#softkent

“Ziiiiiimms!” he can hear Kent whining a little muffled out on the porch. “I’m freezing out here!”

Jack gets up and jogs to the door. When he swings it open, a gust of biting wind blows into the house followed by a shivering Kent with the help of crutches. He watches as Kent bends down to unlace his boots.

“You’re the one that wanted to come visit me in winter,” he reminds him, reaching out to hold his shoulder when he sees Kent swaying a little with his weight on his bad knee. “Here, let me,” he says in a huff.

He bends down himself to untie the boot himself. Kent looks away from Jack’s ministrations and bites at his lip. If it weren’t for the cold outside, Jack thinks the pink on his cheeks is from the embarrassment of needing help.

“Thanks,” Kent whispers when Jack sets his boot beside the other near the other shoes littering the entrance way. “We, uh, we alone?”

Jack stands up, taking his time to let a smile spread across his lips when he’s looking down at Kent’s hazel eyes. He nods, knowing what’s coming. He throws his arms out to steady them both when Kent jumps forward, grabbing Jack’s face and bringing him down into a kiss.

Immediately, Jack is pulled back into the thousands of kisses they’ve shared over the years. Kent’s hands are cold, but sure holding his face like it’s something precious. They’re chests press firmly together. Jack bends down a little to make the reach easier on Kent with his one good leg. Jack’s chapped lips catch a little against Kent’s, but neither of them pay it any mind.

Kent pulls back enough to smile wide at Jack. He’s familiar with this look--so open and warm. Jack knows he looks the same--looks like he’s brimming with love. He leans in to press a peck to the corner of his smile.

“Thank you for coming,” Jack whispers to him and slips his hands firmly around his boyfriend’s middle--holding him close as he buries his face into his neck to breathe him in.

“Hey,” Kent says, patting Jack’s back. “Don’t mention it. This is a completely selfish trip.”

They laugh for a moment as they appreciate each other’s presence. Jack can’t remember the last winter he felt this warm. Jack’s foot nudges Kent’s bag, making a point and distracting him from the flood of butterflies in his stomach.

“Want me to get this upstairs? I can’t have you eating it trying to juggle things while climbing the stairs with that,” Jack explains, nodding to his crutches.

Kent rolls his eyes. “I got up that hell of a sidewalk all on my own, big guy, with ice! I think I can handle a few steps.”

Jack puts his hands up in defeat. “Alright. Guess you don’t need me to carry you up either, then.” His boyfriend’s eyes go wide for a second and he opens his mouth to protest. “No, no. It’s all good. You can handle yourself.”

“That was before I knew you carrying me was an option. You know how much I...enjoy you lifting me.”

“Or is it why I’m usually lifting you that you enjoy?” Jack asks, walking off into the living room.

Kent hobbles after him, scoffing. "Well, nobody told me that was on the table!"

He collides into Jack with groping, hopeful hands. Jack keeps their balance, again, and wonders if he'll end up getting injured himself before Kenny heads back to Las Vegas. He still wasn't sure how long Kent will be staying.

Like he'd suggested, Jack quickly bends his knees and gets his hands under Kent's ass. He lifts him up to wrap his legs around him, giving him ample time to steady himself without hurting his knee and starts walking up the stairs, duffle bag forgotten by the front door.

“Jackie-boy! You aren’t going to buh-lieeeeve what that white supremacist asshat said in class today,” Shitty yells once he’s inside the Haus, knocking the snow off his boots.

He looks up when he doesn’t get his usual hello. A few feet down the hall is a duffle bag next to a pair of crutches. He toes off his boots without bothering to unlace them and hops in stocking feet away from the entryway in an attempt to avoid wet socks.

Shitty peeks into the living room. Jack’s school stuff is on the coffee table with the TV off. He looks back to the duffle bag and crutches. On top of the bag, an Aces hat is resting upside down. One of Shitty’s eyebrows shoots up as a large smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth.

Before Shitty heads upstairs to put away all his class shit, he picks up the duffle bag and tucks it beside the stairs, out of the way, and picks up the crutches. Since nobody’s down here, whoever needs them is probably going to need them getting down here. Though he’s pretty sure he knows who must be up there with Jack, he doesn’t let himself fully think it. Jack’ll tell him, or he’ll find out eventually. No need to ponder it. He thinks about knocking on Jack’s closed door, but instead quietly leans the crutches beside it and tiptoes down to his door.

Jack wants to thank his therapist for suggesting he focus his schedule around morning classes. He knows it was meant to help him get up and out of the house first thing so he won't have time to dwell and build up his anxiety, still being partially asleep, but if one of the perks is the entire afternoon in bed with his boyfriend maybe he should send her some flowers...

"You sure you don't wanna do online school and come live with me?" Kent asks through his heavy breathing and blissed-out expression, laying naked and half on top of Jack. "I could get used to this."

Jack rolls his eyes and catches his own breath for a second. "You sure you don't want to get traded to the Falconers or something?" Jack asks with a smile, thinking back to all the times they've joked about this. "I could definitely get used to you being here."

Kent smacks what he can reach of Jack's ass and slides off of him onto the other side of the bed. He curses having forgotten to watch out for his leg and readjusts to stretch it out.

"Did you lie to me about the PT guy saying this was okay?"

"No! I would never lie about sex, Zimms."

"I meant coming here in the first place...Wait, did you really ask about sex?"

Kent laughs and nods. "Hell yeah, I did! Gotta ask the important questions: sex, showering, and driving. All of which are completely good-to-go."

Jack pulls Kent to him, letting him rest his head against his chest and places a quick kiss to the top of his messy, blond hair. "Does that mean you're ready to go again?"

Kent kisses Jack’s chest with a smile and licks his nipple in a fast, completely unsexy way. Jack finches away with an unexpected giggle, shielding his other nipple from Kent with his hand. From the glimmer in Kent’s eyes, he knows he’s a goner. Jack has never won a tickle fight in his life.

As the guys trickle on back home from a day of boring classes while they were wishing they were out playing in the snow or even just at home sleeping, the sky gets darker and the snow’s falling faster. When Holster stumbles in past the wind, the snow building in front of the porch is halfway up his shins.

Jack and Kent are warm up in bed with Jack’s laptop perched on his knees playing a cat video Kent insisted they had to watch before Jack could play another YouTube video in some series called Facts You Wish You Didn’t Know About Our Past Leaders.

Kent tells him again with deadly sincerity, “you can only go so far down to YouTube rabbithole before you come up for air and a good ole cat video and restart the cycle or you’ll end up watching some of the weirdest ever made by man at three am questioning reality.”

Jack’s giggles shake his stomach and computer so much the screen tips back so neither of them can see the video anymore, only causing his laughing to increase.

“You goober,” Kent chuckles and moves the laptop to the nightstand after pausing the video. “I think that’s enough of YouTube before we go insane.”

“Goober? Really?”

Kent tries to push Jack off the bed, but Jack grabs onto his arm. They shuffle back and forth for leverage until Kent tips backwards, head towards the floor, with Jack sliding over top of him. They’ve half laughing, half screaming when someone knocks on the door.

“You dyin’ in there?” Shitty yells through the bathroom door.

Jack tries to right himself, but Kenny slides out from under him to the side, causing Jack to slip onto the floor.

“Ow! Told you I’d end up injured! Nah, Shitty. Nobody’s dying!” Jack yells back to him.

He’s about to tell him to come in and say hi to Kent when he remembers their clothes are still next to his door instead of covering them up. He glances up to where Kent is sitting stark naked without a single iota of modesty, legs fully splayed, and stifling his laughter behind his hand.

Along his neck are a few red marks popping against his lightly tanned skin. A few streak trail down Kent’s chest where Jack’s fingernails traversed his body down to his hips earlier to get better leverage. In the back of his mind, he’s glad Kent won’t be stripping down in a locker room full of chirps and interns taking photos for social media.

“Alrighty, brah. What do you want for noms? Dining hall closed early ‘cause of the storm. I’m thinking pizza,” Shitty yells to him.

Kent looks at him expectantly. When Jack doesn’t answer straight away, he nods at him and motions to the door. Jack relents and tells Shitty they’ll be down soon.

“I thought you might want to avoid everybody for as long as you could…,” he mumbles while picking up his pants.

“Why would I do that? Hey, look at me…” Kent says, voice laced with concern. He waits until Jack turns back to him before he goes on, “I love you and am part of your life. I’m not going anywhere or trying to hide from your friends. I know you have good taste, so I’m sure we’ll get along.”

Jack looks away with a nod. The voice of his anxiety isn’t reality. Sometimes, it’s just so hard to separate the two. The nagging feeling that Kent’s just saying things to make him feel better sits in the back of his mind, but he choose to trust what he’s saying. Kent came all this way. He wouldn’t have done that just to hook up.

This time before setting up for the drop, Jack nudges Kent’s skate with his stick just enough to make him wobble. It was so quick the camera operators probably didn’t notice it. Honestly, the only people who did will have it GIFed on Twitter already. He can imagine all the fan theories about their rivalry paired with some of Kent’s shenanigans throughout the game tonight.

He’s always loved perusing social media after a colorful game just to see how psyched the fans get, and sometimes to know that he hasn’t always been suffering in silence. As a small guy, he never seeks out fights or rough play. Sure, he’s made some bad decisions that ended up with him on the mend, but Kent’s never dropped his gloves. He only came close once: a loud d-man from the Schooners in Kent’s first season as captain threw out some slurs. Most of the time, he doesn’t let that shit get to him. But that time, he saw one of the callups from the farm team wince. He had to do something. Thankfully, Scarps saved him before Kent wound up with a concussion.

Later that night in his hotel room, he spotted someone’s play-by-play during it all on his Tumblr account that PR still doesn’t know about. They said he should never try to fight because he sucks at it and weighs as much as a paper clip, but his heart’s always been in the right place. He stills follows them today.

Before lining up again, Kent takes a quick glance at the scoreboard. Deep down he knows he can’t just let Jack have this. It’s the third on Kent’s home ice playing against the love of his life with all the hockey world watching, including the fans on Twitter and Tumblr. He knows PR is gonna have his head, but Kent thinks it’s time for a little more drama and fun. This is not going into overtime.

Only when Kent realizes he can’t slow down and sees the pissed of and somewhat scared look on the Falcs’ goalie’s face—Snowman or something—does he remember he always takes his fun a little too far. The goal siren blares. His helmet skids across the ice. The air’s pushed out of Kent’s lungs when another guy falls onto the dogpile.

His ears are buzzing when the ground moves away from him. With a blink he corrects himself, he is moving away from the ground. Mashkov is holding him up by the back of his jersey, looking ready to murder. Now’s when Kent remembers why he avoids fighting and hard checks. The man can lift him with one arm. Imagine what a hip check could do!

The insults roll off Kent’s back like all the others thrown at him on the ice, but he’d feel a lot better about the situation if his skates were touching the ice. Then there would be some sort of chance at him getting away before needing stitches.

Jack skates up beside them with Kent’s helmet tucked under his arm and his cold, unimpressed glare programmed onto his hockey-robot exterior. First Kent’s thoughts went to all the ways he knew how to get emotions and Jack’s personality back out from behind that calculated look, but those thoughts should be saved for when he isn’t about to be killed mid game.

“Tater, come on.” Jack asks more than says.

Mashkov sets Kent back down a little faster than he can figure out his balance again, causing him to fumble into Jack. Jack’s eyes were locked with Kent’s, neither of them noticing when Mashkov skated away. He catches Kent and steadies him, face still unmoving. Kent gets his feet under himself and stood a little straighter, bringing his face slightly closer to Jack’s.

Kent knows the cameras are on them and how people must be banging on their keyboards about what they’re seeing, and he knows from all the years of being with Jack just how much the other man doesn’t want that. Kent ducks his head and pushes himself away just enough to get some space between them. He ruffles his hair and shrugs in a sort of apology, hoping Jack will understand what he’s saying.

Yells rise up from the crowd around them, though all action on the ice has been at a standstill since Kent’s goal. They both look up to see their faces on the big screen surrounded by the hearts and flowers of the Kiss Cam. Kent can’t help but laugh. No matter how much Kent would love to grab Jack and give them all a show, he knows that’s the farthest thing possible from how he wants to come out.

Kent’s helmet clatters away again when Jack favors reaching out to pull Kent back to him instead of keeping it nestled under his arm. Their eyes lock again, but this time Kent sees what Jack is trying to convey—what’s he’s asking him: do you want this ?

“Come here, Zimms,” Kent whispers, gripping Jack’s jersey and pulling him in. He pulls Jack’s own helmet off, letting it fall to the ice to join his own.

Their lips pressed together like they have thousands of times over their rockey eight years together. Kent feels the slight catch of Jack’s bitten lips against his own when he readjusts, holding Jack’s cheek in his hand like if he grips on too hard this moment will disappear. Their moment …He feels the tears burning at the corners of his eyes and smiles wide in a mixed feeling of relief, joy, and a little panic against Jack’s lips.

They’re doing this. After this there isn’t any going back to pretending they’re just friends that played together in Juniors. Now the world knows all those whispers following them throughout their lives and careers have been right. Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson are more than just their no-look one-timer and always have been despite it all.

“Love you,” Kent whispers against Jack’s lips. He hears himself and cringes a little at how small he sounds, voice constrained from all this emotion bubbling up inside his throat. Jack smiles back at him and presses another kiss to his lips.

“Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me? The ring’s in the locker room. I can give it to you after,” Jack explains, as if that explains anything at all. "We aren't hiding anymore, so I just thought--"

Kent laughs and clings to his boyfriend for another kiss. “You dork! Yeah, yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Going from being annoyed and a little disappoint about hockey to a marriage proposal in less time than it takes for a puck to drop is something only Jack could do. Kent can't always follow his logic and where his sudden ideas come from, but he loves him all the more for it.

The trainer checks Kent out once he’s followed his guys into the locker room after getting the first star of the game. He tries to tell him he’s fine, but his words apparently don’t matter. After a quick look over, she lets him get into the showers with a warning to not be such a dumbass next time. Kent rolls his eyes, but doesn’t fuss. He knows that was an idiot move. Even though he didn’t mean to lose control and smash into the goalie, it still happened. At least all anyone got out of it were some bruises (and being threatened by a hulking Russian, but that’s neither here nor there).

Kent cleans himself up and gets his suit back on with his brain turned off. He’s ready to fall into bed and forget tonight happened. The locker room is buzzing from the win, but none of the atmosphere seeps into his tired bones. He turns his phone on and waits in his stall for the notifications to pour in.

A few texts from his sister threatening him to never pull a stunt like that again, one from his mom telling him to call and checking in that he wasn’t hurt, and one he would never have expected sent two minutes ago from Jack: “Wanna meet? Talk?”

He looks up out of habit, like someone would be looming over his shoulder waiting to catch Kent do or say something suggesting the nature of his relationship with Zimms. He knows it’s dumb, but he can’t help but feel a little watched. Carly would punch his face in if he knew. Sure, Scraps and Swoops would intervene and make sure that asshole got what was coming to him, but Kent’s avoided physical altercations his whole life. Verbal on the other hand…

Kent types out a text back and sends it before he can overthink things. He packs his bag, telling the guys to have a fun time without him while he ices his pride.

Out in the hall, Jack is leaning against the wall with his bag at his feet. His hair is swept slightly to the side and damp while his button-up accentuates all the right muscles, suit jacket slung over one of his shoulders. He looks like a goddamn model. No surprise there; he is his mother’s son, after all.

“Oh. You’re still alive,” Jack says in greeting, pushing himself off the wall, but not moving to meet Kent.

Kent shakes his head and steps over to him. “Don’t sound so disappointed. I might think you don’t like me.”

He jumps slightly when Jack lifts his arms and feels like a complete dumbass for it when Jack pulls him into a hug. He swallows down the knot in his throat and hugs him back, quickly tucking his head against Jack’s shoulder. They could be friends. He’s sure Jack doesn’t mean anything more.