Currently Mostly a Stonathan Blog

Lamplighters

A Stonathan Heated Rivalry AU

Rating: Explicit

Jonathan and Steve's secret fling gets complicated over the course of their professional hockey careers.

Read it on AO3

Excerpt under the cut:

Movement at the gate caused Jonathan to stop. He groaned when Harrington took to the ice.

“There’s no public skate today,” he informed Harrington as if the lack of people didn’t make it obvious.

“Which is why I booked the ice,” Harrington snipped back, sounding almost bored.

“When?”

“This morning.”

Jonathan frowned. He hadn’t seen anything on the schedule, but Flo might have not had time to update it. There was a lot involved with running a hockey camp that took precedent over a last-minute reservation.

“It’s my grandpa’s 80th,” Harrington continued conversationally as he approached, “and training was a good reason to get some time away from being asked about my future.”

“Okay.”

Jonathan started to make his way toward the gate. Harrington shifted to keep ahead of him, skating backward like he was covering an exceptionally slow opponent. Once he was in arms reach, he lightly shoved Jonathan’s shoulder.

“You’re it.” Harrington darted away before Jonathan could process what had happened. He circled at a safe distance with a rakish smirk.

“Did you just tag me?” Jonanthan asked in disbelief.

“Yep.” A spray of ice was sent toward Jonathan by Harrington’s blades as he came to an abrupt stop in front of him. “Why? Are you afraid you’re too slow to catch me?”

“Not unless you’ve gotten a lot better in the last year.”

The chirp slipped out, and Jonathan immediately braced himself for a biting retort or escalation that never came. Instead, Harrington’s smirk broke into a delighted smile that brightened his eyes. He laughed, and the warmth of the sound melted the tension that had started to tighten Jonathan’s jaw and bristle across his shoulders.

“Come and get me, then,” Harrington pressed, his smirk returning.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed, an anticipatory thrill coiling in his gut. “Easy.”

He charged forward, rapidly making up the distance between them. The worst that could happen was that he hurt Harrington’s ego enough that they got into a fight, which could be exactly the cathartic release he needed. His hand slapped Harrington’s shoulder as Bloc Party’s “Banquet” played over the speakers. He maintained his sprint for a few more strides before glancing over his shoulder. The glee on Harrington’s face as he took chase spread to Jonathan. He stopped abruptly and changed direction, biting back a laugh when Harrington scrambled to keep up.

After a series of tight turns and fast-paced laps, Harrington seemed to fall behind only to cut across the center of the ice. He caught Jonathan against the boards, his arms flexing as they took the impact since they weren’t in their gear. They were both breathing hard from pushing themselves and each inhale overwhelmed Jonathan with the musky odor of Harrington’s exertion. He hated that there was something enticing about the funk that made him want to taste it.

He looked up at Harrington and immediately regretted it. A mental snapshot of Harrington sweaty and playfully smug with his hair disheveled was added to an album Jonathan had unintentionally started.

“Shit, Byers,” Harrington panted. “How are you so fast?”

“Physics.”

Harrington chuckled, and Jonathan thought about smothering the sound with his lips. He quickly shoved Harrington away then headed for the gate instead. Harrington followed him, completely unbothered by being pushed away. He grabbed the orange Gatorade he’d stashed near the gate and took a seat on a bench by the sound system as Jonathan stopped the music.

“So, did you always dream of being drafted 35th,” Harrington asked as he unscrewed the cap of his Gatorade, “or was your number a coincidence?”

“Fuck off,” Jonathan muttered. He’d chosen 35 after the film gauge, which seemed pretentious in retrospect. Detroit already had the number on their roster, though, so he’d need a new one.

“At least you’ll be close,” Steve added.

He took a long drink of Gatorade, and Jonathan caught himself studying the way Harrington’s throat moved with each swallow. His tongue unconsciously wet his lips. Jonathan quickly looked away when he noticed Harrington watching him out of the corner of his eye. Fortunately, his beat up sneakers were under the far side of the bench, which gave him a reason to put distance between them before anything was said

As he untied his skate, the bottle tapped his arm. Jonathan glanced from it up to Harrington.

“I’m good.”

Harrington rolled his eyes, a lopsided smile pushing into his cheek. “You aren’t.”

Jonathan sighed. He wasn’t. His water bottle had, stupidly, been forgotten in his car, and he needed the hydration after pushing himself as hard as he had.

“Thanks.”

Jonathan: Harrington represents masculinity and hockey, which I have complicated feeling about, and this is just my subconcious doing some sort of Freudian processing after the draft–

“Hey, Will!”

Will stopped following the love-struck Mike and El to the entrance of the Roane Country Fair to turn back toward the car. His despondent expression didn’t fit the lively carnival behind him.

“I’ll be back at six,” Jonathan called. “Have fun, okay?”

“Okay.”

The apathy in Will’s response was worrying. Jonathan knew his brother had been dealing with a lot, but he used to come to talk about the things troubling him. Even when Jonathan’d been away for hockey, Will would call when he needed help. That hadn’t happened since Jonathan went to play for the University of Michigan after graduating from high school early, though a lot of that was probably his fault. He became distant after burning himself out by taking on a heavy course load in addition to the demands of playing hockey for one of the top teams in the NCAA.

Then, the NHL draft happened. The entire event had been an overwhelming spectacle accompanied by a gauntlet of social interactions. Hockey games were, as well, but play demanded enough of Jonathan’s attention that everything else became static. With no main focus, however, all he had been able to do was endure the onslaught while dreading the attention he’d get if picked. It had almost been a relief when the first round passed without his name being called. Eventually, he was drafted, ironically, 35th in the second round by the Detroit Fisher Cats since the team had traded their first round pick for two seconds. Hopper later disclosed to Jonathan the general manager, Sam Owens, told him that part of the strategy had involved a few closed-door conversations to ensure other teams weren’t going to take their dark horse pick.

By the end of the day, Jonathan’d been strung out. There was still dinner to get through, however, and his exhausted agitation led to him snapping at his mom to leave Will alone when she started fussing over him. Hopper intervened, provoking the snarling belligerence Lonnie had sown in Jonathan. He left the restaurant to restlessly pace the confines of his hotel room until finally heading down to the gym.

As he had tried to outrun a breakdown to Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ It’s Blitz! album on the treadmill, his thoughts strayed to Harrington. Jonathan had seen the video Bauer Hockey released that followed Harrington throughout the day he was drafted. Naturally, he was the charming, outgoing future star player Toronto drafted him to be in it. His jersey would probably be a top-seller if he hadn’t been injured.

What Jonathan had really kept going back to, however, was the last thing Harrington had said to him–

I look forward to it.

Jonathan pursed his lips and drove toward Palace Arena. Harrington had just been a convenient focus for his irritation. There were no consequences for disliking him, and he was a real prick on the ice. Jonathan should be grateful Detroit and Toronto were no longer in the same conference. He would only have to deal with Harrington’s chirps and aggression if their teams met in the playoffs, which hadn't happened in nearly twenty years.

Also bonus playlist because I've been trying to work songs into the fic as a 'soundtrack'

Prologue

Juniors

Juniors

A Stonathan Heated Rivalry AU

Rating: Explicit

Jonathan and Steve's secret fling gets complicated over the course of their professional hockey careers.

Read from the Start

Chapter 1 excerpt under the cut:

Light spilled into the dark room, threatening the print Jonathan was currently working on.

“Oh, no! No, no, no.” He turned toward the intrusion, heaving a defeated sigh when he saw Nancy shutting the door behind her. “Nancy.”

“Sorry,” she apologized. Her dismissive tone betrayed her lack of sincerity. “Steve was drafted second in the first round.”

“Good for him,” Jonathan grumbled to himself before turning around to assess the damage.

The photos he was printing were all from an impromptu shoot he did with his teammates at one of their last practices. He’d used the old Pentax K1000 he found at a garage sale a few years ago and shot in black and white film for the experience of developing it himself once back in Hawkins. He hadn’t been certain where he was going to do that, however, until Nancy got an internship at the Hawkins Post. The editor-in-chief had liked her idea of trading access to the dark room for an interview and printing rights.

“Second, Jonathan,” Nancy repeated with a bit more intent, “and Tom isn’t even interested in the story.”

“What story?” Jonathan genuinely asked. The print looked off, though probably not enough to be noticeable to anyone else. “Guy who visits in the summer gets drafted?”

Nancy huffed, but he could tell she was considering what the angle would actually be. Jonathan waited for her to either find it or turn her ire on him for not being on her side. He was, but sometimes her pride made that difficult. Her eyes scanned the drying prints strung around the room.

“We could do an interview when he’s in Hawkins," she suggested, “with exclusive photos. ‘Hawkins Produces Another Future NHL All-Star’.”

That was a good idea other than the fact Jonathan absolutely hated it. Harrington had invaded enough of his life. Every time he took to the ice in Belarus he wondered if Harrington had figured out how to watch, and got assurance from the steady, confident way Harrington had assumed Jonathan being on Team USA meant they would win gold.

They had. It was the first time Jonathan wanted to gloat, but he didn’t have Harrington’s number or socials and it was a bad idea, anyway.

“Who drafted him, anyway?” Jonathan asked to distract her as well as himself. He hung the print up to dry. His desire to contact Harrington wasn’t something he was eager to look into.

“Toronto.”

Jonathan held back a laugh. The Toronto Oaks were currently in a play-off drought that went back to the 2005 lockout, and they hadn't been particularly good before then since the sixties. That would be bad enough to go into without the expectations that came with playing for one of the Original Six. Their fans were intense, as were their critics.

“Didn’t you say they should trade that pick for a proven player back in September?” Jonathan teased. He smiled when she pressed against his arm.

“I stand by that statement. It would be better for them,” her playful tone matched his, “and Steve."

She kissed Jonathan–slow, and sweet, and off in the way her touch always was. It was still pleasant, just washed out.

Jonathan escaped the boisterous celebration of Team USA’s 5-3 win over Chicago as soon as his gear was packed up, going through a quick cool down before taking an even quicker shower. He then told his coach he was getting some air before ducking out a side door. Games always fully occupied his mind, drowning out his atonal, often dissonant thoughts like a stereo turned to max volume, and he needed a moment alone to recover. He took out his mp3 player and put in his earbuds. The grungy opening of Metric’s “Help I’m Alive” started playing, the steady beat that came in beneath the hypnotic synth helping to ground him after the intensity of the game. He closed his eyes, slumped back against the cold concrete, and drew in a deep breath.

The tarry, burnt stench of cigarette slammed him into high alert. Jonathan ripped his earbuds out and swung toward the scent, his heart hammering in his chest at the possibility of seeing his father.

Lonnie came to watch Jonathan play on occasion, which meant every game in the Great Lakes Region came with the threat of having to talk to him. That was especially true with Jonathan being eligible for the NHL draft this year. He planned to play in the NCAA to get a scholarship and more experience, but Lonnie was eager to convince him that would be a waste of time. He kept calling or messaging about it, and their deal meant Jonathan had to remain civil in addition to playing hockey as long as Will was a minor. The few times he hadn’t, Lonnie implied that not only would he quit paying child support, he would sue Joyce for custody or call child protective services.

Seeing Harrington standing by the door with a newly lit cigarette held between his fingers shifted Jonathan’s alarm into irritation. He glared at the other player as he exhaled a lazy stream of smoke.

“Isn’t there a designated smoking area?” Jonathan scowled. He stopped the mp3 player and tucked it into the safety of his pocket.

“Probably.” Harrington sauntered past Jonathan to lean against the wall beside him, completely unbothered by the challenge. He brought his cigarette back to his lips. “Are you going to tell on me?”

A few biting retorts were kept clenched between Jonathan’s teeth. He knew he should just go back inside, but he ceded too much of his life to give any of it to an asshole like Harrington. There was also nothing to be gained from starting a fight.

Harrington took another drag of his cigarette. Amusement glinted in his eyes as he blew the smoke out the curve of his smirk. Reluctantly, Jonathan noticed how attractive Harrington was with his thick, dark hair disheveled from being washed then left to dry naturally. The unkempt style softened his strong, classically handsome features. It was his expressive eyes and mouth that were truly captivating, though, and Jonathan caught himself cataloging the shots he would get if he had his camera.

Of course, Harrington’s looks were completely ruined by the fact he was an arrogant prick.

“You’re an amazing player,” Harrington commented after a few moments of smoking in silence.

“I know,” Jonathan replied. If Harrington was trying to get under his skin, he was going to have to do better than a backhanded compliment. He wouldn't be here if he wasn’t an amazing player.

“Seriously, man, after we played back in November, I asked my coach to show me some tapes of your games. The way you dangled that Russian player?” Harrington chuckled to himself and tapped his cigarette to ash it before taking another drag. “Fucking dirty.”

“Okay.”

Jonathan eyed Harrington as he waited for the follow up. Being a smaller player–both in height and muscle mass–caused Jonathan to rely on his ability to outsmart and outmaneuver his opponents. That tended to bruise egos more than any physical hit, leading to snarky chirps meant to diminish his skill, and it wouldn't be a surprise if Harrington hadn’t gotten all of his out on the ice.

“You’re going to play in Worlds again, right?” Harrington asked instead.

“Yeah.”

The IIHF World U18 Championship was in Belarus this year. It would be the first time Jonathan left North America since the previous year had been split between North Dakota and Minnesota. He played in British Columbia, Canada before that for the World U17 Hockey Challenge, which was at least international. Not that it mattered, since he doubted there would be time for him to see much beyond the arena and hotel.

“Another gold for the US, then. I’ll have to figure out how to watch,” Harrington said once it became clear Jonathan didn’t plan on adding anything else. “Are you going into the draft this year?”

“No.” Jonathan shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark, denim jacket.

“That makes sense.” Harrington nodded, seeming to leave a pause as bait that Jonathan had no intention of taking. He finally gave up. “College?”

“Yeah.” Jonathan decided to give Harrington at least the bare minimum, since he seemed intent on making small talk. “Michigan. Boston was another option, or Minnesota, but–” He shrugged. “Michigan is closer to Hawkins.”

“So this was probably the last time we’ll play each other.” Harrington took a last drag from his cigarette. The smoke rolled past his lips, and Jonathan found himself once again taking mental snapshots of the moment. “Shame.”

He flicked the remnants of his cigarette onto the pavement then started to head back inside.

“I’m still going into the NHL,” Jonathan called after him. He wasn’t certain what in Harrington's tone or words managed to hook him, but he couldn’t let him just walk away. It might've been the absurdity of the assumption. University of Michigan produced plenty of first round draft picks, and advancing to the NCAA was one of the USHL’s advantages.

He kept himself from suggesting Harrington would benefit from going into the NCAA himself to develop his awareness. He was almost as easy to fake out as the Russian player he laughed at. Of course there was still nothing to be gained from fighting, but that didn’t stop his desire to.

Harrington stopped at the door, turning to look at Jonathan. His gaze was suddenly heated as it traveled down Jonathan’s body before raising back up to his eyes. Jonathan’s pulse quickened. He thought of Harrington not letting his hand go on the ice after the first time they played, and started to defensively coil. Harrington’s head titled in consideration. He moved closer, making a snarl catch in Jonathan’s throat like a cornered animal. He tried to back away only to feel the cold, solid wall behind him.

“Are you?” Harrington asked casually once he was fully in Jonathan’s space.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

Harrington’s eyes flicked down to Jonathan’s lips. Something in Jonathan trembled in a way he blamed on reflexes conditioned to win faceoffs.

“I look forward to it,” Harrington stated with a smirk.

Will is actually a pretty good hockey player despite Joyce not letting him play because of how much he's practiced/played with Jonathan, Mike, and Lucas.

He has been planning out a comic to help process his trauma from being kidnapped about a boy surviving in an 'upside down' version of his hometown while being chased by monsters.

Dustin's dad grew up playing hockey and was part of a beer (amateur adult) league before he died when Dustin was twelve. Due to his CCD, however, Dustin was unable to play.

He lives outaide of Chicago and meets The Party at Camp Know Where.

1. A Stranger Things character for 3 things about them in this AU

2. A Heated Rivalry character for how/if they are being interpreted

3. A Heated Rivalry quote for a mini-script interpreting the scene it's from, or I'll write three lines

Jonathan: I played against Steve. He was kind of a dick.

Nancy: He’s just competitive.

Jonathan: That’s one word for it.

Nancy: He’s actually a really good guy.

Jonathan: Ok. Does that mean I have to like him?

Nancy: No. But he’s not like that off the ice.

Jonathan: Listen, don’t take it personally, ok? I don’t like most people. He’s in the vast majority. [read at 10:05 pm]