Ursinus

Mack doesn’t want to overdo it right away, so he starts his little experiment by telling Will to hand him things that are easily reachable for Mack - a water bottle here, a hockey stick there, Mack’s hoodie. Will never so much as hesitates, not even for a second. He doesn’t question why Mack doesn’t simply grab these things himself, doesn’t notice - or pretends not to notice - that each of them is technically closer to Mack’s own hand than Will’s as the request is made. 

How very interesting, Mack thinks. 

Eventually, Mack decides that he’s not driving himself anymore. It’s one thing telling Will to pick him up for practice or games, but then he has errands to run that have nothing to do with Will, and he still calls Will, telling him to come by only so he can spend hours sitting in the passenger seat of Will’s car and making up things he needs oh so urgently just to add more and more stops to their trip. If Will did the same thing to Mack, he’d be all out of patience after one or two stops - in fact, Mack has broken Will’s windshield before for a very similar reason. But when Will realizes that they might not be done anytime soon, he simply buys them both iced coffees and switches to a longer playlist. To top it all off, Will carries most of Mack’s bags inside at the end. 

A few days later, Mack sneezes once and thinks that this is the perfect opportunity to make his one singular sneeze Will’s problem. He calls Will, who picks up way too quickly, and then Mack delivers an absolute performance, pinching his own nose with two fingers to make it sound like he’s the sickest he’s ever been, fake-coughing and whining about a headache that’s about to take him out for good. As was to be expected, Will offers to come over, to make soup and stop by the pharmacy for anything Mack might need. Mack, because he really needs to test Will, complains that he’s all sweaty and gross and probably contagious - Will really shouldn’t be in the same room as him right now. Will tells Mack not to be stupid, ends the call, and shows up at Mack’s door twenty minutes later, ready to play nurse. 

At the beginning of that day, Mack enjoys being tucked into bed and having Will’s palm pressed to his forehead to check for a fever he absolutely doesn’t have. Later, when Mack sips tea in front of the TV while Will cooks for him, he genuinely feels bad for lying, but the feelings fades pretty quickly when Will tells him he looks much better after finishing a bowl of chicken-noodle soup and Mack replies that he feels better now thanks to Will, which has Will smiling in a way Mack has never seen - or never noticed - before: shyly, fondly, beautifully, eyes averting Mack’s gaze and cheeks turning slightly pink. 

“Do you need anything else?” Will asks when it gets late and Mack is tucked into bed with everything he could possibly need lined up on the nightstand right next to him. 

The sensible thing would be to say no, thank you, Will, you’ve done more than enough, because Will truly has done more than enough, especially considering that Mack isn’t even really sick. Plus, the whole thing where Mack tries to push Will’s buttons seems silly now that Will has proven himself willing to take care of Mack in times of need - Will doesn’t know the need is made up, after all. Mack really doesn’t feel like coming up with another stupid request just to watch Will do what Mack says - he really doesn’t care anymore. 

No, this time, he truly means what he says.

“Can you, um, stay?” 

And Will, of course, stays. Nevermind that Will hasn’t been at his own place the entire day thanks to Mack’s antics. Nevermind that he doesn’t have a toothbrush or clothes to wear to bed or fresh underwear to change into in the morning. He simply helps himself to a t-shirt and a pair of sweat shorts from Mack’s closet and turns all the lights off before he lies down next to Mack. 

Minutes later, they lie in Mack’s bed, back to back, facing away from each other, which gives Mack the courage to say, “You’re the best, Will, do you know that?” 

Softly, Will huffs out a quiet laugh. “And you’re the worst, Mack, but I still like you.” 

“Wait, what?” Mack asks, confused, unable to decide what part of Will’s statement he should focus on - that Will apparently thinks he’s the worst, or that Will has just admitted to liking him anyway. 

Will sighs. “Go to sleep, Mack. You’re supposed to be sick, remember? It’s not very convincing if you don’t sleep at all, and you’ve already been awake the whole day.” 

Oh, shit. 

Mack should apologize, probably. Definitely. He can taste a polite Canadian sorry on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down, knowing that what he’s done - what he’s been doing - hasn’t been polite or Canadian and won’t be helped by that one word that he’s never quite figured out how to say like he means it. If not apologize, he should at least explain himself. But what would that sound like? 

It’s your fault, actually, because you always do what I say and I simply wanted to see when you’d stop. I did it all out of scientific curiosity. And by the way, now I still don’t have an answer, because even if you knew, apparently, you still didn’t say no to anything, so maybe I have more questions now than before. 

Perhaps Mack should keep his mouth shut before anything like that comes out of it. 

“Good night, Mack,” Will says - probably because he can hear Mack’s reeling thoughts. 

“Good night, Will,” Mack says, closes his eyes and tries to synchronize his breathing with Will’s - slow and steady. Just before his mind slips away into unconsciousness, it occurs to Mack that he’s overestimated his own power - Will might do whatever Mack tells him to, but Mack does what Will wants without Will having to say it at all: one ‘good night’ is enough to stop his head from spinning and send him to sleep. As much as this should unsettle Mack, it somehow does the opposite. Next to Will, he falls into the best sleep he’s had in a while. 

When Mack wakes up in the morning, Will is already sitting upright in bed next to him, scrolling on his phone while sipping coffee from Mack’s favorite cup. 

“Morning, princess,” Will says with a smile that is bright and beautiful. Instinctively, Mack smiles back, feeling all warm and nice inside, but that’s only until his brain is fully back online and he realizes that Will’s smile is too bright. 

Oh, no. 

“Sleep well?” Will asks sweetly. “Not feeling sick anymore? Or do you want me to call in for you and say you can’t make morning skate?” 

The thing is, the words sound like Will can be a bit of an asshole, after all, but he also brushes the hair off Mack’s forehead at the same time, and the touch of his fingertips is so gentle.

“I can explain,” Mack says, voice rough from sleep, cheeks hot and probably bright red from… well, shame. 

Will’s eyebrows shoot up. “Can you?” His hand is still buried in Mack’s hair. 

“It’s probably not a very good explanation,” Mack admits, hopefully lowering Will’s expectations. “Um, so… someone said something to me a while ago. About us.”

Thus far, Will and his eyebrows don’t look very convinced. Mack clears his throat. 

“About… how you always do all the stuff I tell you. And then I realized that you do. And we both know that the stuff I say is dumb half of the time. So I kind of wanted to see how dumb it needed to be for you to say no. Or fight me about it, at least.” 

Will’s still doing the eyebrow thing at Mack. 

“I told you it wasn’t a good explanation,” Mack murmurs. 

“It isn’t,” Will says, “especially because when you called yesterday morning, I actually thought you were sick. That’s not some dumb stuff. I mean, it was dumb of you, because you were perfectly fine, but it’s not dumb of me to come over and look after you when you’re sick.” 

“For the record, I do feel bad about yesterday,” Mack says. Or I would, if you weren’t currently in my bed because of it. “But it wasn’t just yesterday. There was so much stuff before. Remember when I asked you to pass me my water bottle although it was right in front of me? You fully got up and left your seat to come and grab it for me. And what about that day you drove me around while I ran errands. It made no sense the way when went from one end of the city to the other and then back again. How were you not pissed off by that?” 

Will shrugs. “Pretty fun day, no?” 

“That’s not the point.” 

“Maybe you’re making the wrong points.” 

“Can I have your coffee?” 

Will takes another sip and then hands the cup to Mack, who can’t believe that Will isn’t seeing what Mack’s doing to him. 

“See? There you go again.”

“What?” Will asks, looking slightly confused but not all that stressed about it. 

“Why would you just give me your coffee?” 

“Because you asked.” 

Yes. YES! 

Mack wants to scream. 

Because he shouldn’t scream, Mack thinks about how to put his thoughts into better words instead, how to explain to Will how insane it is to give himself up like that - for Mack of all people - to always shape himself into what fits neatly around Mack. 

While Mack is still thinking, Will turns towards him and says, “You think you’re so smart, hm? You think you’ve figured out something big about me? That you can pull my strings and I’ll dance for you? Okay, well, two can play. Maybe I do the things you tell me. Maybe I drive you around and make soup for you when you’re sick and share my coffee with you because you asked. Maybe I like doing those things. But you like them too.”

Mack can’t see himself, but realistically, he might be the one with an eyebrow thing going on now. 

“Would you want to run errands with anyone else for a whole day, Mack? Would you want anyone else in your home while you’re not feeling well? Would you just tell anyone else to give you their coffee, or hand you a water bottle that’s right in front of you? You make me check that mole on your back once a week because you think it’s skin cancer, which it totally isn’t. I’ve tied your shoes for you. I’ve ordered food for you more often than you have. Remember when you asked me to read the last chapter of the book for book club to you because you couldn’t keep your eyes up? Please, Mack, who else would you want to do those things for you?” 

And fine, in hindsight, Mack probably didn’t have to go out of his way to come up with ridiculous requests for Will since he was already making them all the time, most of them without noticing. 

He scrunches his nose, not even answering Will’s question. They both know the truth - Mack wouldn’t ask these things of anyone else. 

“Can you imagine?” he says instead. “That would be crazy.” 

“But not if it’s me,” Will says like it’s a fact. 

“Maybe because I know you’ll do whatever I want.” 

“Or maybe because you like telling me what to do. And you like it when I do it. What do you want me to do now, hm? Weren’t you trying to prove a point yesterday?” 

“I wanted to see where you’d draw the line. What it would take for you to say no to me.” 

Will’s eyes are firmly on Mack’s face as he says, “I don’t think that’s true. You didn’t want me to say no to you. You just wanted to push it and ask for more and more and find out that I’d still say yes.”

Mack doesn’t know what to say to this - it’s like Will can see right through his eyes into the mess in his mind, like he can actually make sense of it in ways that Mack can’t. What if Will’s right? Mack hates not getting his way, and he barely knows how to function without Will anymore - summers spent apart and international tournaments far away from home have proven as much. Mack would have been insufferable yesterday if Will hadn’t cared to take care of him. He’s not proud of it, but it is what it is. 

Although there is way too much noise in his head right now, one question takes shape above all others, so Mack voices it, thinking that Will can probably read it in his eyes anyway. 

“Would you still say yes? If I asked for more?” 

“I think you already know,” Will says. 

Except - does he? Does Mack already know? Should he? Why is Will sure that Mack already knows? Mack feels like he knows nothing, least of all about himself. 

“You can’t do that, Will, you have to tell me.” 

Will laughs - laughs - at that. “I don’t. I don’t have to do anything you tell me. I just do it when I want to. And in this case I don’t want to. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” 

Will laughs some more and ruffles Mack’s hair, and then he gets up, leaving Mack alone in the bed with Will’s now cold coffee in hand and no clue what to do next. Mack watches as Will pulls clothes from Mack’s closet, looking for something with a Sharks logo that won’t be baggy enough on him to make it obvious it’s Mack’s. 

“I know I’m usually not the one to tell you what to do,” Will says nonchalantly, “but you should probably get up soon. I can get you breakfast on the way, but I still can’t beam us to the rink.” 

Mack downs the coffee and gets up, grateful that he has an excuse to be focusing on hockey and nothing else for a while before he goes back to figuring out this thing about Will that he’s supposed to know already. 

“Hey, Will? Since you’re already dressed, can you grab my bag and check if all my gear’s there?” 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Will asks. 

“Sure,” Mack says. “You pick.” 

Will huffs out a quiet laugh and an “of course,” and it’s only then that Mack realizes he’s done it again. 

“Sorry,” Mack mutters, although it’s stupid - it’s so, so stupid to be apologizing for this, but he feels stupid, has been feeling stupid, has been feeling locked out of his own brain. “I can pick, if you don’t always want to decide for the both of us.” 

Without a word, Will hands him the iPad. Mack can feel Will’s eyes on him as he scrolls through movie options, which only makes an already pretty difficult task even more difficult. Mack never knows what he’s in the mood for until they’re ten minutes into a movie that’s exactly right - exactly right because Will chose it. Mack doesn’t know how Will does it. Nothing speaks to Mack as he’s scrolling. 

Will silently watches for an embarrassing amount of time before he finally says - sounding amused as he says it -, “You don’t want to pick, do you?” 

Mack hates how easy it is for Will to know him. He’s sure his cheeks are turning red, but he’s not going to just admit that even picking a movie to watch is something he’d rather have Will do for him, so he continues scrolling although his brain is not even processing the suggested titles anymore and there’s no way he’s going to make a choice. 

Will sighs dramatically. “Just hand it over already,” he says, holding his hand out for the iPad. 

“I think I can pick a movie,” Mack says, and he thinks that he might throw up if he ever catches himself sounding that bitchy again. 

Will rolls his eyes. “You can. But you don’t want to. You want to lie in your bed and not worry about making a choice or even lifting a finger to press play. You want me to come over there and put the iPad where you can see, and you want to not worry about falling asleep halfway through because you know I’ll turn everything off and put the iPad somewhere safe without waking you up.” 

And that’s - well. That’s not cool. Will can’t just say all that, even if it’s true. Especially because it’s true. Some truths are clearly meant to be unspoken. Mack opens and closes his mouth like a fish, not knowing what to say, torn between the urge to tell Will to fuck off and the desire to just give in and beg Will to do exactly what he already knows Mack wants. 

Will doesn’t need Mack to say anything at all, apparently. He simply climbs into Mack’s bed, sinks into the pillows next to Mack, and takes the iPad out of Mack’s stupid, useless hands. Mack doesn’t pay enough attention to notice which movie Will picks, only that he makes his choice quickly - he probably knew what he wanted to watch all along - and thirty seconds later, the screen is exactly where Mack has the perfect view, the volume exactly where Mack needs it to hear while he’s still awake but be able to sleep in approximately forty-five minutes. 

Will’s arm is touching Mack’s shoulder, and Will’s shoulder is right there for Mack’s head to lie down on, and the room temperature is exactly right, and Will smells kind of good when he’s freshly showered, and everything’s the way Mack wants, which is definitely too good to be true, especially because it’s all Will’s doing, but he can’t find it in him to complain, or question any part of it, or feel anything at all except for peace and quiet and a nice, tingly warmth deep inside him. 

Halfway through the movie, sleep pulls at Mack like it always does. For some reason, he doesn’t go under like always, though. Will was right, Mack never worries about drifting off because he trusts Will to turn everything off and put it away without disturbing him. Mack always wakes up well rested in the morning, always finds Will back in his own bed. It’s how nights spent in hotel rooms go - has been for a long time - and maybe that means Mack has been taking some things for granted. 

“Can you tell your brain to shut up?” Will says quietly. There’s no way he can see that Mack’s eyes are still open from where he’s sitting because Mack’s slowly but surely been sinking further down, his forehead leaned against the crook of Will’s arm. 

“Not how it works, dude.” Mack’s voice sounds sleepy to his own ears, and his eyes feel heavy, his entire body weighed down by the twenty minutes of ice time it powered through. 

At first it seems like Will might let it go, but then he asks, “Whatcha thinking ‘bout?” 

“What, now you have to ask? I thought you always knew.” 

Mack meant to make it sound sarcastic, to remind Will that his assumptions about what Mack wants are just that - assumptions -, even if they happen to be correct. Instead, it comes out sounding way too genuine. Like an admission, almost. I thought you always knew. I actually am starting to believe this. I don’t know what that says about me, or you, or us, but I’m starting to think you know me better than I know myself, and it’s scary, but it’s mostly scary because I like it too much. I only wish I knew what you think. 

“I don’t,” Will says. “But I always want to. So what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” 

Maybe, if Mack was fully awake, he’d be more shocked by Will referring to any part of him as pretty. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe it would just feel like a perfectly Will thing to say no matter the circumstances. 

Mack wants to say something brave. He bites his lip. Did the pretty cost Will any courage? Or his earlier monologue that proved exactly how well he knew Mack, how well he paid attention? 

“C’mon,” Will says, “what is it?” 

Mack’s kind of glad he isn’t looking at Will right now. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he finally says. 

“Which one? You’re constantly yapping in my ear, dude. I mean, I try to keep up but you’re genuinely impossible sometimes, so.” 

More bravery, then, Mack thinks. 

“The last time we talked about you doing all the things I tell you, you said you didn’t think I’d want you to say no. That you thought I’d want to push for more and see that you’d still say yes.” 

It feels like bringing that conversation back up turns the moment into something precarious. That night in Mack’s own bed, they both said things they hadn’t admitted before. It’s safer to leave big things like that in the moments in which they came up rather than dragging them forth into the present, but Mack can’t help himself - he’s been racking his brain thinking about what Will could possibly have meant, and now his brain demands answers after all that heavy lifting. 

Mack swallows, then continues. “I wanted to know if you would still say yes if I asked for more. I still want to know.” 

For a long moment, Will says nothing. Then: “Why aren’t you asking, then?” 

“I am,” Mack says. He’s not feeling sleepy anymore, but he remains in the same half-lying position because it conveniently keeps Will’s eyes from looking right into him. “I’m asking you: Would you still say yes if I asked for more?” 

“No, Mack. Don’t ask me if I would if you did. Just do it. See what happens.” 

This has Mack pushing up after all, holding himself up on his elbow and looking at Will because he simply can’t figure Will out without seeing him. 

“You mean…” 

Mack doesn’t know what Will means, and he really doesn’t feel like guessing, so he just hopes that Will finishes his sentence for him. 

Will’s voice is so quiet that it’s barely audible with the movie still on in the background, but every fiber of Mack’s being is focused on it, so the words hit. 

“Ask me. For more.” 

Mack’s first thought, wildly, is kiss me, which is - holy shit. And why is Will looking at him like he can indeed still read every thought running through Mack’s nervous mind, like he doesn’t think they’re wild at all. 

“Like what?” Mack asks, because he still can’t bring himself to just say it. 

Will makes a sound and throws his head back against the headboard, sending a low thud through the air. He sighs. “Mack,” he says, and Mack wonders if his own name has always sounded like that coming out of Will’s mouth because if so, he should have listened better sooner. 

“Mack,” Will says again. It makes Mack feel something that is most accurately described as hungry. “I can pick movies for you, but you gotta pick me.”

Mack’s confused. In what world would he ever not pick Will. In what world would he pick anyone else over Will, or anything else over this? 

“Will,” Mack says, but he doesn’t know the words for the rest of it. 

Will’s head tilts back down, his eyes finding Mack’s. Mack can’t be sure how it happened, but they’re not very far apart now. The distance he thought kept him safe a few minutes ago is gone, which is both scary and exciting. 

“Why do you always stop here, Mack?” 

“Stop where?” 

“Where it gets real. You always tell me what to do. You always ask for stuff. Shit, most of the time you don’t even realize it. But right here is where you always stop. Why?”

Mack still doesn’t know that they’re both talking about the same thing, but they must be, right? Otherwise, Will wouldn’t be looking at him like that. 

“Because you were right,” he confesses. “I want to ask for more. And I want you to still say yes. I never want to ask for anything and hear you say no. I never want to feel like I’ve pushed too hard or taken things too far. But right here is where I don’t know anymore, okay? You can say no. You might.” 

“I might not,” Will says simply. 

Mack takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. There’s that saying about the glass being half full or half empty, and he likes to believe that he lives his life looking at the glass of life as half full. But he hasn’t been looking the same way at the things he wants from Will, has always stopped himself from giving into the desire where it crossed the boundary between what he already knew he could have and the place where he had something - someone - to lose. 

“I pick you,” Mack says, and then opens his eyes, searching Will’s face for a sign that tells him that he’s been reading the whole thing wrong, but there’s nothing - only Will’s blue eyes and the faintest smile stretching across his lips. 

“I like it when you pick the movie,” Mack continues, now encouraged to test the waters further. “I like it when you drive me around. I liked it when you thought I was sick and wanted to take care of me. Did take care of me. I know I wasn’t actually sick but you did make me feel better. I like knowing that you do things for me because you want to. I like all of it, and I like it because I like you.”

While Mack is speaking, the smile on Will’s face grows, but it stays something soft and toothless. 

“I like you too,” Will says. It sounds like a fact. Like he’s sure of it. Like he’s known all along. It makes Mack wonder exactly how long he’s taken to catch up with Will. He realizes that, judging by how long Will’s been doing this thing where he takes care of Mack’s every wish, it could be a long time. It’s possible that Will has liked him almost from the start. And then he thinks that it’s possible that Mack has liked Will almost from the start, too. 

Mack sighs and lets his head fall, lets it land on Will’s shoulder - Will’s solid, warm shoulder that is right there and doesn’t move away an inch when Mack makes contact. Instead, Will’s hand lands on the back of Mack’s head, effectively slowing the thoughts inside, because of course he can do that. 

“What if I’m too scared to ask for it?” Mack murmurs into Will’s shirt. 

“Why would you be scared, though?” Will asks back. 

“You know why.” 

Because you’re too important to risk it. 

Because you’re my best friend, and even though it shouldn’t be more important than the friendship, you’re also my teammate - my linemate - my other half -, and you know I’d never put your career - or mine - at risk. 

Because I’m already bad with social codes, but there aren’t even codes for this situation.

Because my whole life I’ve been prepared for an NHL career, and trusting you was even part of that, embracing and building our chemistry was even part of that, but nobody told me what to do if I found myself falling for you. 

“I mean, yeah,” Will says. He has to know. He has to think about these things, too. He has to be just as scared as Mack. In their position, it would be stupid to not be scared, and Will isn’t stupid. 

Will cards his hand through Mack’s hair like he did the last time they shared a bed. 

“But it’s me, though,” he whispers. “Like, yeah, I get it. But it’s me, you know?” 

Mack nods against Will’s shoulder. “And that means I shouldn’t be scared?” 

“Yeah,” Will says, “that’s exactly what that means.” 

None of it magically makes Mack unafraid, but he raises his head regardless, looks up at Will with his heart beating in his throat. There’s no going back now, he’s already said enough to let Will know what he feels - all plausible deniability is out of the window. 

Mack reaches out a hand and slowly puts it to the side of Will’s face. They’ve touched a million times or more, but never like this, never with this much intended tenderness. Will leans into his palm and Mack brushes his thumb over the stubble on Will’s cheek and the whole thing feels utterly, undeniably right. 

When Will smiles a soft, beautiful smile, the corner of his lips moves up. On the next downward stroke, Mack grazes it with the tip of his thumb. It’s barely a touch, and it’s over so quickly, and yet it feels momentous. Something inside Mack settles into place, and then he continues with a newfound understanding about himself: He doesn’t want to tell Will what to do. He doesn’t want Will to do things for him. He wants Will. 

Mack’s thumb reaches the edge of Will’s chin and then it moves back up. This time, when it meets the corner of Will’s mouth, it stays there. Mack looks at it, knowing that Will’s looking at him while his eyes are firmly on Will’s lips. 

“You should kiss me,” Mack says, because what has he been establishing this whole asking-Will-for-anything-he-wants-thing for if not this? 

Will’s lips part slightly as he leans in, closing the distance that has already shrunk to almost nothing. 

A millisecond before they touch, Mack pulls back, but just an inch. 

“You only do the things I tell you if you want them too, right?” Mack asks. 

It’s an objectively unnecessary question to ask, because Will would be insane to make their lives, careers, and their friendship infinitely more complicated by kissing Mack without really wanting to. Yet, Mack feels like he needs to hear this from Will. He can feel Will’s breath on his own lips as Will speaks. 

“I only do the things you tell me if I want them too. And I’ve wanted this for a long time.” 

Will waits a moment, almost as if he’s letting the words sink into Mack’s brain before he leans in again. This time, Mack doesn’t go anywhere - doesn’t want to go anywhere. 

Will’s lips are touching Mack’s lips and holy shit, they’re kissing, they’re kissing, they’re kissing, and it’s good, it’s good, it feels so good, Will is so good at this. 

Will still has his hand at the back of Mack’s head and Mack still has his hand cupped around Will’s face and they’re both holding each other like something precious. When Will pulls away he only does so to slightly adjust the angle, and then he’s kissing Mack again, and it somehow feels even better than the first time, which shouldn’t be possible, except Mack’s redefining his personal concept of what possible means tonight, apparently. 

Will’s kisses are soft and gentle, his lips meeting Mack’s with enough pressure to make him dizzy but not enough to make it seem like Will’s trying to get something from Mack. They settle into a rhythm that just works, and then Will pulls Mack half on top of him - Mack goes willingly, pliantly -, and Mack feels so nice all over. 

It’s just kissing, except it isn’t just kissing - there’s so much to enjoy about it. Mack takes note of how it feels best when they both tilt their heads a little to the left. He realizes that Will tends to aim for Mack’s bottom lip, catching it between his own, and how that mostly leaves Mack to kiss Will’s upper lip. Will’s chest is heaving and sinking underneath him, and Mack’s whole body is rising and sinking with it. Mack likes the way he can feel Will’s jaw moving beneath his touch, and he likes the way Will’s curls slip through the fingers of his other hand, feeling silky smooth and so unlike his own hair. 

What he likes the most is how he can make Will react to him. The faintest tug on Will’s hair makes him move his head a little. Slightly increased pressure of Mack’s lips makes him follow along, smushing their faces together until their noses are pressed flat against each other’s skin. Pulling back just slightly makes Will chase him with his lips, and if Mack takes it far enough, it makes Will use his hands to catch him and pull him back down as if every second their lips aren’t connected hurts somehow. 

Will Smith had been living with Type 1 diabetes since he was six years old. Twelve years later, he was in the NHL, rocking a Dexcom G7 on the back of his arm and a Tandem t:slim X2 insulin pump taped to his stomach.

He was damn good at managing it.

Most days his numbers stayed clean. But hockey players ran hard, burned through glucose like crazy, and sometimes life — or in this case, Macklin Celebrini — got in the way.

They were at Mack’s apartment again, which had slowly become their place. The lights were low, the bed was a mess, and they’d been going at it for almost twenty minutes.

Mack had Will on his back, legs spread and hooked over Mack’s shoulders. The pace was deep and steady, the kind of fucking that made Will forget everything else. Mack was in control like always, one hand braced beside Will’s head, the other gripping his thigh hard enough to leave marks. Every thrust dragged a broken sound out of Will’s throat.

“Fuck, Mack,” Will gasped, nails digging into Mack’s back. He was rock hard between them, leaking onto his own stomach. Mack leaned down and kissed him messily, hips snapping forward again.

“You feel so good,” Mack muttered against his mouth, voice low and rough. He shifted his angle slightly and hit that spot that made Will’s vision spark white. “Such a good boy for me.”

Will whimpered, back arching. He loved when Mack got possessive like this. He wasn’t a full submissive, but he loved handing over control in bed. Mack did it so well. Dominant without being cruel, steady even when Will got bratty and tried to rush him.

They’d started slow tonight. Neck kisses on the couch while watching YouTube on the TV had turned into grinding, which turned into Will on his knees blowing Mack, which turned into Mack bending him over the bed. Now they were in full swing, skin slapping, sweat building between them. Will’s pump site pulled slightly with every hard thrust, but he didn’t care. The pleasure was too sharp, too good.

Until it wasn’t.

It hit fast. One second Will was lost in the feeling of Mack stretching him open, the next his head felt fuzzy and his hands started tingling. His heart rate, already high from the sex, felt wrong now. Too fast. Too shaky.

“Mack,” Will gasped, voice breaking in a different way. “Mack — one sec. Please.”

Mack stilled instantly. No hesitation. He froze mid-thrust, buried deep inside Will, and pulled back just enough to look at his face. His expression shifted from pleasure to sharp concern in half a second.

“You okay?” Mack asked, voice tight. One hand came up to cup Will’s cheek.

Will swallowed hard. His arms felt heavy. “Think I’m low. Real low.”

“Fuck,” Mack breathed. He pulled out carefully, slow and gentle, even though Will could see how hard he still was. Mack rolled off him immediately and reached for the nightstand drawer where they kept Will's kit.

Will stayed on his back, breathing fast, trying not to panic. He hated this. He hated the sudden switch from feeling amazing to feeling like shit. His cock was still half-hard, twitching against his stomach, but the arousal was fading fast under the hypo.

Mack was back in seconds, glucometer in hand. He grabbed Will’s left hand, wiped the finger quickly with an alcohol swab, and pricked it without asking. Will barely felt the sting. Mack squeezed a drop of blood onto the strip and waited.

The meter beeped.

“Forty-four,” Mack said, voice calm but serious. “Okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He set the meter down and grabbed the tube of orange glucose tablets. He shook out five and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Will up gently so he was leaning against the headboard.

“Open,” Mack ordered softly.

Will parted his lips. Mack placed the first tablet on his tongue, then two more. Will chewed slowly, the sickly sweet artificial orange taste flooding his mouth. Mack watched him closely, one hand resting on Will’s bare thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles.

“You were doing so good,” Mack murmured. “Taking me so deep.”

“Sorry,” Will mumbled around the tablet.

“Don’t be sorry.” Mack fed him the fourth one, fingers lingering against Will’s lips. “Just breathe. Let it work.”

Will sucked lightly on Mack’s fingertips as he took the last tablet, more out of habit and comfort than anything sexual. Mack’s eyes darkened for a moment, but he stayed focused. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Will’s sweaty forehead.

They sat like that for a few minutes. Mack kept one hand on Will’s leg, the other occasionally checking the Dexcom app on Will’s phone. The room was quiet except for their breathing. Will’s cock had softened completely now, the earlier heat replaced by the foggy exhaustion of a low.

“Sixty-seven and rising,” Mack said after a while, relief clear in his voice. “You’re coming up.”

Will let out a long breath and slumped sideways into Mack’s chest. “I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Mack said firmly. He wrapped both arms around Will and pulled him closer, skin on skin. “Sex is great. You not having a seizure in my bed is better. Priorities, baby.”

Will huffed a tired laugh. “I’ve never seized from a low. Not once.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to test that theory while I’m inside you,” Mack replied, voice dry. He ran a hand up and down Will’s back, soothing the tension out of his muscles. “How do you feel now?”

“Gross. Sticky. Embarrassed.”

Mack chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “You’re not gross. You’re mine. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

They stayed wrapped up together for a long time. Mack eventually reached down and pulled the blanket over them, tucking Will against his side. Will’s head rested on Mack’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. The sexual energy had faded, but something warmer and deeper had replaced it.

“Remember when I told you about getting diagnosed?” Will asked quietly after a while.

“Yeah. You were six. Your mom cried in the hospital.”

Will nodded. “I don’t remember a lot, but I remember being afraid. Everyone was scared. Then I got older and realized if I wanted to really play hockey, I had to be better than everyone else at managing this. So I got good at it. Really good. But sometimes my body just… decides to tank anyway.”

Mack’s arms tightened around him. “You’re allowed to have bad days. Even during sex. Especially during sex. I’d rather stop a hundred times than risk you.”

Will tilted his head up to look at him. “You stopped so fast. Didn’t even hesitate.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Mack brushed damp hair off Will’s forehead. “You said stop. That’s all I need to hear. Ever.”

The words settled warm in Will’s chest. He shifted closer, throwing one leg over Mack’s thigh. Their bodies pressed together again, soft now, comforting instead of sexual. Mack was still half-hard, but he made no move to do anything about it.

“You can keep going if you want,” Will offered quietly. “Once I’m higher.”

Mack shook his head. “Not tonight. We’re done with that. I’m gonna make you some toast with peanut butter, you’re gonna drink some juice, and then we’re gonna watch something stupid until you feel normal again. Then maybe we can pick this up tomorrow when your numbers aren’t playing games.”

Will smiled against Mack’s skin. “You’re so bossy.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

Mack rolled them gently so he could get up. He pulled on a pair of boxers and tossed Will a clean pair of sweatpants. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

While Mack was in the kitchen, Will checked his Dexcom himself. Ninety-eight and steady. The glucose tabs were doing their job. He still felt a little shaky and tired, but the worst of the low had passed.

Mack returned a few minutes later with a plate of toast, a glass of orange juice, and a couple extra glucose tabs just in case. He set everything on the nightstand and climbed back into bed, pulling Will into his lap this time.

“Eat,” Mack said, holding a piece of toast to Will’s mouth.

Will took a bite, chewing slowly. Mack fed him patiently, one hand resting on Will’s lower back. The caretaker side of Mack always hit different after scenes like this. Dominant in bed, protective everywhere else.

“You know,” Will said between bites, “most guys would’ve been pissed about getting blue-balled by diabetes.”

“I’m not most guys.” Mack kissed his shoulder. “And I’m not getting blue-balled. I got to fuck my boyfriend for, like, thirty minutes and then got to take care of him. That’s a good night in my book.”

Will finished the toast and sipped the juice. His energy was slowly coming back. He leaned back against Mack’s chest, feeling warm and safe.

“Love you,” he said quietly.

“Love you too.” Mack nuzzled the side of his neck. “Even when you try to power through sex with a blood sugar of forty-four.”

Will laughed softly. “I wasn’t trying to power through. It just hit fast.”

“I know.” Mack rubbed his side. “Next time you feel even a little off, you tell me sooner. Promise?”

“Promise.”

They stayed like that for over an hour. Mack eventually turned on the TV, some dumb comedy special neither of them were really watching. Will stayed curled in his lap, occasionally stealing more sips of juice. His Dexcom climbed steadily into the safe range.

At one point, Will shifted and felt Mack’s cock twitch against his ass. He smirked.

“You’re still worked up.”

Mack shrugged. “Can’t help it. You’re hot. Even when you’re hypoglycemic and needy.”

“Rude,” Will said, but he was grinning. He turned around in Mack’s lap so they were facing each other and kissed him slowly. It wasn’t urgent or sexual like before, just warm and affectionate.

When they pulled apart, Mack rested their foreheads together. “Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “When you’re fully in range and we’ve done a proper pre-sex check. Then I’m fucking you properly."

“Deal,” Will whispered.

They ended up falling asleep like that — tangled together, half-dressed, the TV still playing quietly in the background. Will’s Dexcom stayed steady through the night. Mack woke up once to check on him, then pulled him closer and went back to sleep.

In the morning, Will woke up to Mack’s mouth on his neck again and a hand sliding down his stomach. His numbers were perfect.

“Round two?” Mack asked, voice still sleepy but full of promise.

Will grinned and pulled him closer.