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senditcolton · 3 months ago

Text

...but you're going to

You're not saying your in love with me... I'm not saying, "do it anyway"...

summary: when a freshly heartbroken Cassandra Moore proposes going on a tropical vacation to an equally disappointed Leon Draisaitl, all she expects out of the trip is healing and some quality time with her best friend. but she quickly learns that the universe love to throw punches when you least expect them. song inspo: BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish and Cool by Dua Lipa word count: 10.7k warnings: fighting and some sexual innuendo written for @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange to @thewintersoldierdisaster with love ⛱️💛

When the oak door swings open, bringing Cassandra Moore face-to-face with star hockey player Leon Draisaitl, she can’t stop the smile that appears on her face. Even though her upturned lips are twinged with sadness – a sadness that is mirrored on Leon’s face.

“I brought consolation ice cream,” she says, holding up her canvas tote bag.

Leon doesn’t say anything, just leaves the door open for Cassandra to follow him into his house like she’s done a hundred times before.

“Why do our breakdowns always happen at the same time?” he questions.

“Maybe it’s the universe telling us that we’re meant for each other,” Cassandra jokes, waltzing into Leon’s kitchen and hopping up onto one of the bar stools lined against the counter. Her hands fish out the pint of ice cream while Leon reaches into one of the kitchen drawers before extending a spoon to her.

“I am sorry about the finals,” she says, her voice genuine. “Win or lose, we’re all really proud of you here in Edmonton.”

“Thanks Cassie. I would say sorry about your break-up but… I mean, I did tell you. He was an asshole.”

Cassandra just rolls her eyes, taking a heaping scoop of ice cream from the carton, shoveling it into her mouth before replying.

“You’ve said that about every guy I’ve dated,” she retorts. “Not sure if you’re the most impartial person here.”

“And yet, here you are in my kitchen, wallowing in pity and desserts… again,” Leon teases her back. “I’d say my judgement is pretty spot on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassie waves him off, taking another bite before shrugging. “He was kind of a dick though.”

The soft snorting chuckle falls from Leon’s lips, the sound making a smile appear on Cassandra’s face. Her best friend looks up, his eyebrows raised in an inquisitive look as he appraises her – blonde hair pulled up in a bun and her classic loungewear of a tank and sweatpants hanging on her frame.

“What caused it this time?” he asks, the words gentle – a tone that Cassie appreciates. This was one of the many reasons why she liked being friends with Leon; he expertly toed the line between distracting her and letting her talk out her emotions. She just sighs, taking another spoonful of ice cream before responding.

“Didn’t feel like I was being appreciated. Thought I gave a lot of time and effort but never really got much in return.”

“You deserve better.”

“Don’t I know it,” Cassandra laughs, her eyes darting back up towards her best friend. “I could say the same about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You know you can’t lie to me.”

Leon’s eyes lift to connect with hers and Cassandra can feel a small pang in her chest at the sight of the pain that she saw lingering deep in his irises. She just keeps him underneath her gentle gaze before he sighs, his own spoon diving into the ice cream carton.

“I really thought it was our year,” he mumbles, his own eyes downcast.

Cassie doesn’t reply – she wouldn’t really know what to say anyway. She just allows the silence to linger over them for a moment, letting the only noise being the hum of Leon’s air conditioning. She takes in the two of them, leaning against the cool marble island and drowning their sorrows with sugar.

“We’ve got to be the saddest sacks in all of Alberta, right now,” Cassie says, finally breaking the silence with a sarcastic laugh. Leon returns her words with a grin and a raising of his spoon.

“Cheers to us,” he replies, that dry humor that she had come to love ringing out around the kitchen. She laughs, raising her own spoon in a salute before they both take another bite.

The comfortable silence falls, enveloping them both. Cassandra twirls her spoon between her fingers, her mind wandering, eyes dancing over the cabinets before landing on Leon again. She takes in his appearance; his disheveled hair, the far-away look in his eyes. Her gaze flits across his body, counting the bruises that still litter his skin before returning to his face.

The weight of her stare must have been heavy enough for Leon to notice, his blue eyes lifting to meet hers.

“What?”

The question falls from his lips, simple and easy to answer or wave off. Yet Cassie finds the words stuck in her throat. There was a purpose to her visit – beyond the consolation treats and easy friendship. She just wasn’t sure how to bring up the insane request that she had stowed in the back of her mind.

“Hello? Earth to Cass.”

Leon’s voice pulls her out of her head, that gentle smirk playing on his lips. A smirk that she matches.

“I was just thinking… do you know what we need?” she asks, deciding in that split second to dive headfirst into the wild proposal that she was about to make.

“What’s that?”

“A vacation.”

“That’d be nice,” Leon laughs, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice as his hand moves to take another spoonful of ice cream. “Did you have anything in mind?”

It is clear to Cassandra that he is ready to make a joke of this, laughing at the wild – but obviously fictional – adventures that would fall from her lips: skydiving, bungee jumping, parasailing. Each suggestion more ridiculous than the last. That’s how it usually went. That’s how this conversation was supposed to go. But when Leon looks up and sees the pink tinge smattered across her cheekbones, his smile drops.

“Cassie…” he says, elongating her name as a cautious warning.

“Okay, just hear me out.”

“I don’t even know what you’re about to say.”

“That’s why you need to hear me out,” she retorts and Leon know that he has no rebuttal and lets her continue. “So, like a month ago, Tristan and I signed up for this cool trip to the Bahamas. Like, all expenses paid tropical excursion with a guided boat tour that includes snorkeling and swimming with the pigs.”

“Pigs?”

“Yeah, wild pigs that you can swim with. Anyway, the tickets we bought included a plus-one, something we didn’t realize until we had already purchased them. And we didn’t feel like going through the hassle of trying to get a refund so we thought that we would invite Stella and Dylan, sort of a double date. But now… I mean, you know what happened. And long story short, I have a ticket to the Bahamas and I can bring someone along with me so I was wondering if you would like to come.”

Cassandra’s ranting finally ends, the long-winded explanation reaching its conclusion, the silence falling once again. She keeps her eyes locked onto Leon, trying to read every miniscule expression that crosses his face and prepare for whatever reaction may come.

“So, let me get this straight,” Leon begins, finally speaking. “You’re asking me to go on a tropical vacation with you? One that you were planning on going on with your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Cassie retorts. She sees the exasperated look appear on Leon’s face and she knows exactly the thoughts that accompany that expression: that’s not the issue here. Cassandra just sighs, her chin falling into her open palm.

“Listen, I know it sounds crazy but I just… I just want something good to come out of those months I wasted with Tristan. Like, turning this trip that used to be for someone else into something for me. And, I just think it’d be nice to have a friend along for the ride.”

Cassandra lets Leon digest her words – both the proposal and her reasoning behind the invite. She simply looks on: watching as his gaze turns from her to stare into space, seeing his shoulders lift in a sigh, before his eyes turn back to her, a small grin playing at his lips.

“Sure, why not?”

“Wait. Really?”

“Cass, I’m accepting. Why are you questioning it?” Leon laughs, taking another bite of ice cream.

“Because it’s an insane idea and there’s no real reason for you to say yes to it?”

“And yet, here I am, saying yes,” he retorts. “You’re my best friend and I want to make you happy.”

The genuine tone that accompanies his words makes Cassie’s heart soften, a smile appearing on her face. A sigh whooshes through her, her entire posture relaxing into the kitchen chair.

“You really are great, you know that?” she says, grinning towards her best friend.

“I know,” Leon replies, his own body leaning back against the marble countertop. “Besides, I’d be stupid to pass up a free tropical vacation.”

His teasing words makes Cassie’s face twist into a playfully annoyed look, part of her tempted to throw a spoonful of ice cream at him to knock him down a peg. But that would be a shame. Not just because of the wasted ice cream but because that – that not so subtle cocky Leon – was her best friend coming back to being himself.

She wasn’t about to let him fade again.

~*~*~*~

If there was one thing that was true about any vacation it was this: the vacation itself was relaxing but the getting there was always stressful. Cassandra was not a fan of airports or planes or flying or anything of the sort. That was why she never moved from Edmonton, why her summers were spent at home or at her parent’s lake house – only a three-hour drive.

But throughout the trip from her home to her best friend’s house to the Edmonton airport to the Orlando airport to the Nassau airport to the hotel, she became even more thankful that she had Leon by her side. As a passenger of many flights, he kept her grounded even when they were thousands of feet in the air. He kept track of their bags – Cassie’s paranoia forcing him to check the airline tracker to make sure they were, in fact, on the plane with them – and guided her through the unfamiliar airport to their connecting flight. He even helped calm her down during the brief turbulence they experienced.

It wasn’t until they landed safely in the Bahamas and their taxi arrived at the hotel – with all their bags in tow – did Cassie truly relax, collapsing onto the hotel’s soft white sheets as soon as the door opened.

“Cassie.”

Leon’s voice cuts through the evening silence, a little sharper than Cassandra was used to but she immediately chalks his tone up to fatigue and stress from their busy travel day. She doesn’t even bother to respond, only uttering a small hum that was partially muffled by the sheets.

“Is there something you forgot to tell me?”

“Like what?” she mumbles, finally turning around from her starfish position to stare at Leon, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Like the fact that there is only one bed in this suite.”

It takes a minute for his words to sink in but when they finally register in Cassie’s brain, the shock of them feels like a splash of ice-cold water hitting her. Her body jolts upright, her blonde hair whipping around to see that he was indeed correct – the only bed to be found in their hotel room was the one that Cassie was currently sitting on.

“Oh, shit,” she mumbles, turning her sheepish gaze back to Leon. “Must’ve slipped my mind?”

Leon doesn’t give a verbal reply, just a sigh, punctuated by his arms crossing in front of him. An action that immediately makes Cassandra slip into the defensive.

“Well, I mean it makes sense,” she explains. “The voucher includes a plus one and it was advertised as a ‘romantic getaway’ so the assumption is that if you were buying a ticket, you were most likely sleeping together anyway.”

Her words bring a wry chuckle from Leon, one eyebrow raising in amusement. It takes a minute for Cassie to realize the connotation of her words, her eyes growing wide with embarrassment.

“I mean, sharing a bed,” Cassie says, the low lamplight doing nothing to hide the blush that floods her cheeks. Not that she ever saw Leon in that light… obviously.

“Well then, I guess for this trip we’re sleeping together,” Leon teases, although his quiet assertion – no matter how joking – making the flush on Cassie’s face deepen to an even redder scarlet. Her best friend just laughs, plopping down next to her on the mattress.

“You know you’re really cute when you blush.”

“Shut up Leon,” she mutters, jostling him with her shoulder, trying to diffuse the weird but most likely imagined tension between them.

“No, I mean it,” he continues to joke. “Maybe I’ll hide your sunscreen so your cheeks can stay pink.”

“If you hide my sunscreen, I will murder you.”

“On our romantic getaway? Not very loving of you.”

“Leon, I swear if you don’t stop talking, I will accidentally kick you on purpose the entire night,” Cassandra chirps, the harshness of her words diffused by the giggle that seeps through.

“Then I will loudly snore throughout the night so neither of us get any sleep,” he quips right back at her. His light-hearted teasing lessens the surprise of sharing a bed with her best friend, something that Cassie appreciates as she laughs, lifting herself off the mattress.

“So, we’re just planning on ruining this vacation for each other?” she jokes, rummaging through her suitcase for her pajamas and toiletries.

“Looks like it.”

“Then why did I even invite you?”

Leon’s only reply is a shrug as he kicks off his shoes and tosses his legs up onto the bed, his body leaning back against the headboard, his arms resting behind his head. Cassandra gives one last laugh before disappearing into the bathroom to go through her nighttime routine, silently grateful for how comfortable he is with the whole situation, glad he didn’t make a fuss over their newfound sleeping arrangements.

By the time she gets back, Leon is already in his loungewear, relaxing beneath the sheets with his phone in his hand. Cassie tries to remain as casual as he seems to be as she climbs into the other side of the bed, getting comfortable before reaching over and turning off the bedside lamp. Leon soon follows her actions, placing his phone down and clicking the switch, plunging the room into darkness.

“Night Cassie.”

“Goodnight,” she replies, nestling herself deeper into the covers. She is about to close her eyes and drift off when a thought dawns on her. Cassie turns towards Leon, her voice calling out.

“Hey, Leon.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t actually snore, do you?”

The first sound that hits her eardrums is Leon’s soft chuckle, her heart softening at the noise before his mischievous reply comes.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

~*~*~*~

The tropical sunlight filters through the windows, hitting Cassandra’s eyes and forcing them to open. However, they quickly shut again because of the blinding light, her body nestling into the sheets to try and block out the sun. Only when she could tell from behind her eyelids that she was in a shaded spot did her eyes flutter open. And she came face to face with a sleeping Leon.

The heart that she thought was still in the process of healing did a strange little skip in her chest at the sight of her best friend – how his brown hair looked even brighter in the morning light, how the crease that seemed to have a permanent place between his eyebrows had disappeared, and how peaceful he looked.

It was refreshing to see him so at ease, something she only saw in fleeting moments – moments that got even rarer when hockey season started up. Maybe it was a good thing that she invited him. Perhaps this trip could be as restorative for him as it was for her.

The sharp blare of a phone alarm rings out, breaking through the silence and causing Leon to stir, a soft moan leaving him. Cassie’s eyes snap shut immediately, although her brain chides her at the ridiculousness of her actions. It was Leon – he may have relentlessly teased her if he woke up with her eyes glued to him but he wasn’t going to make it weird. But still, Cassandra keeps her eyes closed until the alarm was quieted and Leon’s warm palm was gently pressing against her shoulder.

“Cass, wake up,” he says, his voice raspy from hours of disuse. She makes a show of groaning and turning before she lets herself ‘awake’, her body lifting in a stretch.

“What time is it?”

“9 am. So, it still feels like 7am our time.”

“Ugh, why are we up so early?”

“I have no clue, Cassie. You’re the one that set the alarm,” Leon laughs, tossing the blanket off of his body and inadvertently – or perhaps entirely on purpose – throwing it over Cassie’s head. She lets out a playful huff as she uncovers herself, her blonde hair sticking up in an even worse bedhead than before. Leon just smiles at her from his crouched position on the floor, his hands unzipping his suitcase.

“Oh!” she says, the realization dawning on her, infecting her voice with joy, and giving her a zip of energy to jump out of bed and run towards her own suitcase. “The boat tour is today!”

“The day after we arrive?”

“That was the original plan,” Cassie explains, grabbing her swimsuit and clothes. “Tristan and I thought it would be better to do the most agenda heavy event first then we could spend the next five days relaxing and doing whatever.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Leon sighs, the morning weariness still evident in his body.

“Don’t forget your swimsuit!” Cassie cheers, almost oblivious to Leon’s exhaustion, her own excitement moving through her like a shot of espresso as she flies into the bathroom. The click of the deadbolt covers Leon’s amused chuckle, her energy giving him a much-needed boost as well.

After shimmying into her bikini, throwing her loose white sundress over top, and clipping her hair up with her blue flower claw-clip, she walks out of the bathroom, finding Leon dressed and lounging in one of the armchairs.

“Ready to go?” she asks, throwing a few items into her round rattan purse before she slips on her sandals, fully turning to Leon. He lifts himself up, placing his phone into his back pocket.

“Ready whenever you are.”

Cassie just shoots him a bright smile, leading him out of the hotel room. The two of them depart, Cassandra’s preparation giving them enough time to walk down to the Margaritaville restaurant for their pickup instead of having to hail a cab. There isn’t a large number of sights to take in, most of Paradise Island taken up by the sprawling resort, but it is nice to relax. To take a moment and fully awaken before their planned adventures. They soon spy the restaurant with a small crowd of people standing outside, and they eventually make their way up, taking their place among the group.

“Hey, I’m going to see if the restaurant has any coffee. Do you want one?” Leon asks.

“That’d be great, thank you. Cream and sugar please,” she replies. Leon shoots her a wink, an action that Cassie responds to with a small smack on his bicep before he disappears through the doors, leaving Cassandra alone among the crowd. She makes polite small talk with the people around her, staring out towards the crystal blue of the ocean, a sigh escaping her chest.

This was going to be a great week – she was determined to make it so.

The light screech of a car’s breaks startles Cassie out of her reverie, her eyes turning towards the noise before landing on the taxi cab that just arrived. She watches as beautiful brunette steps out, looking like the epitome of an Instagram model, the sunglasses perched on her nose only highlighting the sharpness of her jaw and lift of her cheekbones. Cassie just watches in awe, wondering who this person was when she spies the brunette’s companion step out from the other side.

And the sight makes her heart drop.

No. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This was her trip, her idea, something he only expressed a fleeting interest in. Which is why she never in a million years expected him to show up after things ended between them.

But there was Tristan, walking around the cab and taking the arm of the stunning brunette in his.

“Here you go.”

The gentle press of someone’s knuckles against her bicep startles Cassie, her body jumping and spinning, her eyes now connecting to a very confused Leon.

“What? What is it?” he asks, immediately clocking the distraught emotions so clearly painted on her face. Cassie watches as his eyes flick around, looking for the source of his best friend’s distress. It isn’t until his gaze lands on Tristan, clearly recognizing him from the few nights he tagged along with Cass to post-game celebrations, does his expression harden, a quiet curse falling from his lips.

“He’s not supposed to be here,” she says, voicing her racing thoughts, the anxiety in her words forcing Leon’s eyes to return to her. “I – I didn’t think he’d come. And who the fuck is that girl? What the hell is happening?”

The words are coming faster than Cassandra can control them, her breathing becoming staccato, any previous joy zapped from her. It is the gentle touch of fingers against her own, her eyes jumping down to see Leon’s hand wrapping around hers, that grounds her.

“Hey,” Leon says gently, “look at me.” The quiet demand immediately makes her obey, her blue eyes meeting his steely grey ones. “Breathe.” Cassandra copies the rise of his chest, her breath slowing as he keeps his gaze locked to her. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How? This trip was supposed to be a way to get over my ex-boyfriend. Hard to do that when he’s less than three feet away.”

“I know. But are you going to let him ruin more of your life than he already has?”

The quiet determination in his voice makes her pause, her head tilting slightly. He was right, like he usually was. Tristan had already ruined six months of her year; she wasn’t about to let him ruin another six days.

“You’re right,” she sighs, her hand dropping from Leon’s. She shakes her body, trying to release any lingering anxiety from her muscles before picking up one of the disposable coffee cups Leon had set on a nearby bench. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he laughs, mirroring her movements. “Now calm down and drink your coffee.”

“Aye, aye Captain,” she quips back at him with a giggle. However, she can’t stop her eyes from wandering back towards where Tristan stood and silently curses when her gaze locks with his. His face is unreadable, his own eyes bouncing between her and Leon.

Perhaps it was petty, impulsive even, but Cassandra didn’t give herself enough time to talk herself out of it. Instead, she just let herself reach out to grasp Leon’s hand in hers again.

It is obvious that Tristan notices the action and she can see his nose subtly upturn at the sight. His reaction makes a small thrill run through her before her eyes tear from her ex to her current companion, looking down at her with a question in his eyes. All Cassandra does is mutter a small thank you before leaning her head against Leon’s shoulder. She doesn’t catch the small smile that tugs at her best friend’s lips, can’t hear his quickened heartbeat, but she does feel the small kiss that he presses into the crown of her head, his only reply a muffled ‘of course’.

It only takes a few minutes longer – minutes that Cassie spends trying not to focus on Tristain and his… travel companion – before the boat turns up, a few other guests already onboard. Leon is a complete gentleman, hopping on the boat first before extending a hand to Cassandra to help her climb aboard. The two of them settle down on one of the bench seats as the boat takes off, gliding over the pristine waters towards the first stop on the itinerary; an itinerary that Cassie doesn’t realize Leon didn’t know until his elbow is nudging hers.

“So, what’s all included in this excursion? Besides the pigs, of course.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cassie laughs, shaking her head at her own lapse. “First, we’re going to Atoll Island where we can snorkel for a good amount of time. Then we’ll pass through Green Cay – we aren’t getting in the water there but you can apparently see a whole bunch of marine life from the boat. And finally, Rose Island. That’s where the piggies are. Plus, there’ll be a bunch other things to do like beach games, drinks, etcetera. And then it’s just back to the resort.”

“Sounds good,” Leon replies, leaning back in the seat.

“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you all of this. I should’ve since it’s technically your vacation now too.”

“Cass, I’m just here to support you. You can drag me along wherever and I’ll be happy.”

“You seem very chill about all of this,” Cassie laughs, shaking her head at her best friend’s laissez affair attitude. “What happened to the super serious intense hockey player that I know?”

“He thankfully disappears when faced with a tropical vacation.”

“Shame. I really liked him,” Cassie muses, taking a sip out of her water bottle, watching Leon from the corner of her eye. She sees his eyebrows raise, a bemused smirk appearing on his face. “But,” she continues with a playful sigh, “I suppose I could come to like this version of Leon Draisaitl.”

“You’re one of the only people who gets to see him,” Leon says, his voice soft but heavy with the weight of a genuine confession – a seriousness that Cassandra notices. She doesn’t hesitate to reach for his hand again, intertwining her fingers in his.

The boat continues its path across the ocean, bouncing gently over the soft waves before it slows to a stop about 300 feet off the coast of Atoll Island; or at least that’s what Cassie was told. After giving a brief run-down of snorkeling safety and the wildlife they might see, their guide hands out gear to each of the guests, telling them to enjoy their time in the ocean. Cassie excitedly hops up, spinning to direct her beaming smile towards Leon who grins back at her.

“Ready?” she asks him.

“As I’ll ever be,” comes his easy reply.

Leon lifts himself off the bench seat, kicking off his flip-flops. He removes his baseball cap to easily pull his t-shirt over his head, leaving him in his board shorts. And although Leon is just her friend and she has seen him shirtless before, it’s difficult to not let her eyes rove over his newly exposed chest and the cut of his muscles. It feels warranted though: Leon was a professional athlete – of course his body was fantastic. Plus, it was easy to forget how well-built he was when his body was often hidden underneath layers of hockey gear. So, Cassie doesn’t fight it and just lets her eyes rake over Leon.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he chirps, the quip startling her out of her ogling. The blush rises to her cheeks when she sees the knowing look in Leon’s eyes, his gaze teasing before it bounces down to her long white sundress, one brow raised in a playful challenge.

Cassie doesn’t bother giving a verbal reply – granted she doesn’t think she could without embarrassing herself further. Instead, she just rolls her eyes as she removes her purse from her shoulder, setting it down on the chair. She kicks off her sandals, pushing them underneath the seat before her hands reach up to the bows resting on her shoulders.

She doesn’t mean to make the action hold any more weight than it should, intending for it to just be a playful moment with her best friend. But when her eyes meet Leon’s as her fingers unravel the ties on her dress, the fabric falling from her frame and exposing her bikini-clad body, she can’t help but notice the skip of her heart as she watches Leon’s gaze rake down her silhouette.

“Is,” Leon says, his voice faltering slightly. He clears his throat before resuming his question. “Is that new?”

“The swimsuit? Yeah, I bought it special for the trip,” Cassie replies, forcing her voice to remain casual to shrug off the tension that had once again risen between them.

“For the trip? So, for… you know who?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Cassandra sighs, her eyes rolling before they turn to survey the deck and land on Tristan. He isn’t looking in her direction, too caught up in putting his snorkeling gear on. Cassie’s eyes return to Leon, a devious smirk on her lips. “But now, it’s for me.”

“His loss,” Leon says, the words falling from his lips with a speed that somewhat startles Cassie. “You look great.”

His words bring the blush back to Cassie’s cheeks in full force, her head ducking down with a newfound bashfulness.

“Thanks,” she mutters, reaching for her goggles, taking them in her hand before returning her eyes to Leon’s. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Leon just laughs before placing his own goggle over his eyes. Cassandra follows his actions and takes his hand as they both walk towards the swim platform. One last adjustment of their gear and a grin are shared before they both jump into the aquamarine water.

It is easy for Cassandra to let all troubling thoughts disappear as she swims through the ocean, her eyes taking in the fish fliting around the coral reefs, pointing out starfish and sea urchins to Leon, the smile on her face clear even around the snorkel pressed against her mouth. Occasionally, Leon drifts away from her – to explore the ocean on his own, Cassie assumes. However, that assumption is proved partially incorrect when she turns her face towards him to point out the sea turtle swimming by and sees him aiming his phone in her direction, snapping a picture. The smile appears on her face again as she playfully throwing up a pair of peace signs and posing for him.

They spend almost all their allotted time in the sea, taking in the sights before they are called back onto the boat. Leon once again helps pull her aboard and even wraps the complimentary towel around her frame before grabbing one of his own. The two of them return to their seats, handing back the snorkeling gear to their guide.

“Thank you for taking pictures,” Cassandra says as she rings out her hair. “Out of everything I planned, I somehow forgot to include a waterproof phone case.”

“I figured you’d want some proof of this whole trip – something to look back on.”

“You’re right.”

“Like always,” Leon tacks on to her statement, making her laugh at his cocky confidence.

“Well, I don’t know if I would say that,” she teases, knocking her shoulder against his. “Will you send those pics to me?”

“I will. But maybe later. Let’s just enjoy the rest of today.”

Cassie nods in agreement, looking back over the horizon. Eventually, the guide announces their arrival in Green Cay, telling the guests to be on the lookout for some wildlife including sharks and sea turtles. Cassie and Leon stare into the blue waters, each of them pointing out the creatures that they did see swim by, arms pressed against each other on the railing. The boat cruises through the bay and in the distance, Cassandra can see an island growing larger as they approach. Her excitement raises higher, knowing that they were almost to Rose Island and to the swimming pigs – the part of the entire trip that she was most excited for.

The boat finally docks on the shore, the guests filing off and walking across the white sand beach. Cassie’s hands wrap around Leon’s bicep, her whole body bouncing when she sees the animals walking in the tide. Leon just smiles down at her, her own joy infectious. Their tour guide once again gives a quick explanation before handing each of them food for the pigs and leaving them to enjoy their time.

“Here, Cass,” Leon says, handing her is portion of food.

“You don’t want to come?” she asks, her blue eyes wide as she looks up to him.

“I’ll hang around but… I’m just not sure about the whole thing.”

Cassie can see the hesitation on his face, understanding the uncertainty. She doesn’t push him, instead letting him stand on the shoreline as she wades out into the water.

She stops when the water reaches her mid-thighs, turning to face the beach, her eyes connecting with Leon still standing on the sand. Cassie sends him a quick wave, one which he returns before her eyes drop down to see the pink, brown, and black mottled bodies of the pigs swimming out towards her. The smile on her face grows impossibly wider as she holds out her hand, letting the snout of the first pig that arrives nuzzle against the skin, munching on the food she offered. The animals swim around her, their snorts and squeals filling the air, making her laugh.

The food quickly vanishes from her hand, only a small amount remaining as her eyes lift to lock with Leon’s frame again. He is chatting with another guest but he must feel the weight of her stare because his gaze returns to hers. She smiles at him before her hand extends, beckoning him towards her. Cassie can see him hesitate again but there must be something in her smile or her ease that makes him push through any lingering fear as he wades out to meet her.

Cassandra doesn’t say anything, even once he reaches her. She just grabs his hand, gently pouring the remaining pig feed into his palm. She keeps his wrist in her grip, guiding his hand down towards the water. With her silent instruction, he holds his hand out towards the closest pig, letting the animal take the food from him. A small laugh falls from Leon as the pig eats from his hand, Cassie reaching out to pet the animal, the damp coarse hair gliding under her palm. Leon matches her movements, petting the pig himself as his face turns towards her, a smile on his lips.

“There’s a place where you can hold a piglet as well, if you want to,” she explains to him, the joyful lilt of her voice clear.

“Well then,” Leon replies, his tone mirroring hers. “What are we waiting for?”

They both eagerly wade back to the beach, occasionally stopping to pet some of the other pigs that swam by, before exiting the water and making their way towards the piglets. Cassandra’s heart immediately softens when she sees the tiny creature, before her heart soars as the animals is placed in her arms. She coos, the immediate baby-talk falling from her mouth as she holds the piglet, her fingers brushing over its softer skin. Cassie lifts her head up towards Leon only to see him lower his phone, surely taking another photo. There is no faking the smile on her face as Leon snaps the pic, his own grin obvious from behind the phone screen.

There is now no hesitance from Leon when Cassandra gently offers the piglet to him, his hands eagerly reaching out to take the animal from her. If Cassie thought her heart was soaring when the piglet was in her arms, it was doing somersaults when she saw the baby in Leon’s hands, looking even tinier against his body. It takes a few minutes for Cassie to snap out of her reverie before walking to him with a smile on her face. She reaches out towards Leon’s board shorts, her fingers touching the material causing Leon to startle.

“Your phone. For pictures. You deserve some too, you know?” she explains, a soft laugh on her lips as she glances towards the piglet softly snorting in his arms. “Besides, you have your hands full.”

Leon chuckles in resignation, knowing that there is no argument against her logic. Instead, he just turns his hip closer to her, allowing Cassie to slip her hand into his pocket to fish out his phone. She clicks the small camera icon before stepping back and snapping a few pictures.

They return the piglet to its home before they walk back towards the beach bar where most of the other guests linger. After sanitizing their hands and grabbing a few drinks, they find a vacant pair of lounge chairs and sit down. Leon takes out his phone and opens his camera roll, Cassie leaning over as Leon swipes through the pictures, every one almost perfectly framed despite being almost entirely candid.

“You know, you would be a really good Instagram boyfriend one day,” she teases as he continues to scroll through the album.

“How’d you guess my retirement plan?” he laughs, a grin shot in her direction. She giggles with him before taking a sip of her cocktail, resting back against the lounge chair, her eyes looking out over the ocean.

“Hey, Leon? You coming?”

Cassie turns to the sound of the voice addressing her best friend to see the guest that Leon was talking to earlier standing nearby, a volleyball under his arm.

“Be right there,” Leon replies, the man walking away before Leon turns to Cassandra. “He invited me to be a part of their team in beach volleyball,” he explains with a shrug.

“Should’ve known that the athlete couldn’t be taken out of you entirely,” she chirps before playfully shooing him away with a wave of her hand. He shoots her a small departing smile as he gets up and jogs over towards the court. Cassie returns to her relaxed position, letting the sun warm her skin as she breathes in the salt air.

“Is this seat taken?” a feminine voice asks.

Cassandra opens her eyes and it takes everything in her power not to startle when she sees the brunette – the one that was accompanying Tristan – standing in front of her. Thankfully, her shock isn’t noticed by the girl, allowing Cassie to compose herself before gesturing to the vacant chair next to her.

“It’s all yours. Leon is currently playing volleyball so he won’t be using it anytime soon,” she explains, her light-hearted tease causing the brunette to laugh as well as she sits down.

“Boys. Always finding a way to show-off, right?” the woman teases. “I’m Chloe, by the way.”

“Cassandra.”

Cassie’s eyes stay glued onto Chloe’s face, waiting for a reaction to the name, waiting for an acknowledgement of who she is and who she used to be to Tristan. But there is none, just a compliment on her ‘cool’ name as Chloe lounges back on the chair. Cassie lets herself relax, even though Chloe’s reaction – or lack thereof – leaves her mind reeling. It is a moment of silence before Cassie speaks again.

“I think I saw you arrive outside of the restaurant before we left. Quite an entrance.”

“Oh my god,” Chloe laughs, turning her body towards Cassandra. “I will let you know that it was 100% not part of the plan. Nor what I usually like to do. But my boyfriend, Tristan, completely spaced on what was on today’s agenda so when we did figure it out, we had to speed to the restaurant or we would’ve missed this whole excursion.”

“Jeez,” Cassie says. “Good thing you made it.”

“Good thing I asked Tristan,” Chloe teases. “I swear. This man surprised me with these tickets to celebrate our six-month anniversary but it honestly seems like he has no idea what he himself planned out.”

If they were anywhere else and if Chloe had been one of Cassandra’s close friends, she knows they would share a laugh over the idiocy of her ex-boyfriend, lamenting over his disorganization and ineptitude. But now, the only words that caught Cassie’s attention were ‘six-month anniversary.’

Tristan and her broke up a month ago. The latest that he could’ve ‘surprised’ Chloe with the tickets was at least a week before today. But no matter what the minute details were, the math all pointed towards one thing: Tristan had been cheating on her. For months.

“Well, men are hopeless,” Cassie replies, trying not to let the anger bubbling within her seep into her words.

“Tell me about it,” Chloe laughs. “But you look like you managed to snag a pretty good one. I saw him standing on the beach, taking pictures of you with the pigs. How long have the two of you been dating?”

“Me and Leon?” Cassie asks, both Chloe’s praise and assumption about their relationship catching her off-guard. Chloe simply nods, her brown eyes bright and eager. Her excitement makes that petty part of Cassie trill again and even though she knows that she shouldn’t, she decides not to correct Chloe. “We’ve known each other for years now. One of my friends was – well, still is – dating one of his friends. That’s how we met. And the rest, like they say, is history.”

“Oh, that’s so cute. I just met Tristan through a dating app. Very romantic, I know.”

“Hey, whatever works right?” Cassie replies, every additional information Chloe innocently shares acting like a dagger piercing her deeper.

It was a blessing in disguise when Cassandra sees Leon jogging up towards her, thankful for the interruption before her façade cracked. Chloe follows her eyeline, noticing Leon as well and she excuses herself, walking back towards the beach bar. Leon glances in the direction of Chloe’s departure before turning back to Cassie with a questioning look on his face.

“Tristan’s?”

“Her name is Chloe,” Cassie chides. “She actually seems pretty nice. But Tristan is a bigger piece of shit than I ever could’ve imagined,” she continues on, her words growing angrier with every passing syllable. She notices Leon’s eyes widening at her fury and sits down in the chair next to her, his body leaning towards her, a silent invitation for her to continue.

“He met her on a dating app… while he was still with me. This trip was a surprise for Chloe to celebrate their six-month anniversary.”

The silence falls between them, Leon doing the math as easily as she did only moments ago and Cassie sees that scowl appear on his face. She doesn’t say anything else, not even sure if there was anything left to say, instead letting a sigh woosh out of her as she collapses back onto the lounge chair, turning her attention back to the waves.

“Do you want me to kick his ass for you?”

Cassandra’s head whips towards him, her look of resignation transforming to one of shock at her best friend’s words. Leon’s face remains impassive, his words still hanging between them.

“What?”

“Do you want me to kick his ass?” Leon asks, pausing to let a small grin appear on his face before he continues. “In beach volleyball, I mean. I think his team is playing against mine next.”

There is no stopping the cackle of laughter that falls from Cassandra at Leon’s statement, her head shaking at her friend’s joke. Leon’s own grin widens, happy to hear her laugh again. Cassie looks back at him, her blue eyes soft.

“Would you?”

“Anything for you,” he replies, lifting himself off his chair before holding out his hand. “Want to come cheer me on?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cassandra says, grabbing Leon’s hand and letting him pull her towards the court.

It’s hard not to notice Tristan’s eyes locked on her and Leon as they arrive, but Cassie finds that she doesn’t care. He didn’t have the right to be angry; this was her trip and now, she was absolutely not about to let her cheating scumbag of an ex ruin it. She wishes Leon a quick good luck before she finds a vacant chair. She ends up sitting next to a group of other guests and attempts to engage in small talk. However, it’s almost impossible to keep her focus when Leon is playing.

Once again, her brain chides her at being so awe-struck by her best friend. Cassandra knew he was attractive – hell, she couldn’t recall a night she went out with the team where he hadn’t been hit on. But now, for some reason, the revelation was hitting Cassie like a ton of bricks. Leon Draisaitl was hot: the way the golden sun bounced off his skin, the sharp lines of his muscles, how his body moved with the precise athleticism that he had perfected through years of training, the sound of his laughter floating in the ocean breeze.

The sound of cheering and applause snaps Cassie back to the present moment, her eyes refocusing on Leon and the three guys he was playing with coming together in a group celebration. And Cassie realizes that Leon did exactly what he promised he would: he beat the crap out of her ex at beach volleyball.

She cheers with the rest of the guests, watching as Leon’s team moves to shake hands with the others. It is good-hearted until Leon meets Tristan in the center. Cassie watches as Tristan looks towards her and then back to Leon before rebuffing Leon’s outstretched hand, sportsmanship apparently meaning little to him. Leon just shrugs, looking towards her with an incredulous look on his face, an expression that screams ‘can you believe that?’ before he jogs back over to Cassie.

Her next actions are entirely impulsive as she practically leaps onto him, engulfing him in a potentially overzealous hug. But if Leon was surprised, he doesn’t show it, wrapping his arms around her and even spinning her a few times, their laughter combining before setting her back down onto the white sand.

“You won!” she cheers.

“I told you I would.”

The rest of the afternoon is filled with more downed cocktails, more games played, and more conversations had before their guide is calling them back to the boat. Cassie and Leon find their seats, sitting down as they begin their journey back to their resort. The sun is low in the sky, painting the clouds in a beautiful array of oranges and pinks. Cassie leans against Leon, staring out towards the horizon, a contented sigh running through her. It’s instinctive how Leon wraps his arms around her, pulling her tighter against his chest, holding her close.

“Thank you,” Cassie says, her voice gentle. She looks back towards him, a blissful smile on her face. “For everything. Coming with me, being so chill about everything, making me laugh. Everything.”

“Of course,” he replies, glancing down at her with a matching smile on his lips. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

The statement should’ve been an innocuous one. After all, it had been shared between them many times before this, a way of affirming their friendship and loyalty to each other. But Cassie is surprised to notice how much it stings, the pain momentarily passing through her before she shakes it off.

It was ridiculous reaction. Besides, that’s what she and Leon were: friends.

Nothing more.

~*~*~*~

If anyone were to ask Cassandra to describe her vacation in one word, the adjective she would’ve chosen might have surprised some people. They most likely would’ve expected a word like exciting or fantastic or even something as simple as fun. But instead of any of those, she would’ve said it was… confusing.

In some ways, her word choice might’ve seemed reasonable. A tropical getaway to physically and emotionally get away from your ex-boyfriend only to have that same ex show up and learn that he mistreated you even more than you had previously imagined? That would send anyone’s emotions into a tizzy. But Tristan wasn’t the person that had been taking up residence in Cassie’s mind, turning everything that she thought she knew upside down.

No, that distinction belonged to Leon.

Leon, her best friend. Leon, who willingly agreed to join her on this trip. Leon, who tagged along with her no matter what she wanted to do: explore the island, go on shopping trips, lounge on the beach, anything. Leon, who made her laughter come with an ease that Cassie thought would take months to get back. Leon.

The man who was currently leaning against the wooden beachfront bar a few feet away from her, casually chatting to the bartender, the half-drunk bottle of Corona still in his hand. He looked so at ease, with his partially unbuttoned white shirt, khaki shorts, and slides – the very epitome of someone who spent their life just chilling by the sand. How different he was here with her than he was back in Canada. How relaxed he seemed. Part of her wished this trip would never end, that they could stay here next to the sea and in the salt air.

But that couldn’t happen. Tomorrow was their last day and then they would be back on plane and back to their normal lives. It might be for the best. Maybe the feelings that had taken root in Cassie would die once they landed back in Canada, away from the fantasy of summer.

Although that very thought causes a pang of sadness to thrum through her.

She just sighs, directing her attention back to her phone, scrolling through the endless pictures Leon had taken for her, trying to pick her favorites and make them into a collage that accurately captured the perfect – albeit, fleeting – joy of this vacation.

She hears the chair across from her shift through the sand, a body settling down into the seat and she expects another quip about her ridiculous choice of cocktails to fall from Leon’s lips. But instead of her best friend’s voice, she hears a different voice; one that she had known for six months and one that she had been trying to erase from her mind.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Cassandra’s head jolts up, her eyes landing on Tristan’s frame now sitting across from her.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he continues, his arms crossing over his chest as he stares her down. Cassie’s shocked expression quickly morphs to one of anger, a scoff falling from her lips.

“Didn’t think I would come to the vacation that I planned just because you wouldn’t be with me? So sorry to disappoint,” she quips, her eyes rolling at her ex’s audacity. Her words don’t make him depart, something she was hoping he would do when he realized she wasn’t heartbroken over him. But he doesn’t budge, his eyes staying glued to her. “What do you want Tristan?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you bothering me?” she asks, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be lying to another girl you met on a dating app?”

“Jealous?” Tristan quips, that infuriating fuckboy smirk appearing on his lips.

“Of you being someone else’s problem? Not in the slightest. I do feel sorry for Chloe though; she seems really sweet. Shame that she has no idea she’s dating a cheating asshole.”

“Oh, please, like you’re one to talk,” Tristan spits, his tone morphing from cocky to contempt. “You’re no better than I am.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play dumb. Chloe told me everything. You and Leon.”

It takes a minute for his words – so full of hate and vitriol – to fully register with Cassie. He actually believed that she had been cheating on him?

“You’re an idiot,” Cassie scoffs. The statement, however true, was not the strongest rebuttal against Tristan’s assumption. But that was because she quickly realized any truthful defense she would make would seem like an outright lie. She all but told Chloe that her and Leon had been together for years. However, she didn’t expect that white lie to come back to bite her this dramatically.

“Sure,” Tristan jeers. “You think I never noticed how obsessed the two of you were with each other? And you’ve only been more all over each other the past few days. Probably because you don’t need to lie to me anymore. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. I always thought you were fucking him behind my back. Turns out I was right.”

“No, you’re just a bigger dumbass than I thought you were.”

“Oh, will stop being such a stuck-up bitch Cassandra,” Tristan snaps, his hand coming down to smack against the wooden table, his voice raising. “You act like you’re so much better than everyone but in reality, you’re just a two-faced slut.”

“You are fucking insane, Tristan,” Cassie says, the tension between them rendering her somewhat speechless, capable of only repeating insults. Unfortunately, her lack of denial just seems to make Tristan feel justified enough to continue.

“Not just a slut, a puck bunny even. Can’t imagine what Leon will do the minute he realizes that you’re just using him for his fame and money. He’d probably drop you faster than I did and move on to the next blonde he finds. Trust me Cassie, there are plenty of girls out there looking to take your place. You’re nothing special, just another bitch looking for her five-seconds of fame.”

The moments that follow seem to happen in slow motion.

A hand appears on Tristan’s shoulder. Tristan turns to look at whoever it was touching him. Then, a closed fist making contact with the side of Tristan’s jaw. The force of the hit knocks Tristan flat out of the seat, his body crashing into the sand below. It is only then that Cassandra registers that the fist belonged to Leon, who was now standing over Tristan, looking every level of pissed off.

“What the fuck dude!!?” Tristan yells, jumping to his feet, his hand rubbing against his jaw.

“Don’t you dare talk about Cassie like that,” Leon says, the tone of his voice colder than Edmonton winters.

“Or what?” Tristan spits, stepping forward into Leon’s space, his own hands curling into fists.

The absolute disbelief at the entire situation forces Cassandra to stay frozen in her seat, unable to move or even fully comprehend what this evening had devolved into. In another move that only further highlighted her ex’s stupidity, Tristan’s own fist comes up to connect with Leon’s face. That action seemed to be the catalyst that caused both of their simmering angers to boil over. Fists start flying, hands twisting into shirts, wild haymakers being thrown, some connecting with skin, some only hitting air. Cassie’s eyes try to track the damage, the only odd thought coming to her brain being a small relief that they were outside and far away from the main resort.

Somehow – or not surprisingly, considering his career – Leon manages to throw Tristan down, the impact of her ex’s body sending up a spray of sand. Tristan scrambles up from the ground, taking a few steps back.

“You’re fucking insane! Both of you!!” he yells, before retreating back to the resort.

It is only after Tristan’s angry cursing fades does Cassie look around, the curious eyes of some of the other guest directed towards them. Leon is still standing on the beach, his shoulders tight and his breathing heavy. Cassandra finally peels herself from her seat, walking over to her best friend and placing a gentle hand on his bicep.

“Leon,” she whispers. Her gentle voice pulls Leon’s gaze towards her and she feels a sharp pang when she sees the small cut on his brow. Her eyes travel down to the torn skin over his knuckles, his hands still clenched. “Let’s – let’s go back to the hotel room. Get you cleaned up.”

“What about your drink?” Leon asks breathlessly.

Cassie’s eyebrows furrow before her head turns to see another Corona bottle and her brightly colored cocktail with one too many umbrellas sitting at a different table nearby. The remembrance of why Leon wasn’t at the table earlier hits her as she realizes he must have placed the drinks down before… all this happened.

“Leon,” she says, her voice coming out in a slight breathless laugh. “The last thing I’m worried about is our drinks.”

It must’ve been something in her tone, in her laughter that makes Leon visibly relax. He allows Cassie to take his hand – avoiding contact with his wounds – and guide him through the resort. By pure luck or pure coincidence, they are not stopped as they walk into the building, through the lobby, into the elevator, and down the hallway. They make it all the way back to the hotel room, Cassie pushing Leon into the bathroom and making him sit on the closed toilet lid.

They both seem to be in a fugue state, Leon just staring into space while Cassandra absentmindedly rummages through the cabinets under the sink, grabbing her miniature first aid kit. She opens it and grabs a small antiseptic wipe. It isn’t until she steps between Leon’s thighs do his grey eyes finally connect to her.

There aren’t any words spoken between them; Cassie just takes his hand and gently wipes away the sand and blood from his knuckles, gently shushing him when he winces.

“You know,” Cassie muses, finally breaking the silence that was lingering between them, “when I agreed to have you beat up my ex, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”

A slight chuckle falls from Leon, followed shortly by another wince as she brushes the wipe over his wounds. Without moving from the space between his legs, Cassie tosses the cloth into the nearby trashcan before grabbing some bandages from the kit and gently wrapping them around his knuckles.

“I didn’t like how he was talking about you,” Leon explains, his eyes turning away from her, staring into space again as if he was replaying Tristan’s insults in his mind.

“He’s an asshole. You tried to warn me. Guess you were even more right than I ever thought.”

“I’m not going to tell you I told you so,” Leon teases, redirecting his gaze towards her.

“You better not, considering I’m the one patching you up,” Cassie playfully threatens.

After bandaging both hands, she lowers them onto his thighs before grabbing another antiseptic wipe, turning her focus onto the cut above his eyebrow. Her hand finds its place underneath his chin – a gentle hold to keep him from flinching away. It works well enough, although Leon still grimaces in response to her ministrations.

“I can now see why you don’t normally fight on the ice,” she quips, wiping the dried blood from his skin.

“Usually someone else does it so I never really have to.”

“So, if Darnell Nurse were here, he’d be the one beating up Tristan, not you?”

“No,” Leon says, his voice quieting. “It’d still be me.”

“Oh really,” Cassie teases. “And why is that?”

Another hiss falls from his lips, his hands jumping up to land on the back of her own thighs. The touch is soft and it sends a jolt of warmth through Cassandra. Her eyes dart down a few centimeters from the cut on his eyebrow to Leon’s own grey eyes, staring up at her. And her breath catches in her throat at the sight.

Because Leon is looking at her with the utmost tenderness, a look that she has only ever seen in movies or in her wildest dreams. But even her dreams never prepared her for the possibility of her best friend looking at her like she hung the moon in the sky.

“I’d always fight for you Cassie.”

The statement falls from Leon’s lips is filled with a quiet conviction; the sentence weighted with more confession than those six words conveyed by themselves. Maybe it was fear or uncertainty or simple disbelief that makes the one question escape from Cassandra.

“Why?”

The immediate response from Leon is just a smile – that damnable smile that always made Cassie smile back. A smile that she always thought was affectionate but only ever platonic. But now, it was as if a curtain had been lifted and she could see him clearly. It had been disappearing slowly, a little more every day during this trip, bringing Leon into a new light, a glow as warm and the tropical sunshine. But now, the realization of how much he meant to her and how much she meant to him was as crystal clear as the coastal oceans.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, his voice still soft.

There is nothing that Cassandra can say, no words in any language that she could string together to fully explain the weight of this revelation. There is only this feeling of truth, of clarity. It was Leon – it had always been Leon.

She can feel his hands on her bare skin, still feel the soft cut of his jawline in her palm, still see the look of pure… love on his face. And in that moment, there is nothing she wants to do more than kiss him. It feels as if she spent another second without Leon Draisaitl’s lips on hers, she might die.

So, she doesn’t wait any longer; she simply leans in and presses her lips against his. She can feel Leon’s fingers jolt against her skin, in shock or surprise, but it is only momentary before they tighten around her thighs, pulling her closer to him as he kisses her back. The energy that surges between them isn’t fireworks or electricity or any of the other cliches that Cassie read about in romance books. It feels simple, easy, inevitable. As easy as breathing, as simple as coming home, as inevitable as the sunrise.

Eventually, their lips fall from each other. They do not separate entirely, foreheads still touching as their eyes meet again, breathing slightly heavy as they take in everything that had changed in just a few short minutes.

“I’ve been wanting to do that forever,” Leon whispers.

“You should’ve done it sooner,” Cassie laughs. “Then this entire trip could’ve been avoided.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want that,” he replies. “This was one of the best vacations I’ve had in a long time.”

“Swimming with pigs, beating up my ex, kissing your best friend. It is pretty memorable.”

Leon chuckles, his shoulders moving underneath Cassie’s hands before he lifts his head up to kiss her again. Her arms easily wrap around his shoulders as she leans into him further, his hands drifting up her thighs, sneaking under the hem of her sundress, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Do you want to make it more memorable?” he asks, his voice dipping lower, intoxicating her. Cassie only replies with a small hum; a quiet encouragement for him to go on.

“Do you remember what you said when we first got here?” Leon continues, his lips falling from hers to trail across her jawline. “Something about how the people that bought these tickets were probably sleeping together?”

A laugh rumbles from Cassie’s chest, slightly breathless from the gentle touch of Leon’s lips against her neck.

“I think I recall saying something like that.”

“Well then, what do you say we make use of that single bed?” Leon proposes, his head moving away from her body to look back in her blue eyes, the mischievous sparkle behind his own irises oh so familiar.

“Considering that we might be kicked out tomorrow since you fist-fought another guest? Probably should make the most of our last night sharing a bed.”

“Trust me,” Leon says as he stands up, keeping Cassie’s body pressed to his as he guides her out of the bathroom and into the main hotel room. “This definitely won’t be the last time I have you in bed with me.”

“Is that a promise, Leon Draisaitl?”

“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

#nicole writes #the summer fic exchange 2k24 #leon draisaitl fic #leon draisaitl imagine #leon draisaitl fluff #edmonton oilers fic #edmonton oilers imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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offside-the-lines · 3 months ago

Text

i'm half-doomed & you're semi-sweet | Connor McDavid (x Male!OC)

Summary: After a painful playoff exit to end the 2022-23 season, Connor just needs to get as far away as possible, all the way to Gold Coast, Australia. He expects some peace and quiet, a reprieve. What he doesn't expect is this happy and carefree bartender, Lucky, to make him question the choice he has been making since he was 10. Title inspo: Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy

This fic is dedicated to @hiding-from-reality-56 for @wyattjohnston's Summer Fic Exchange 2k24. I'm really sorry it's late. Life has been nuts. I really hope you like it! S/O to Demi, Ashley and T for being my cheerleaders, beta readers and editors. Ilysm. Pairing: Connor McDavid x M!OC. This fic features an original male character. Word count: 11.3k Warnings: SMUT: 18 + ONLY. MINORS DNI. SAFE SEX RESOURCE. Angst, lots of (I would say light) angst (first 1/2). Smut, lots of (light to medium) smut (second 1/2). This fic deals with internalized homophobia and coming to terms with your sexuality by way of having your first gay and first sexual encounter (it's hot and sweet, I hope). This was a super meaningful topic for me to write about, and I hope it resonates. Please take care of yourself if this is a topic that is sensitive for you. Connor is also, as I liked to say as I was writing this, Cognitive Distortions and Anxiety and Self-Doubt stacked on top of each other in a trench coat. Our poor boy is going through it in this. The smallest emetophobia warning. Small mention right in the first section (7 paragraphs in). Masterlist | (My requests are currently closed.) | Read this story on AO3

It’s 4 am on May 15th, and Connor’s lying in his own bed. And the only thing he can think about is what should’ve been.

He should be going to Vegas, getting ready to win Game 7.

Or better yet, he should’ve never let it get to that point—needing a Game 7. They should be getting ready for the conference finals.

The humiliation of yet another failed year—a second-round exit, no less—stings deep, and he feels the bile rise in the back of his throat. The taste of ‘This is our year’ sits rotten on his tongue, the number of times he said it to the boys. Momentarily, he wonders if he ever truly believed it. If any of this means anything at all. Or if he really is just a mouse in a cage running on a wheel going nowhere.

The silence in Roger’s Place is all he can hear in the darkness of his own bedroom. It makes him feel like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. The idea of going back to his Toronto house, carrying the looming absence of those 35 pounds, makes him want to throw up.

Or maybe that’s just—

He bolts up in his bed, runs to his toilet, and throws up nothing but bile.

With his head resting against the cold ceramic, he thinks about his parents. He knows they’re not going to be disappointed. They don’t care about the Cu— They don’t care about all that. They care about him, but he doesn’t think he can stomach another off-season of their pitying looks and gentle encouragement.

Another off-season walking around the city of Toronto, feeling like everyone is laughing at him. ‘Look, there goes the Next Great One, the so-called McJesus. What a joke. Look at him, he’s a failure.’ He can hear their thoughts.

They don’t even know about the other thing.

He rinses his mouth and stumbles back to his bed. He picks up his phone and texts his agent about finding somewhere different to train this offseason before he can think better of it. “...in I don’t know. Fucking Australia or something. Just. Somewhere far,” he adds.

He sits on his bed, fiddling with his phone for a while.

He sighs and rests his head against the headboard. He closes his eyes and drifts, picturing what his life might look like if he wasn’t… Well… Him.

He remembers a sports psychologist he was encouraged to see called it ‘maladaptive daydreaming.’ Which—that’s always felt a little ridiculous, given that they also recommend ‘visualization techniques’. ‘Picture yourself scoring the goal, Connor,’ they’d say.

It always felt like the same thing.

He sighs and texts Jeff again. “Totally okay if not. I know it’s super late notice. Just feel like it might be good for me. And for next year.”

The next few days pass like a blur, just room full of people after room full of people. Saying the same meaningless comments over and over. Play the part. Be sad, but not too sad. Be honest, but not too honest.

It doesn’t help that Leon’s grumpy, too. Well, not so grumpy he won’t sit on Connor’s couch—that does occasionally happen—but grumpy enough that he’s been mainly communicating in grunts. But, Connor figures, a grunting Leon is better than no Leon, so they sit in miserable silence as episode after episode of Friends plays on his ridiculously large 85-inch TV.

Which—who even needs an 85-inch TV? Well… Connor does, apparently, according to his decorator anyway. It’s ridiculous, and he hates the excessiveness more with each passing minute. He considers how bad it would be to just rip it off the wall. Probably quite bad. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he pokes Leon in the side with his toe and smiles weakly when he gets an irritated grunt in return and a heavy hand gripping his ankle.

Connor does his duty as Captain and hosts one last team barbecue in his absurd house that makes him feel like a zoo exhibit. He says goodbye to Leon for the summer—every year, it feels stilted and weird; he can never find the right words, but he thinks Leon gets it anyway. Or at least some of it. Not that Connor really knows what “it” is.

Not that Connor really wants to know what “it” is.

Connor swallows down the lump in his throat and turns his phone off, settling in for the flight from LAX to Brisbane, Australia—apparently, Jeff took him literally. He can’t help but think What the fuck am I doing? But that’s the point, right? To not think.

For once in his life, it would be nice to just do something without thinking about it endlessly. To just do something without thinking through the whole play, without reviewing the tape and dissecting everything that could go wrong.

He pops a sleeping pill with the hope that maybe it means he won’t spend the 15-hour flight ruminating on whether or not he should be doing this at all. And then ruminating on whether or not he should be ruminating on whether or not— Yeah. Five hours of rumination he can do—he does it often with the NHL schedule and the Edmonton of it all—but 15 hours seems to be a stretch even for him. So, he pops a sleeping pill.

Besides, he hopes that if he’s asleep, he won’t have to make any more eye contact with the flight attendant whose hand Connor accidentally touched when he helped Connor put away his carry-on. He kept making such earnest conversation with Connor, a smile crinkling the corners of his dazzling green eyes as Connor embarrassingly fumbled over his words, which—

Yeah, he needs to get a grip. And sleep. Hopefully, when he wakes up, he will feel a little less mortified—from experience, unlikely. At least the guy was Australian and didn’t seem to know who he was.

Connor wonders if he would be like this if he worked in something mundane, like finance or sales. If he’s destined to be this way, or if hockey made him this way. At this point, it was impossible to determine where Connor ends and McDavid-97 begins.

Luckily, hockey means he gets the good pills, at least, and he is knocked out for at least 12 hours.

Connor spends the first few weeks in a weird state of suspended animation, just going through the motions of his off-season training. He meets the trainers, who seem to have been briefed by Gary on what he needs and throws himself into the work. No one recognizes him except for a couple of the guys at the rink. But they don’t bother him. It’s a relief. He thinks he understands why Leon fucks off to Mallorca every summer. He wonders why he doesn’t fuck off to Mallorca with him—something else to not examine further.

He takes himself to the beach and watches the surfers and tries to remember to reapply sunscreen every 30 minutes, or whatever, even though it’s “winter”. He fails, of course, and burns bright red after only a few days. He’s forced to return only in the late afternoons.

He finds a pub-thing between his condo and the beach and sits at the bar for dinner every day; nothing better to do. He orders a beer with his dinner at the bartender’s suggestion. He hates it. He drinks it anyway. The bartender—Connor thinks he said his name was Lucky?—probably thinks he’s an absolute freak, judging by the little glances he throws Connor’s way and the amused look he has every time Connor orders.

It doesn’t help that Lucky is kind of stunning. It’s a thought that Connor usually keeps locked up, stuffed in some deep crevice of his mind where he won’t have to examine it, but the longer he watches Lucky—not that he’s watching, he just happens to be at the bar every night, and there’s not much else to do—the more he notices.

Connor watches the messy mop of curls fall in front of his eyes every time he bends over to put ice in a drink and the way he brushes it away with the back of a toned, tattooed forearm. It’s hard to tell exactly how dark his hair is or what the color of his eyes is in the dim interior of the pub, but Connor finds himself itching to know.

But the thing that Connor thinks about as he lays in bed at night is the way Lucky interacts with everyone—playful, easy. He notices the way he flirts—and the guys he flirts with. There’s this weird tightness that settles in his gut, and it twists every time he catches Lucky’s bright smile and the glint in his eyes.

There are an increasing number of days when Connor feels the need to stay until closing. There are a few other regulars he’s gotten to know, and it’s fun to hear about their lives. They will chat with Lucky as he’s cleaning up the bar.

It has nothing to do with the way Lucky will sometimes take some guy home. Nothing to do with the way it’s just out in the open. Bold, confident, and unashamed. There are never any side-long glances from anyone, no snide comments.

Connor is completely unable to ignore the way his chest feels too small every time it happens. He wonders if he could ever do that. He wonders if he could even look at the thing head-on.

He thinks maybe Gold Coast Connor could.

It takes him until the night before his flight to the NHL awards to decide that Gold Coast Connor can make moves. Gold Coast Connor has the confidence and freedom that Connor McDavid does not. Gold Coast Connor is funny and banters with strangers.

Connor McDavid knows to never have more than two drinks. It affects his performance the next day.

That’s why Gold Coast Connor has 5 or 6. Switches to whiskey after the usual disgusting beer. Lucky chuckles at him.

“I knew you hated that. Was trying to see how long you were gonna keep drinking that for. You should see the face you make every sip.”

Connor's face heats; he knows the ruddy red cheeks look ridiculous against his messy ginger beard.

After the third drink, Lucky shoots him a look. He responds with only a shrug, and he seems to decide to not press the issue.

He knows he’s drunk when he shoots his shot.

“Come home with me today,” he says to Lucky, leaning over the bar conspiratorially.

He laughs, smile wide and easy, eyes wrinkling. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Lucky’s smile shifts, and he stares at Connor for a long moment, lips pressed together. The weight of the look sits heavy on him and makes him squirm. He fights the urge to run.

“Yeah, nah,” Lucky decides, “I think it’s time to cut you off. Switch to water.”

Connor suddenly realizes how this must look to him. “I’m serious,” he blurts out, “about the offer, I mean.”

Lucky laughs. “Good to know.” He winks, and Connor feels very warm. “But you’re six drinks deep when you usually only have one beer. Whatever this—” he gestures at Connor “—is, I’m not sure I want to get involved in that.”

His stomach sinks like a rock, and bile licks at the back of his throat. “Oh.” About twenty different thoughts battle in his mind, fighting for dominance.

Lucky looks at him consideringly and sighs. “Connor, it’s not a no. It’s a not today. Trust me, I am very interested. You’re—Look, you’re going on your business trip tomorrow, right?”

Connor nods.

“Okay, talk to me when you get back, yeah?” He leans in—it makes his biceps pop, but Connor tries not to let his eyes catch on it—something akin to amusement dances in his eyes as his lips curl into a smirk. “You can wait that long. You can be good, can’t you?”

A heat settles in Connor’s gut. “Uh, yeah,” he splutters.

Lucky leans back, his smirk bigger now, satisfied. “I thought you’d be into that. Yeah, we’ll have some fun when you get back.”

Connor swallows thickly; something that might be hope simmers under his skin.

The good feeling Lucky leaves him with doesn’t last long. It starts with the mountain of texts, missed calls, and voicemails that come through as soon as he puts his normal SIM card back in.

It only gets worse when he’s faced with Leon’s fury. Leon is pissed off often, but it is rare to see him genuinely angry.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Leon fumes, steel grey eyes not even a foot from his face as he grips Connor’s arm so tightly he thinks it might bruise.

“Um, look—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Leon continues right over Connor’s soft voice. “I had to call your agent just to make sure you were still alive. Hey—at least Cameron got a text, right? Nice of you to not ghost your family, I guess. Guess I didn’t make the cut, eh?”

“Leo, I’m s—”

“You know,” Leon grits, “I was going to fly back to Canada ‘cause I thought something had happened to you. But, no. Glad you’re living it up in Australia. Glad you’re having so much fun.” He drops Connor’s arm and steps back, chest heaving as he breathes heavily. “Well, if you don’t want anything to do with me, then you can have nothing to do with me.”

“Leo, please—” Connor’s voice breaks as his throat burns and his chest tightens like a vice grip.

“Fuck you, Connor. Seriously, you’re a fucking selfish asshole,” he says as he walks away, the door of Connor’s hotel room slamming behind him.

It takes too long for Connor to remember how to breathe after that, sitting on the floor of his hotel room, staring at his shaking hands.

The day somehow gets worse from there when he has to ask Mikael Backlund, of all people, why Matthew has a sling on.

Backlund gives him a strange look. “Wh—Chucky?”

“Yeah,” Connor swallows.

After a beat of silence, he says, “He broke his sternum. Game 3 of the finals against Vegas. Played in Game 4 anyway. Didn’t matter in the end.” Backlund winces. “They lost in 5.”

“Oh,” Connor winces in return.

Backlund stares at him for a while. “Heard it was pretty bad.”

“Shit.”

The festivities continue around them. He gives a cordial nod to Nico Hischier and Jack Hughes as they walk past.

“I thought you two were friends; that’s what Chucky used to say anyway,” Backlund finally says.

“We are,” Connor swallows around the guilt sitting in his throat. “I just, uh, needed a break, so I was—Never mind. It looks like duty calls, so I’ll be—” Connor forces himself to stand up and gestures towards the event people waving at him. “Have a good night. See you next season.”

Backlund nods with an expression Connor can’t quite place—he thinks it might be pity.

Connor sleeps so poorly over the next few days, and it’s a wonder he’s coherent when he meets the Bedard kid. He feels horribly ill-equipped to give the kid any advice and fumbles through some generic pointers. Leon was much better, as he usually is at these things.

At least the time together allowed him to earn back some of Leon’s good graces. They part with a promise of photos and texts and a hug that makes Connor feel unmoored. He wonders if Leon can tell he’s barely holding it together and just doesn’t care enough to ask anymore. He hopes not. He really needs it to not be that.

I guess we can add ‘friendship’ to the list of things Connor McDavid can’t do, he thinks. When he closes his eyes, he can only picture Leon’s furious expression, or Backlund’s confused disappointment, or Matthew’s annoyingly amused smirk when Connor finally had the chance to catch up with him and explain his absence.

Leon’s anger is still the one that stings the most. It’s the one that plays on a loop in his head. It pops into his head at unexpected moments. It’s kept company with all the other failures and misses that haunt him.

He doesn’t sleep a wink on the flight back to Australia.

It takes Connor a few days to work up the courage to go to the pub again, now more sure than ever that he made a fool of himself the last time. But, eventually, he forces himself to just do it—it has nothing to do with his inability to cook.

Lucky greets him, same as always, with an easy smile and a glint in his eye. It’s so normal that it makes him think Lucky forgot about their last conversation. But, something about the way he reaches across the bar and taps Connor on the wrist as he laughs at some dumb comment Connor made. Or maybe it’s the wink he sends Connor when he catches Connor staring at the way his shirt rides up when he reaches for the top-shelf liquor…

Either way, Connor knows deep down that Lucky definitely remembers their conversation. Which means Lucky knows something about Connor that no one else does.

It’s a thought that should make his chest tighten and stomach churn—the idea of it alone would usually send him down a paralyzing spiral—but instead, it makes him feel feverish, a small crackle of expectation settling just below his navel. There’s just something about Lucky that eases something in his chest—Well, there just is something about him.

Neither of them do anything about it, though. Connor can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved.

A few days later, it’s almost closing and it’s quiet in the pub. There’s tennis on the TV: Wimbledon, Connor thinks, possibly a replay. He isn’t really paying attention. If he’s honest, he’s never really got tennis. Leon likes it, though, so he watches when it’s on.

“So,” Lucky says, interrupting Connor’s trance. He’s leaning against the bar back, polishing a glass—it makes the muscles in his forearm ripple. Connor pointedly doesn’t stare.

“So?” Connor says weakly. He knows. And he knows that Lucky knows he knows. He still doesn’t acknowledge it. He quickly looks around to check if anyone is close by.

“Did you still wanna come home with me?” Lucky says.

He just drops it into the space between them like it’s nothing. He just says it like it doesn’t turn Connor’s world upside down and his guts inside out.

Deep down, Connor knows that he could say no and Lucky would never mention it again. No hard feelings. Easy. They could both pretend like it never happened. Which is what Connor should want—it is what Connor wants. Which is why Connor is going to say no.

“Yeah.” It comes out close to a whisper, but it doesn’t need to be audible because Lucky smiles. Connor feels his cheeks heat, and it’s like every inch of skin suddenly fires up like live wire.

Lucky turns around and places the glass on the shelf, and Connor blows out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in a puff.

“Good,” Lucky says when he turns back around, “‘cause I already asked Kazza to close out for me tonight. I just need to grab something from the office, and then I’m good to go.”

Connor swallows. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Lucky runs his bottom lip through his teeth consideringly before he flashes Connor a heated grin and walks away.

Connor waits for the pang of regret or guilt to hit; something to tell him to put a stop to this. It doesn’t come. All he feels is the prickling simmer of anticipation.

“Connor?” Lucky says, poking his head around the corner.

“Huh?”

“I meant for you to follow me,” he chuckles.

“Oh!” Connor scrambles to get out of the bar stool—it’s an entirely ungraceful affair—and follows Lucky and waits in the hall.

When he emerges from the office, he hands an envelope to Connor. “Can you hold this for a sec? Just need to put my jacket on.”

“Yeah, sure.” Connor looks down at the envelope, which has Lachlan written in Sharpie on the front. “Who’s this for?”

Lucky freezes and cocks his head. “What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—It’s just on the—Nevermind. Don’t worry about it,” Connor mumbles.

“No, no. Wait.” He shakes his head and huffs. “It’s me? Lachlan, that’s my name?” He pronounces it like Lock-lan, which confuses Connor more.

“What do you mean?”

“Lachy… It’s short for Lachlan?”

“It is?” Connor furrows his eyebrows.

“Yeah, mate! What have you been calling me?”

“I thought your name was Lucky!”

Lucky—or Lachy?—bursts out laughing, snorting a little as he clutches his sides. “I thought you were just saying it weird,” he manages to get out between laughs.

Connor rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, it was loud in there when you introduced yourself, so…” he lets himself trail off. He shifts on his feet, looking at the carpet.

Lachy shakes his head, still chuckling as he grabs Connor’s hand at the wrist. “Come on, this way.”

“It’s a bit weird now ‘cause I’ve been calling you Lucky all this time, and you’re Lucky in my head. I guess I have to change that now,” Connor murmurs, largely to himself.

Lachy hums. He tugs on Connor’s wrist and pulls him forward, swallowing the space between them as he backs them into a door. In a snap second, it’s like all the air has left the room, the world around them focusing in on the one point of contact at Connor’s wrist. Lachy’s hand is warm as it applies some pressure.

There is a beat of silence where Connor doesn’t know what to do but look. The lighting is a little better back here, and it catches on the strands of Lachy’s hair that have been lightened by the sun. In this lighting, Connor thinks Lachy’s eyes might be hazel or maybe a warm amber. He feels an inexplicable need to find out.

The thing that catches Connor off-guard is the way he has to look down at Lachlan. Connor knew that he’s shorter—has seen him with his coworkers to compare—but it didn’t prepare him for the way it feels. The way that Lachy’s everything makes him feel pinned in place even as he towers over him—the six inches or so of height difference feels meaningless under his heated gaze.

Lachy reaches back with his free hand and grabs the door handle.

“You can keep calling me Lucky if you want, seeing as you’ll be getting Lucky tonight, right?” The corner of Lachy's lip ticks up in a smirk as he bites back a laugh. He leans in. “You can call me whatever you like once I’m inside you.”

Connor chokes. “Um, okay?” he squeaks, spluttering.

Lachy—Lucky?—leans his head back against the door and laughs. There is no explanation for the way the sound seeps into Connor, reaching every single crevice. It should be embarrassing to be this affected by someone’s laugh. Connor doesn’t have time to explore that thought further as Lucky pushes the door open and pulls Connor with him into the cool evening air.

The walk to Lucky’s place is not very long. But it is enough time for Connor to feel the ever-present doubt creeping in, even as Lucky tells him a funny story about a collision he saw while he was surfing that morning. He’s standing so close. Close enough that he can feel the heat of Lucky’s arm against his own. Closer than is normal for two guys casually strolling down the street, which—

Connor knows they’re not just two guys walking down the street. Not at all. He can still feel the anticipation simmering under his skin even as the cold air cuts through his thin sweater.

He tries to focus on the fact that the streets are empty, except for the occasional car, and no one knows him here. Here, he’s just Connor. So he tries not to let the looming shadow of his Name dig its claws in.

The thing is… he has a guy—a really hot guy who definitely knows what he’s doing—who is willing to take Connor home. A guy who seems to be into his disheveled and awkward self for some reason. A guy who inexplicably makes Connor feel safe, thousands of miles away from home and away from everything and everyone he knows.

Connor should take this gift with both hands and say thank you like the good Canadian boy that he is.

He thinks about the visualization exercises and pictures himself taking off the Edmonton Oilers jersey with McDavid 97 on the back and the C on the front. He pictures himself handing it over to Australian customs along with the apple he had forgotten was in his bag.

Connor barely has time to even look at Lucky’s apartment before he’s crowded against the door. Connor sucks in a steadying breath.

Lucky looks up at him, his warm breath tickling Connor’s neck. “I’m sorry if I smell like beer; I know you don’t like beer.”

Connor makes an affronted noise. “I do so like beer. I just don’t like—”

Lucky huffs and cuts him off by slamming his lips on Connor’s. Connor lets out a little squeak of surprise before his body takes over. His eyes flutter shut as he takes in the warmth of Lucky’s soft lips.

It feels so foreign when Lucky slides his tongue over Connor’s bottom lip; the wet heat surprises him and makes him open his mouth instinctively. He’s rewarded as Lucky pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it slightly. Connor finds out he enjoys that as he bites back a groan.

Lucky’s hands move from the door behind Connor to rest on his hips, fingers applying gentle but firm pressure. His hands feel so warm Connor wonders if they would leave handprints for the world to see, like a brand.

Lucky makes a noise against his mouth that Connor can’t interpret. He hums a questioning sound and finds that it tickles a little. He finds out he likes that, too.

Lucky’s hands pull away, much to his dismay, only to grab Connor’s own hands and place them on his sides—Connor runs his hands down the firmness of his obliques and gives them an appreciative squeeze, earning him an approving sound as Lucky rests his hands on Connor’s chest.

Connor doesn’t know how long they just stay like that, kissing languidly as he slowly becomes more exploratory with his touches, sliding his hands over Lucky’s defined back. And Lucky returns the favor, running his hands over Connor’s chest—through the sweater material, it just feels like broad warm pressure—before reaching up to the nape of Connor’s neck and moving him the way he wants to deepen the kiss.

The wet, hot slide of their mouths feels so nice that Connor thinks maybe they could just stay doing this forever. But Lucky has other plans; he slides his hands under Connor’s sweater and hums appreciatively at what he finds. His hands travel up Connor’s chest; when he slides his hands directly over Connor’s nipples, Connor has to choke down a whine.

Connor’s hands move of their own accord, sliding down Lucky’s back and over his generous ass. His pressure is light, but it doesn’t stop Lucky from rocking forward and onto his tiptoes, stealing all the air from between their bodies. In doing so, he presses his hard dick right into Connor’s, the slide sending an electric shock through his body. They both moan at the same time.

Connor suddenly becomes acutely aware of how hard he is and the slight wet patch at the front of his boxers. Connor sucks in a breath through his nose. If he had known this was happening today, he would’ve jerked off before going to the pub. Hell—if he had even a second, he would’ve jerked off in the pub’s bathroom. Anything to take the edge off.

As it stands, Connor feels unable to get a hold of his restraint, like he’s reaching out to grab something just out of reach. It makes him feel underwater and suddenly too aware of all the sensations at once: the filthy slide of their mouths, Lucky’s thumbs rubbing over his nipples, the friction as Lucky grinds their clothed cocks together. It’s all too much as Connor feels his restraint fraying.

“Lucky,” Connor mumbles against his lips.

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning back a little.

This time, when Lucky slides his hands down Connor’s chest, he claws his hands, and his dull nails scrape over Connor’s nipples, drawing an unrestrained moan as he arches into Lucky.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” Lucky mumbles as his hands continue to travel south, as he recaptures Connor’s lips in a messy kiss.

His mind feels fragmented. Split between needing this to stop so he doesn’t come way too soon, ruining the whole thing, and needing to come so bad he thinks he might die. But he can’t figure out how to put that into words, so he just floats in the liminal space between the two.

He feels Lucky slide hook his fingers over the waistband of his jeans and boxers, and it takes him a second too long to figure out what’s happening as Lucky’s hand dips inside. It’s just the brush of a hand over his bare dick, but it’s more than he’s gotten in almost ten years, and Connor panics.

“Wait—no—” he blurts out, muffled by Lucky’s mouth.

Connor grabs Lucky’s hand and yanks it out of his pants, but it’s too late. He squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the shudder that travels through his whole body as he comes, largely untouched, in his too-expensive jeans.

He tucks his chin to his chest, face flaring so hot he must be bright red. He takes a few breaths to steady himself before he opens his eyes and dares to look up at Lucky.

He immediately winces at what he sees. Connor feels like he actually might die and prays for the ground to swallow him whole.

Lucky’s jaw clicks, his expression one that Connor has never seen on his handsome face before. One of hurt and confusion. Connor swallows.

“Is this a gay panic thing? Because I hate to break it to you, we’d been rubbing cocks for like twenty minutes,” he says, voice low and even.

“What? No! No, it’s not—” Connor stutters, “That’s not—No.”

“Right.” Lucky raises his eyebrows; he clearly doesn’t believe him.

Connor realizes he is still clutching Lucky’s wrist so tightly it must hurt; he lets it go completely. Lucky takes a few steps back, and Connor misses the heat of his body immediately. He feels the edges of panic closing in, so he just speaks.

“No, I promise. That’s not what’s happening. I’ve known since I was like ten that maybe—” His eyes dart around the room, and his eyes fixate on all the little trinkets around Lucky’s house—it’s kind of adorable. He takes a deep breath. Fuck it. “No. I’ve known since I was 10. I’ve just never… told anyone before. Or done anything. That was… That was great. I really liked it. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m so—” He runs his hands down his face. “Trust me, that is not what’s wrong. God, I want to die right now.”

His eyes affix to the surfboard mounted above the couch, a point just over Lucky’s left shoulder. It’s suffocatingly silent for a moment as Lucky looks him over.

“Wait,” Lucky says, his voice low and tight, “Did you just… come?”

Connor drops his head in his hands and straight-up whines.

“Oh my god,” Lucky whispers. “Holy shit.”

Connor wonders if it’s possible to just travel through the door like a ghost. Or maybe blink out of existence.

There’s a shuffling sound before gentle hands on his wrists pull them away from his face. “Woah, hey, Connor. No worries, yeah? It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles. Connor thinks about all the guys Lucky’s fucked before and wonders if any of them had ever come in their pants after being lightly grazed by a hand. Of course, he would be a failure at this, too.

“Baby,” Lucky’s voice is so gentle, “I’m serious, okay? You have nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s… Seriously, oh my fucking God, Connor, that is fucking hot.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, baby, it is.” He gently clasps Connor’s chin so he has to look at him and smiles softly. “Come on, maybe let’s take a break.”

“Oh.” Connor’s chest feels too tight. “Do you wanna stop? I’m sorry. I can go if you want. I’m sorry for ruining it for you.” He knows his voice sounds odd, but he’s too panicked to care.

“Stop? Who said anything about stopping?” Lucky chuckles. “Unless you want to stop, I am very much still very interested.” He directs Connor’s hand to the front of his jeans, where the hard outline of his cock twitches in Connor’s palm. “Trust me. Very. Interested. But I can wait for a second. Come on, lemme get us a drink.”

Lucky walks over to a bar cart and pours two whiskeys. Connor wonders if he should leave anyway, if he’s just being nice. Sure, he’s still hard, but does he really want Connor, the guy who came from a light breeze in his entryway? Connor thinks about all the guys he’s seen Lucky take home before, and he just knows he’s going to be the worst—or at least, the most disappointing. Maybe it would be less embarrassing for everyone if he left now.

Lucky walks over and leans against the kitchen counter opposite him and hands him the drink with a soft smile.

Connor determines that he should probably stay, given he’s come once already, and Lucky hasn’t come at all. And that’s probably unfair.

“So,” Lucky says, “Earlier, you said that you’ve never told anyone you’re gay?” Connor shakes his head. “And you’ve never… done anything?”

Connor sighs. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Really? Never?” Lucky says, slightly incredulous.

“Well, there was like once or twice in juniors—high school, I mean, uh. Bro-jobs, or whatever, on, uh, school trips.” He shakes his head. “It just felt wrong ‘cause they weren’t gay, but I was. And it felt a little like I was taking advantage of it. So I stopped.”

Lucky snorts. “Well, sucking cock is pretty gay if you ask me.”

It pulls an unsuspecting laugh out of Connor. “I guess. I don’t know. That’s not what I meant—I guess—it was just different for me.” Connor shrugs and bites his lip. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I never did anything again after that.”

“Like… nothing?” Lucky asks, not unkindly.

“Yeah. Nothing.” Connor sighs. “I think you’re the first person I’ve kissed in like almost ten years. God, that’s so embarrassing to say out loud. You probably think I’m so fucking weird.”

Lucky reaches over and squeezes his arm. “Hey, I don’t think that’s embarrassing. Or weird. Different strokes, or whatever. It is what it is.”

Connor didn’t set out to have this conversation. Realistically, he never thought he would ever even have this conversation—not at least for another ten years. But something about the earnest way Lucky’s looking at him makes him want to say it. Like it’s suddenly something that’s clawing at his throat to get out.

“I just…” Connor pauses and worries at his lip again. “It’s different for me. I…” He takes a really deep breath and blows it out. “I work in the sports industry, and, unfortunately, being gay is still a pretty big deal in my line of work.”

“Shit,” Lucky nods. “That sucks.”

“I guess a little part of me always thought that if I didn’t say it out loud to anyone or do anything about it, then it was just something about me that was just for me to know. Something that other people don’t get to know about me. I guess in the process, I stopped really acknowledging it, even to myself. It’s weird. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also don’t want people to know. Which must mean I am ashamed of it, I guess. I don’t know.” Connor clears his throat to push through the tightness there. “I’ve never known another option. Like, I knew this was what I had to do from when I figured it out at 10. It’s like… if this is your reality, you might as well accept it and move on, you know?”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not painful, though. It still sucks. I’m sorry.”

Connor shrugs as Lucky lets it hang in the air for a bit.

“Am I the first person you’ve told?” Lucky asks.

“Yeah.”

“Wow… that’s…” Lucky smiles. “Congratulations, Connor. That’s a big deal. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Connor blows out a breath, and it comes out long and shaky. Despite that, his chest feels looser, like one of the invisible chains that wrap around his body loosened. “Yeah.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit as they sip their whiskeys, deep in thought. Connor takes the chance to look over Lucky in the bright kitchen lights. Connor finally determines that he has hazel eyes. They’re largely amber with flecks of green, and it makes him feel warm. It reminds him of the start of autumn and the beginning of the hockey season and the hope that comes with it.

The muscles in Lucky’s forearm ripples as he taps his fingers on the countertop to an unknown beat. It makes Connor think of the little hints of his body under the fitted black shirt and black pants. He knows from the way his shirt stretches when he reaches for a high shelf that Lucky has a broad, defined back. He’s seen enough of his arms and hands to fuel his fantasies for weeks. And what he’s seen of his ass and thighs makes him want to dig his fingers in, just to see what happens. Lucky just looks so handsome, beautiful, hot that it makes his head spin a little.

A flash of heat rolls over Connor as he remembers the feeling of the solid planes of Lucky’s body against his. Connor’s a professional athlete. He’s seen so many naked male bodies in peak physical form so many times and felt nothing that he sometimes questions whether he is actually into men. Of course, there’s always someone who would knock him away from that thought like an 18-wheeler truck. Either way, he doesn’t look in the locker room. Rarely even wants to.

This time, though, it’s Lucky. And he’s not a teammate. And he’s gay. And, for some inexplicable reason, he wants to fuck Connor—a thought that sends another wave of molten heat through his veins.

He shuffles on his feet and feels the uncomfortable wet patch in his pants and flushes. Something catches Lucky’s eye because he raises an eyebrow slightly and cocks his head. It’s a minuscule moment, but Connor catches it, and the way the air seems to shift.

Connor thinks about how he’s already here, everything out on the table. Connor thinks about how he might never get this opportunity again—at least not for another ten years—needs to make the most of it. Connor thinks about the weight of Lucky’s hard cock in his hand. Connor—

“So,” Connor finds himself saying, “Are we gonna fuck tonight or…?”

Lucky throws his head back and laughs. It exposes the long line of his neck, and—Connor doesn’t know if it’s the whiskey or some other form of intoxication, but he has a sudden overwhelming urge to bite it, lick it, kiss it.

So he does.

He closes the space between them in one big step and leans down to run his teeth along Lucky’s neck. He moans in response, a deep rumbling sound that tickles his lips. Connor licks it and savors the flavor of salty sweat and the aroma of heady musk.

“Yeah, baby,” Lucky groans, his fingers finding purchase on Connor's hips and gripping firmly, “I’m going to make this so good for you.” He tilts his head and captures Connor’s lips in a heated kiss.

This kiss is different to the one at the door. It’s more urgent, incessant, purposeful. It’s messy as their teeth clash and tongues slide against each other. Lucky bites down on Connor’s lip harder than before, and he moans. Connor sucks on Lucky’s tongue, earning a moan of his own, before letting go with a pop.

“What do you want, Connor?” Lucky murmurs against his lips.

“I want you to fuck me,” Connor blurts out, the words spilling out.

Lucky freezes for a split second, almost imperceptible, before shaking his head lightly. Connor feels the stab deep in his gut; the sting of rejection hits him by surprise, and it hurts—more than he thought it would. He tries to pull away.

Lucky shakes his head. “No, I just mean, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.”

Connor furrows his brows, feeling confused, still trying to step away.

“Connor. Not on your first night. You’re not ready.” Lucky squeezes Connor’s hip. “Next time though…”

Connor freezes. “Next time? There’s a next time?” he hears himself say, voice small and quiet.

“Yeah, baby. If you’re game, there will be as many next times as you want before you leave. You’re here for a few more months, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathless.

Connor doesn’t know who closes the gap between them, their lips meeting in a heated kiss once again. Lucky guides him backward until he bumps up against the counter of the kitchen island again. He hears the empty whiskey glass clink as his body knocks it back a few inches.

“So, what are we gonna do then?” Connor asks nervously as Lucky kisses down his jaw and neck.

“Oh, there are plenty of ways I can make you feel good, baby, don’t you worry,” Lucky says against the neck, the puffs of air tickling him.

“Oh,” Connor breathes.

He leans back. “Luckily,” he winks, beaming, “you’re in very good hands.”

It takes Connor a second to process the joke before a surprised giggle escapes his lips.

Lucky pushes his sweater up, exposing his stomach and chest. Lucky flicks a tongue over one nipple and a thumb over the other. Connor groans, his hands tightening on Lucky’s shirt.

“So sensitive,” Lucky laughs into his skin as he kisses his way down Connor’s front. “So pink. God, you’re so flushed, too. It goes all the way down to… I need to know if…”

Connor doesn’t have time to even process the way Lucky looks on his knees between his legs because Lucky is popping the buttons on his jeans and pulling his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

His dick bobs free, already achingly hard again. The swollen head glistens, wet with a mix of his come from before and the new beads of pre-come collecting at the tip. The air feels uncomfortably cold against him, and it makes him squirm.

He’s not uncomfortable for long, though, because Lucky wraps one hand around the base of his dick and squeezes firmly before running a hot tongue up the shaft. Connor’s breath catches in his chest.

He’s given no time to process the sensation before Lucky sucks the head into his mouth, bobbing once before sucking him all the way down with a salacious wink. Connor groans and is, for the first time this evening, happy that he’s come already because it is the only reason he doesn’t blow it from that alone.

Lucky moves, bobbing up and down, his hands resting on Connor’s hipbones, holding him still. It is impossibly hot and impossibly wet and impossibly tight. Connor doesn’t even know what sensation to focus on; the only thing he can think is fuck, that feels so good.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to get a handle on his ragged breathing.

He has nothing really to compare this to, but he doesn’t need to compare anything because he feels as though he is on fire, sweat prickling all over him as he focuses on not coming. He focuses on the tension and heat that settles in his gut.

It’s so different than when he touches himself; it’s just so much more. More everything, everywhere. The sounds, the smells—he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. He thinks that maybe he can’t open his eyes and see what this looks like from a real POV perspective because seeing it would ruin his life.

Connor likes to think that as a professional athlete, he has conditioned himself to have great control over his body. A theory that is being very much tested as moans and curses fall from his mouth without his input at all.

“God, fuck,” he rasps, his hoarse voice sounds insanely erotic. “Lucky…” Lucky swirls his tongue over the head as he moves himself up and down Connor’s dick. “Lachy… Fuck. Lachlan,” he moans.

Lucky hums—Connor feels it all the way up his spine—and pulls off with a pop. “Say it again.” His hand moves to lazily slide up and down his shaft.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.” His voice sounds even more fucked than Connor’s; it makes his head spin.

“Lachlan,” he says softly.

Lucky smiles and makes a low noise of approval before sucking Connor back down, all while keeping his eyes pinned on Connor, who can’t look away.

“Oh fuck, Lachlan,” he says, and he’s rewarded with another groan. “You look so good. You feel so good. This is… ahh…”

His hands are gripping the kitchen counter so hard it hurts. The view of Lucky’s shiny red lips stretched over him is too much, his hold on his self-control close to faltering.

He closes his eyes and lets his head hang back; he’s unable to bite down the keening sound that escapes when Lucky flicks his tongue along the frenulum. The symphony of sound in the room sounds so filthy Connor thinks he would be flushing even pinker if he could. But he knows he’s already flushed red from his face to his dick that’s disappearing into Lucky’s incredible mouth.

Connor thinks about Leo and what he would say if he saw this. He wonders if he would be disgusted. If he’d never talk to him off the ice again. If he’d request a trade. If he would lose his best friend. He thinks about what the people would say if they saw him like this—Cam, his parents, his teammates, his agent—

Lucky’s hand slides down Connor’s shaft to the root and traces the line between his balls that are wound up high and tight against his body. His dick throbs inside Lucky’s mouth, and he feels more than hears Lucky’s moan of appreciation.

He decides he shouldn't be thinking of anything at all. However, the decision is more or less taken out of his hands when Lucky presses a finger behind his balls with such incredible precision his knees almost buckle.

The movement causes him open his eyes, and he watches as he accidentally fucks into Lucky’s mouth. Lucky’s dark lashes are wet, and his hazel eyes glisten as they look up at Connor as he fights against a choke, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. Connor thinks he’s never going to forget this moment, the way this looks. Even if this is only a one-time thing, it’s worth it.

Lucky reached up to grab Connor’s hand and place it in his hair. Connor cards his fingers through the soft curls. Lucky rolls his eyes humorously before pulling off.

“Fuck my face, Connor,” he rasps.

“Oh… Oh, fuck,” Connor whispers, hands shaking slightly as they move to grip his hair.

Lucky waits, mouth open, as he reaches one hand between his own pants. Connor watches as Lucky wraps a hand around his own cock, and feels compelled to say something.

“No,” he says.

“No?” Lucky furrows his brow.

“No, don’t—I want to get you. After—”

“Oh,” Lucky breathes, “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

Connor watches as Lucky gives himself a firm squeeze before pulling his hand out and placing it on his broad thigh. He looks up at Connor and smiles before opening his mouth again, tongue hanging out over his bottom teeth. Connor groans as his dick kicks, another bead of precome collecting at the tip. Lucky leans forward and licks it off lightly.

Connor swears before grabbing his dick in one hand and Lucky’s hair in the other before feeding his dick into Lucky’s awaiting mouth. The heat, and wetness, and tightness puts him on edge immediately as his hand clenches, pulling Lucky’s hair tighter. His moan vibrates against Connor’s dick, and he feels it resonate inside every bone in his body. The urge to come is suddenly close to overwhelming.

He keeps his eyes open this time as he rocks into Lucky’s mouth experimentally, watching for any sign of discomfort. As if reading his mind, Lucky rolls his eyes and makes a brief movement with his hands. It surprises a chuckle out of Connor as he relents.

He brushes over Lucky’s lips reverently with the hand that was gripping the base of his dick before he moves it to cup the back of Lucky’s head as he starts to fuck deeper into his throat. With each thrust, he feels the control he barely had fray and unravel.

His pace quickens, hitting the back of Lucky’s throat on every thrust. Lucky places his hand back on Connor’s hip to steady himself as Connor fucks his face. The tension in his groin feels impossibly taut.

“Lachlan, fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Lucky hums and grips his hip tighter so Connor doesn’t even think about pulling out. Their eyes lock, Connor unable to look away as Lucky cups his aching balls in his hand, reaching behind to the spot, and presses his fingers deep, plunging Connor over the edge.

Connor moans his name as he spills down Lucky’s throat, the world going hazy as his balls tighten and throb. He thinks the only thing that keeps him upright is all the years of balancing on knives on ice.

He gently eases Lucky off his dick, realizing suddenly just how tightly he was clutching his hair.

“Sorry, was that,” Connor says, his voice hoarse and soft, “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?”

Lucky laughs, shaking his head before tipping forward and burying his face into the crook of Connor’s thigh.

“Yeah, baby, you did so good. A total pro at getting your cock sucked.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Connor rolls his eyes, unable to contain his laughter too.

“Now, there’s an idea,” Lucky says.

“Yeah?” Connor says, voice suddenly small as a wave of heat rushes over him. His spent dick throbs valiantly in interest.

“Oh, yeah,” Lucky hums against his thigh, “Not today though.”

Connor reaches down and pulls Lucky up to stand, supporting his weight a little as he comes off his knees. He leans down and kisses him gently.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against his lips. He can taste the faint flavor of himself on his lips.

“Nah. Yeah, no worries, baby,” Lucky chuckles, “Any time.”

Connor’s body shudders at that thought, and he chooses to push it aside as he feels Lucky’s hard cock against his thigh.

“I want to take care of you. Can I?” he asks quietly.

Lucky hums and pushes a hand under Connor’s sweater, muttering, “Why are we still fucking wearing clothes? And to answer your question, fuck yeah. Come on.”

They fumble, Lucky guiding Connor, who’s walking backward, to the bedroom, their mouths clashing while they finally remove their clothes.

Connor feels his knees knock against the bed as Lucky gives him a slight push, sending him sprawling. His dick unceremoniously flops on his stomach, and Connor feels momentarily embarrassed before he looks up at Lucky.

His breath catches at the sight. Lucky is standing there, naked at the end of the bed, his heated gaze raking down Connor’s body as he strokes himself. Connor is transfixed by the movement. From where he is, Lucky’s dick looks thick, thicker than Connor’s own anyway, maybe a bit shorter. It tapers down to the tip, where the head, red-purple and mouth-wateringly wet, peeks out from the foreskin.

Connor always thought he would be nervous at this moment, unsure. But looking at Lucky, he feels calm, like the moment before his skate hits the fresh ice in pre-game. Every single cell in his body feels dialed into this moment, reaching out to feel Lucky’s skin against his.

His eyes follow the dark trail of hair, from the groomed patch at the base of his cock up to the mat of hair between his nipples. His eyes track the movement of Lucky’s toned arm as he works himself slowly, languidly. He bites his lip as his eyes trail down Lucky’s thick thighs, a carpet of dark hair over them. For some reason, Connor just wants to sink his teeth into the meat of his thigh.

When he finally meets Lucky’s eye, he feels like his soul is going to leave his body. The look is almost predatory, the way his gaze feels heavy, pinning him in place. His eyes are so dark now, his pupils swallowing the beautiful hazel, as his curly hair falls messily over his face.

“You like what you see,” Lucky says gruffly.

“Yeah,” Connor replies, breathless once again.

“Good.” He kneels on the bed, and Connor slides back further onto the bed. “Me too.”

Lucky knee-walks his way up the bed, his thick thighs bracketing Connor’s legs, skin blazingly hot. Connor can’t help but scramble back until his head hits the pillow.

Connor swallows hard when Lucky finally towers over him. The hand not stroking his cock is pressed against the pillow right next to Connor’s head. The view is intoxicating. Connor’s hands twitch at his sides.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

Lucky moans and nods, biting his lip.

Connor reaches up and runs his hands over Lucky’s cheek. Lucky’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into it. Connor’s thumbs brush over his thick eyelashes, and then he pulls his bottom lip out from between his teeth. Lucky’s mouth remains slightly parted as Connor slides his hands down his neck, through the thick hair at his chest, down the hard planes of his stomach, and onto his thighs.

Connor digs his fingers in, earning him a small hiss, and pulls Lucky’s thighs forward so he can sit comfortably on Connor’s stomach. He slides his hands up the back of his thighs, savoring the contrasting rough and soft of his thick leg hair. He takes a moment to knead Lucky’s ample glutes before taking one hand to trace the thick groomed hair at his pelvis.

Lucky’s hard cock sits heavy on Connor’s stomach, the pre-come smearing a little against Connor’s flushed red skin. Lucky wiggles at the light touch, cock kicking, as Connor runs his fingers down the soft velvety skin of the shaft, tracing the snaking veins. He is so transfixed by it, how soft it is, how much it responds to his touch, how hot all of this is—

“Please,” he hears Lucky whisper, a hint of a whine.

Connor blinks and looks up at Lucky, who looks like he’s in a tremendous amount of pain—although Connor knows that’s not what it is. His jaw is clenched, and he’s breathing hard and raggedly.

“Sorry, I just—Sorry,” Connor says softly.

He takes a deep breath before wrapping his hand around the shaft of Lucky’s cock, earning him a deep moan. He pumps his hand experimentally, noting the difference in how it feels in his hand compared to his own dick, before applying more pressure. When Connor slides his hand up and down again, he runs his thumb lightly against the underside of the tip.

“Connor,” Lucky moans above him, his head dropping a little. His curly hair brushes against Connor’s cheek.

He hums, drawing up the play in his head as he continues to repeat the motion. Lucky’s leaking so much that it doesn’t take long before his hand is wet enough to touch the sensitive head without it being uncomfortable—he hopes at least. He alternates his strokes between one that goes from the root to the tip and one that squeezes the head with a slight twist—the way he knows feels good.

“Fuuuuck,” Lucky breathes. His arm is starting to shake a little from where it is next to Connor’s head. Connor turns his head slightly and presses a light kiss to Lucky’s wrist. “Baby, that’s so fucking good.”

Connor smiles and feels his chest puff a little, proud like when a new drill finally clicks. He looks up at Lucky’s face, now flushed with pleasure. He watches as he applies more pressure, watching the way Lucky’s eyes roll behind the closed lids and lips hang open.

“Yeah, fuck, just like that,” Lucky says. His hand comes up from where it was resting on Connor’s thigh and grabs onto his shoulder, fingers digging in. It hurts, but Connor doesn’t mind.

Connor continues to stroke at an even pace, eyes gliding over Lucky’s face and body, taking it all in. Lucky continues to drop little praises between them, mixed with his moans and curses. Connor feels like he could listen to the way Lucky says his name forever.

It’s not long before Connor notices the way Lucky’s hips start hitching with his strokes and speeds up his hand. He loosens his grip slightly so Lucky can fuck into his hand in time with his strokes.

“Lachlan,” Connor’s voice sounds hoarse and fucked-out, even to his own ears, “Open your eyes. I want to watch you come.”

Lucky moans and his eyes open, gaze unfocused. Connor is transfixed by his face: the square jawline and full cheeks flushed with pleasure, the way his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, the shape of his mouth as he moans Connor’s name over and over.

Connor feels Lucky’s cock get impossibly harder in his hand as his pace becomes more erratic. Connor sees the moment before he comes in his eyes as they roll back, his eyes slamming shut. Connor feels the momentary desperation before the relief in the way Lucky’s fingers clench into the pillow beside his head and into the meat of his shoulder.

He feels the first pulse in the kick of Lucky’s cock in his hand before the cum hits his chest, his name on Lucky’s lips as he comes. He strokes Lucky through his orgasm in even pulls. He feels breathless and in awe and reaches up with his lips to pull Lucky into a deep kiss.

When they pull away, a while after the last pulse Connor feels, Connor is smiling wide. Lucky rolls off him and pants in the bed next to him, his arm draped over his eyes as he catches his breath. Connor stays smiling like an idiot at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” Lucky murmurs against his elbow next to him.

Connor hums. “Yeah.”

“No, seriously. Holy fuck.” Lucky knocks his leg against Connor’s. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve never done that before?”

Connor lets his head drop to the side to look at him. “No?”

Lucky peaks an eye out and looks at him. “What are you, some kind of prodigy? What the fuck?”

“Uh…”

“Did you hack my brain? How—I’m serious, Connor. I can’t believe that’s the first handjob you’ve ever given. I think I might’ve died and fucking transcended. Fuck,” he breathes.

“Um… Thanks?” Connor says, unsure, “I guess I’ve spent a lot of time jerking off, so…”

Lucky knocks a knee against him again, harder this time. “Shut the fuck up.”

Connor laughs.

Lucky turns in the bed to face him and smiles dopily. “Do you want me to get you again?”

“Huh?”

Lucky gestures to Connor’s dick, hard and curved up against his stomach.

“Oh! I didn’t even—No, I’m okay. I think I might be fully dry.”

Lucky laughs. “Yeah, okay.” He’s silent for a second. “Hey, Connor?”

“Mmm?”

“Stay, yeah?” he says, voice quiet.

“Okay,” Connor replies softly.

“You can stay there; I’ll grab you a towel to clean up.”

“Hmm?”

“Your chest?”

“Oh!” he huffs and looks down at the mess on his chest. He runs a finger through the mess and pops it in his mouth, the flavor salty and tangy on his tongue. “Hmm!”

Lucky groans beside him, “Oh my god! What the fuck am I gonna do with you? You’re a fucking menace.”

“What?” Connor asks, confused.

Lucky rolls his eyes and climbs off the bed. “I can’t believe you genuinely don’t know what you do to people, do you? Fuck.”

Connor shrugs, not really following but too content to care.

They wake up facing each other the next morning, the sliver of light streaming in through the curtains illuminating their faces. Their bodies are pressed in close. Close enough that Connor feels Lucky’s morning boner pressing into his own.

Through sleepy blinks, they kiss for a long time, slow and heated, their bodies sliding against each other. Lucky hooks a strong thigh over Connor’s and pulls them even closer together, their hard dicks sliding against each other perfectly.

They moan into each other’s mouths, kissing messily as the sensations build. Eventually, Lucky reaches down and wraps a hand around both of them, rocking against each other. The air in the room feels thick with their pants and moans.

Each slide of Lucky’s cock against Connor’s sends sparks up his spine; the way their heads rub together is unlike anything Connor’s ever felt before. The pressure of Lucky’s hand is light, and it shouldn’t be enough to get him to the edge, but it does faster than he expects.

“Lachlan, I’m gonna come,” he whispers, his voice thick with sleep and arousal.

“Mmm, me too,” Lucky moans.

When Connor comes, it’s nothing like the night before. It’s slow and sensual, waves of heat and pleasure rolling through him like molasses. Lucky follows not long after, covering them both in sticky heat.

Lucky captures Connor’s lips again, resuming their lazy kiss for a little while longer until the mess between them gets to be uncomfortable.

Lucky reaches up with his hand and licks it clean—it unbelievably makes a molten wave of heat roll through Connor’s body again—before he reaches up to cup Connor’s cheek.

“You didn’t panic and run away,” Lucky says evenly, without judgment and maybe even with a sigh of appreciation and wonder.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t,” Connor smiles. “Why? Did you expect me to?”

Lucky shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess.” He pauses and sighs. “It happens. A lot of guys will have the post-nut clarity, or whatever, and make it clear that they regret what happened. They’ll try to make it real clear they’re “straight” which…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I didn’t know you wouldn’t do the same. I mean, I hoped you wouldn’t. But…” He trails off and shrugs.

It stings more than Connor expects, and he feels his full-body wince. “Good thing I’m gay then, eh?” he says.

He didn’t know he was going to say that when he opened his mouth to respond, but he feels with amazing—post-nut—clarity that he is glad he did.

Lucky smiles and it's the smile that makes Connor feel warm and tingly from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It’s a different heat than before. He imagines it’s the type of heat that sunflowers chase when they supposedly turn to follow the sun.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Lucky says.

“Me too.” Connor leans in and plants a soft kiss on Lucky’s lips.

Lucky hums, content. “Come on. Let’s shower, and then I can make us breakfast.”

Later, when he’s sat at the kitchen island watching Lucky talk animatedly about the merit of sharks of all things while making an incredibly delicious smelling omelet, Connor is struck by the normality of the whole thing.

You could replace Connor with any single person, and the world would keep spinning. Why would Connor be any different?

He thinks about checking his phone earlier. He had opened it, heart pounding, holding his breath while he towel dried his hair—he took the opportunity while Lucky was drying his hair in the bathroom with an absolutely wild-looking contraption—”It’s called a diffuser, Connor”.

So, he was hiding, essentially, crouched on Lucky’s bedroom floor where Lucky had plugged his phone in before bed, knuckles white around his phone as he turned the screen on.

It was underwhelming, really. The world did not burn down. It wasn’t front-page news on ESPN or Deadspin or Twitter or something. There wasn’t some sort of international beacon that went out screaming: “Connor McDavid is Gay” or “Connor McDavid has Gay Sex; what is next for the Edmonton Oilers Captain”. There were no “you’re fired” texts from Ken or Bettman. There were no “you’re disgusting, and I hate you” texts from all the people in his life who loved him.

There were only the normal texts. Photos from Cam of some Canada Geese. A text from his mum asking how he was doing. The most notable thing on his phone was a recent text from Leo, apologizing for Nashville—an apology Connor didn’t feel like he was owed, but Leo wanted to let him know he was sorry anyway.

“Hey, just wanted to say sorry for how I was in Nashville. I don’t want you to think I meant it,” he had said. “You’re one of the best people I know. I was worried and hurt. So I’m sorry. I hope you’re having a good time in Australia. You haven’t sent me any pictures, asshole.”

“Isn’t it like 3 am in Germany right now? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?” Connor had texted back.

Leon had sent back his typical response—an eye roll emoji—and Connor had smiled and turned off his phone.

So, Connor watches Lucky move at the stove, easy and carefree. And, for the first time in a long time, Connor feels a little bit of that ease in his chest. Like there is just a little bit more room to breathe. Like there is an ever so slightly less weight on his shoulders.

For the first time since he was 10, Connor considered that maybe he could be wrong. That maybe Connor McDavid could get to have something like this. Something easy—private but easy. Connor considers that maybe this is something he might want to share with a select few people when he’s ready. Not the people who would make it into a Connor McDavid-97-Captain issue. But people who deserve to see Connor a little more clearly.

But for now, he’s just content to watch as Lucky tries—and fails—to flip the omelet in the air like a pancake.

“So, how do you feel about scrambled eggs?” Lucky asks, smile broad and eyes shining.

“Good,” Connor laughs. “I feel good about scrambled eggs.”

“Fuck yeah!” Lucky laughs.

“Fuck yeah,” Connor says softly.

Masterlist | (My requests are currently closed.) | AO3

#the summer fic exchange 2k24 #hrpf #hockey rpf #connor mcdavid imagine #connor mcdavid fic #edmonton oilers imagine #edmonton oilers fic #edm #rox writes #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl smut

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