#lardy

“Hush now. No one gets to decide when their emotions are gonna hit. Do you want more water?” he gestured to the fresh glass and the biscuit Shitty had brought in and left on the table behind Jack. “You’ve gotta be dehydrated from that jag.” Eric pulled away to reach for the water, making Jack groan. “Oh stop it, you silly man. You’re gonna make that headache worse and I know it’s gotta hurt somethin’ sinful right now.”

 He was right, so Jack sat up gingerly and drank down the glass. The moment it was back on the table Jack pulled Eric close.

 So much of Jack was warm. Not in the sense of peeling off his shirt and sweats, though with Eric’s added body heat it was a little too much. Jack clenched and flexed the fingers of his left hand. He groaned at the pain that radiated down from his shoulder, but that was it. The icy discomfort that had been eating at him for so long was…gone. Instead Jack felt as if his core was made of something light and airy.

 Breathing in Eric’s scent Jack labeled this feeling joy and decided he never wanted to let it go. He grasped Eric’s shirt in his hand and pressed himself closer. With the fabric in his hand he paused. “Is this my shirt?”

 “Oh, um, yes?” A pink flush slid across Eric’s skin. “I was just so worried, you see, so when Lardo went back to our apartment she grabbed it for me.”

 “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

 “Goodness, Jack. I don’t think you should be apologizing for some idiot nearly breaking your neck. None of it was your fault!”

 “No, no, I mean before that.” Jack shrugged, hoping that acting nonchalant would make him actually feel nonchalant. “For not texting back and stuff.”

 “And stuff?” Eric echoed. Jack could hear the smile in his voice but still pulled back to see his face.

 In the candlelight Eric looked like a Renaissance painting: soft, inviting, perfect. Jack wondered if touching him would smudge any still-damp paint, ruining the final product with the wild desperation he’d been fighting for over a week.

 “And stuff?” he prompted again.

 “Yeah. Eh, like, letting Lardo call you that day and barging in on your conversation. And for just being a crappy person, I guess.” He filled Eric in on what he’d done to avoid running into him in public.

 “Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric started, and Jack wanted to hear him say that every day for the rest of his life. “We already talked about the video call and you know you’re forgiven, so I hope you’ll be able to let that go soon so it’s not hangin’ on you. And if it makes you feel better, you wouldn’t have run into me anyway. I’m usually up much after that and spend a lot of time on my computer. Indoors, and away from any beautiful men I’d be completely distracted by.”

 This time it was Jack who blushed. He looked down and traced the letters on Eric’s – his – shirt. The bottom hem must hang past mid-thigh, he figured, if Eric were standing. He didn’t notice when Eric had come to him earlier but the man was proportioned exactly like his- their- dreams.

 “Sorry,” Eric said.

 Jack looked back up, a question on his face.

 “I think…when you’re feelin’ better, of course, we need to sit down and talk about what we want from this. If,” he hesitated, biting at his lip. “If anything. Right now we will do whatever we need to do to help you get better, but I wanna make sure we’re on the same page after that.

 Jack had read every page of so many books and he was so desperate to know what words Eric was reading at this exact moment. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” His voice was barely a whisper.

 Eric shook his head. “Not like that, no. Lord, Jack, please don’t look at me like that, you have no idea-” He broke off with a frustrated groan. Moving to grasp Jack’s wrist, Eric flattened his hand against the letters he’d been tracing. The thrum of Eric’s heart under his palm brushed away the crumbled bits of that shield Jack had tried so hard to create.

 Jack memorized as much as he could- the way Eric was looking at him with those beautiful eyes, the pressure of his hand, the floral shampoo and honey scent that seemed to find Jack anywhere. Eric’s breathing was normal but his heart seemed to be pounding under Jack’s hand.

 “I’m not gonna say too much ‘cause this is definitely not a conversation to be havin’ with a concussion,” he repeated. “But there’s something there. There’s something between us that I want to understand. I’ve never been so drawn to someone like this before.” His eyes darted to Jack’s and up to the candle. “I don’t know if you feel the same but I don’t want you worryin’ your already hurt head with such thoughts.”

 “I want to take you on a date,” Jack said. He hadn’t been expecting to say that, because really he wanted to kiss Eric and see if he tasted like honey too, but a date seemed like a better first step.

 The curve of Eric’s lips was so enticing that Jack nearly kissed him anyway.

 “I’d like that.”

 “But you’re sure though, that this,” he wiggled his fingers against Eric’s chest and nudged his ankle against his where they were linked under the covers, “is okay?”

 “Well I do have to say that it’s a little weird to be in bed and still wearing socks but that’s about the limit of my discomfort.”

 When Jack smiled Eric’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Jack’s stomach chose that moment to rumble again, making Eric laugh and Jack wondered if he was hungry for food or for the continued closeness of this maybe hope. Still, he let Eric sit up and give him flakey layers of the best biscuit he’d ever eaten.

 “I’m sure this isn’t exactly in your nutrition plan-”

 “I’m a professional hockey player,” Jack replied. “I can eat anything I want to as long as I’m not stupid about it.”

 “What is considered stupid?” Eric asked, peeling another heavenly layer.

 “An entire keg in one sitting,” Jack offered. “Three XXL pizzas with half a dozen toppings each.”

 “Good God. Please tell me that wasn’t you.”

 Jack shook his head, wincing at his neck. He probably should have iced it. “The beer was Reynauld and the pizzas were Tater.”

 Eric stifled a laugh. “I can totally see Tater doin’ that,” he said. “I don’t know Reynauld though.”

 He wanted to tell Eric to not quiet his laughter. Jack wanted to know what it sounded like. He didn’t though, he only talked of his teammates until his eyes drooped. He was mostly asleep when he felt soft lips press against his forehead and a strong arm rest across his ribs, pulling him close.

  The sun was glowing behind Jack’s curtains when he woke. He’d shifted in the night so that his head wasn’t level with Eric’s chin anymore. Instead they were eye to closed eye. Eric was curled on his stomach with his feet still tangled with Jack’s. His breathing was even and deep.

 Jack couldn’t smell much still. He slid his hand under the covers until he found Eric’s wound in the blankets. The movement made his neck and shoulder ache but as long as he didn’t actually lift his arm it was manageable. Gently, he slid his fingers between the fabric and Eric’s warm palm. He shifted a bit at Jack’s ministrations but didn’t wake. Maybe it was a trick of the dim light or the concussion, but Jack swore Eric’s lips pulled into the tiniest smile as he slept.

 It couldn’t have been much longer until Eric shifted again, his finger’s tightening around Jacks. When he opened his eyes that kind-of smile turned into a real one.

 “Mornin’,” he mumbled.

 After so many years on the road, rooming with various teammates, Jack knew the sound of a man newly awake. The way their voices were somehow so much deeper without trying to be. The rawness of their speech and the way it had the potential to make Jack’s very bones yearn to pull them close, turn out the light, and let the world continue without them for a few hours.

 The feeling hadn’t happened in years and even then, it had only been once before. Jack was glad the lights were already out and he knew the world at large already didn’t care that he was downed by a concussion. He pulled his hand from Eric’s and carefully pressed it against his check. Eric’s skin was supple and soft against Jack’s scratchy callouses. He stiffened slightly, enough that Jack pulled away. Eric grabbed Jack’s hand.

 “I don’t want you to do something you might regret when you’re not concussed,” he whispered. “Hell, I don’t want to force you into something regrettable ever.

 Jack had a sudden flashback to that campfire dream where whispered truths were the only thing worth listening to. Where he heard Eric’s name for the first time, where he knew the hope growing inside him might have a permanent place in his life one day.

 “I’m scared you’ll find out how much of a mess I am and never want to see me again,” Jack replied softly.

 Eric laced his fingers with Jack’s. “I could say the same ‘bout me.”

 “Not possible.”

 “Jack, we don’t even actually know each other. You could end up hating me.”

 “Is that the truth for any relationship though?” he pointed out.

 “Maybe,” Eric conceded. “But that’s why I want to talk when you’re feelin’ better. Set ground rules, blah blah.”

 “What kind of rules?” He pulled himself forward until his nose brushed against Eric’s. His breath hitched but he didn’t pull away.

 “Lord, Jack. You ain’t gonna make this easy are you.”

 Jack hummed. “Might as well learn that now.”

 Eric’s hand threaded through Jack’s hair but didn’t push him away. “We can’t do anything until you’re better, okay?”

 He groaned. “But I really wanna kiss you.”

 “I know, darlin’, and I really wanna kiss you too. But if I’ve learned anything from Shitty it’s knowing when to take a step back and breathe.”

 “Just one kiss?”

 “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that, right?”

 “Mmm…good.” Jack winced as he lifted his hand onto Eric’s hip.

 “See?” Eric pointed out. He was still breathless with Jack that close. He moved his hand to gently brush against the wrecked muscles. “You need more pain medication. I should get up and get it for you.” He licked his lips. “I’m… I’m gonna do that now, okay?”

 “No.”

 Eric huffed a laugh that brushed Jack’s mouth. “Charmer.”

 He eventually pulled away after lingering a few quiet, tense moments longer than he needed to. Sitting up, he flicked his wrist and his face lit up from his watch. “Goodness, it’s already near ten.” When he turned to look at Jack he realized Jack had buried his face in his pillow. “Oh shit,” he said, quickly covering up the brightness of his watch. “I’m so sorry.”

 “’s okay,” Jack mumbled. It still awoke the throbbing in his head to a level he couldn’t ignore anymore. It radiated down his spine and through his damn shoulder and he just wanted it to stop.

 Eric was back moments or minutes later with water and his meds. Jack groaned as he sat up but obediently swallowed the pills. He lay down on his back, eyes closed and wishing for some level of unconsciousness until the meds kicked in.

 “Do you want some food?” Eric whispered.

 “Non.”

 Fingers brushed the hair away from his face. Jack turned so Eric’s palm cupped his cheek. It was colder than he was expecting but felt wonderful.

 “Oh, here, I got you some ice for your neck. I know you can’t see it but it’s turnin’ like a damn rainbow.”

 Jack groaned. “Great.” He hissed when the towel-wrapped pack pressed against the tender skin.

 “We should have done this earlier,” he admitted, “but we were more worried about the concussion than the bruising once we knew nothing was broken. You’ll be right as rain soon,” Eric promised. He began to pull away but stopped when Jack let out a noise that might have been a whimper. “Are you o-”

 “Stay.” Eric had said we like this mattered to him, like one day it wouldn’t mean Lardo-and-Shitty-and-Eric taking care of Jack but Eric-and-Jack taking care of each other.

 Even with his eyes closed he could feel Eric’s gaze dart over him: his eyes, his injured neck, the rise and fall of his chest.

 “One minute and I’ll be back, okay?”

 Jack grunted softly. Eric’s hand disappeared. Light flared and was gone as he quickly slipped out of the room.

 Jack was in and out of sleep for what could have been moments, minutes, or hours. He clenched his good hand in the covers like it would anchor him to the bed. At some point Eric returned and replaced the blankets with his hand and Jack finally felt like his feet weren’t about to touch the ceiling.