could give the rich housewife such a reaction. As soon as he saw who it was, he understood, and a smile came to his lips.

Alex glanced with a raised brow at Mrs. Bayson as he approached Michael, hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”

Michael felt like a window had opened to his chest and cool, fresh air blew in. The tension in his stomach loosened at once, and he felt like he could breathe.

“What’re you doing here?”

Alex shrugged. “I finished work early and I missed you.” He said it so casually that Michael had to stop and marvel at whether or not this truly was his life. He found he’d been doing that a lot since marrying Alex. He saw Alex cast another glance at Mrs. Bayson, who was openly ogling them both now like they were some kind of buffet, and he shook his head slightly as if to ask, How long’s she been here?

Michael told Alex everything, so it only stood to reason that he would see Mrs. Bayson and quickly put together who she was. He wanted to weep with relief. He didn’t care who else was there, so long as Alex stood close by to protect him.

“Stay with me, will ya?” he murmured, glancing darkly at the woman himself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alex said, though his eyes had turned to Mrs. Bayson, this time narrowed in thought. He was watching her like she was a particularly annoying recruit that he was trying to figure out how to teach who was boss.

Mrs. Bayson must’ve mistaken his look, however, for admiration because she lifted a shoulder, her sleeve slipping down, and held up her lemonade.

“My drink is open to either one of you boys,” she smiled.

Alex chuckled darkly, in a way that he did not often do and which had Michael both turned on and fearing for whoever was on the other side of it.

“I don’t think so,” he said quietly enough that only Michael could hear, and then he turned to Michael, pulled him in by his neck, and crashed their mouths together.

“Mmh!” Michael moaned, startled, but let the wrench drop from his hand as Alex wrapped an arm around his waist and slid his other up Michael’s shirt. Michael gasped, and Alex took the chance to push his tongue in, tasting Michael everywhere. He pushed him against the car, their hips grinding, and Michael groaned, all the tension he’d had throughout the day burning down to lust and want and need in his gut.

Alex didn’t seem to care he was covered in sweat, kissing him like he wanted to lick every inch of him clean. Michael wanted to let him, lie down here and spread his legs and let Alex do whatever he wanted to him.

But Alex was already pulling away too soon, a line of spit connecting their mouths, and he looked over his shoulder.

Mrs. Bayson was no longer smiling, her scowl stretching wide and Michael could’ve sworn he saw her say, What a waste.

Alex stepped back casually, but not too far away, returning his hands to his pockets. Mrs. Bayson no longer seemed in the mood to watch her car get fixed, and she had someone pick her up with a demand that the engine be ready by tomorrow.

Michael turned to Alex, grinning, and Alex gave him a wink. “All that to save me?”

“That,” Alex shrugged, and stepped closer, running his finger over Michael’s lips, “and I don’t like anyone else staring at my husband’s ass.”

Michael bit his lower lip, eager. “You jealous, baby?”

“Jealous of what?” Alex scoffed, pulling Michael in again and dragging a hand up his shirt, bunching it up to his chest. “Nobody else gets you but me.”

Michael nodded, hazed and in love. “Nobody else,” he repeated almost dreamily.

Alex grinned. “Good boy.”

***

[An excerpt from the hockey au I will write one day. Context: Alex and Michael played together in juniors but were separated when Jesse discovered them and broke Michael’s hand. Michael was able to play again after re-learning how to grip a stick, but Alex’s career ended in tragedy just before the draft when an injury led to the loss of his leg. Michael goes to the NCAA while Alex begins coaching, and they reunite six years after their separation when Michael gets a tryout from the AHL team Alex is an assistant coach for.]

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“When I saw you play again, watching game tape from Nebraska,” Alex said so softly Michael leaned closer to listen, “I really almost couldn’t believe it. How good your shot is, after everything. I really thought…”

“Yeah,” Michael replied hoarsely, licking his lips, chapped by the dry, cold rink air and the wind whipping past his face. “When I got out of the hospital, I thought about it morning, noon, and night. Getting back out there and working on it. And when the cast came off, I drilled it…almost had to get another surgery, actually, ‘cause I couldn’t stop. It was all that kept my mind off the other thing, the only thing I thought about more than surviving in hockey and not letting that bastard beat me.”

“What was that?”

“You.”

And Alex played hockey, too. A body never really forgets the sensation of the air being driven out of your body by a check into the boards, and Alex sat there for a second wheezing through that one little word, like a padded shoulder to the solar plexus, ears ringing like he’d had his bell rung. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael watched him, studied him, face set, eyes intense.

“You can’t just say shit like that,” Alex said weakly, rubbing his chest.

“Sorry, man,” Michael replied, not sounding sorry at all. “But it’s true. I thought about you all the time, if you were okay, what you were doing, if you were thinking of me…I would go online and look up your games. I dunno, man, I was a kid. I wrote you all these letters that I never sent.” He laughed softly.

Alex still couldn’t breathe, his throat so tight and painful. His mouth worked, trying to force out some words, knowing some kind of reply was expected, but what was there to say? Nostalgia wasn’t supposed to hurt like this, he was pretty sure.  

Michael continued, eyes downcast, staring at both their knees, “When you were in the hospital, after your leg, I tried to call. But your brother picked up and said you didn’t want to talk to me. I knew it was probably a lie, but…I don’t know. If your brother was there, your dad might be too, and the last thing I wanted was to get you in trouble. Again. So…”

How did they get here? How were they talking about this, here, now? Alex’s knee throbbed in time with the memory—laying in that hospital bed, so sure his life was over, he would have done anything to have Michael there with him, even just to hear his voice. This conversation was coming the second Alex saw Michael’s name on the training camp roster, but now that it was happening it all felt beyond surreal.

Michael seemed to pick up on the fact that Alex’s brain was nothing but white noise and take it in stride. He reached out and squeezed Alex’s left knee gently, then stood, stretched, and shouldered his bag.

“I won’t keep you any longer. Just know,” Michael said, and something in his voice forced Alex to sit up straighter, to meet Michael’s eyes head-on. “Just know I never stopped then, and I’m not stopping now. I’ve made it this far, and I’ve never been better. I’m not going anywhere. Just…know that.”