Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bjugy's first game back, the Flyers come down to Sunrise and totally kick their asses.

Okay, mostly it's Steve Mason on his once-per-season streak of elite goaltending. Still doesn't change the fact that they lost.

Vince is mostly getting used to all the ways things are different from last season by now, the uniforms and the new guys and 2-4 extra minutes a night. It's almost harder to cope with all the things that are the same, like a cheerful backup goalie and his line with Juice and Smitty and the state of Florida managing to drive the refs temporarily insane nearly every game.

Oh, and Bjugs and Rau.

Right now, the whole team should be trying and failing not to think about the loss, especially since it's more than just a blip on the radar. They've kind of sucked without Huby, and now Petro's out too things are looking down instead of up. They really need to string together more than two wins in a row if they want to make the playoffs. Even so, not a single one of them is doing the math in his head or worrying about going to Columbus and ending up like Montreal, stuck listening to that fucking cannon ten times in one night. Instead, nearly all of them - except Eks, who does actually seem to be genuinely worrying about Ohio, Lu, who looks like he might try to murder both PK units before the night is over, and Jags, who is openly laughing like this is some kind of soap opera rather than a real life problem - are instead trying and failing to ignore Bjugy and Rau.

Bjugy and Rau are pining again.

Rau stares while Bjugs takes off his jersey; Smitty has a pained look on his face. Bjugs returns the favor; Yands gets a little paler. Rau pretends to be working a tough knot out of his skate laces like he's not being completely obvious; Reims cracks and leaves the room to call his wife. Bjugy completely zones out when Rau's underarmor rides up; Marchy mutters in Quebecois, something along the lines of 'I thought I was done with this shit.' They catch each other staring and quickly look away; Vince pokes the bruise on his hip, trying to distract himself with pain, and stops looking.

It doesn't work.

--

They win in Columbus, and they only have to hear the cannon once, but by the time the shootout is done it's late and they can't go out because they have to be in Carolina tomorrow night. On the plane, Bjugs and Rau sit across the aisle from each other and, once again, pine.

They keep stealing glances at each other. Vince just stares at his phone like "I Am Legend" is the single greatest film in the history of cinema and feels very sorry for the guys who’d been their teammates back in Minnesota.

--

They lose to the Hurricanes, and Turk is fired on the spot. It feels like it should change everything.

It changes nothing.

The guys are still the same guys with the same skills. The injured guys are still injured. Rowe probably won't do anything drastic with the lines.

And Bjugy and Rau are still fucking pining.

Vince would kind of like to get in on that.

Not the pining (though he can vividly imagine Lu telling him he's already part of that shit). Just, like, a relationship, or whatever, if he ever gets his shit together and tells them before they get their shit together and go off into happy couple world without him.

Vince has wanted Bjugs ever since he got called up for the first time. He'd reported to Sunrise, fresh and excited, expecting to fall for someone like Guddy, a pretty face he could get over fast. Instead, there was Bjugy, towering over the other skaters, leading the damn team in points. Bjugs, with his seriousness and his good manners and his smile, crooked and easy. Vince didn't act on it then because he was trying to stay up, and then they traded for Jags and Vince sort of had to have a hero-worship crush on him for a few months and then there was a new season and a franchise-record winstreak and, after that, there was Rau.

Vince has wanted Rau ever since he got called up for the first time. At the time, he's the only guy there shorter than Vince, which is fun, but that's not what makes him stand out. That comes during practice, when he sees the look of absolute focus on Rau's face and finds himself wondering if he'd have that same expression giving a blowjob, if he’d let Vince come all over it, and loses an edge and his train of thought at the same time. At first Vince assumes it's lust alone, that he's just thirsty for some fun-sized action after wanting big dudes for a while, but Rau works harder than anyone but Jags, and Vince has always had a thing for people who try.

That's also the day he sees them pine for each other for the first time.

It really fucking sucks.

That's not because it makes them unattainable, or whatever. It's because, for some weird fucking reason, it somehow makes them seem more attainable, like one day they'll get close enough for Vince to tie them together in some hugeass ribbon and drag them to whichever of their places is nearest. Like one day they'll stop only staring at each other and notice he's staring, too.

Anyway (and he's talking to you, Lu voice in his head), he's way better at showing he's interested than they are. He looks out for Rau, when he's up, making sure he gets all the invites to team shit, slinging a casual arm over his shoulders and chirping the hell out of the guys. Mostly he chirps Bjugy, because Vince is pretty sure that they, as good Minnesota boys, were too busy with hockey to progress past the 'teasing' stage of flirting. It's why he called Bjugs "Rotisserie Chicken" the first time. After that, he kept doing it because he liked the indignant expression he always got, and then it had stuck. At one point, someone had cracked and made the inevitable spit-roasting joke; Vince doesn't even remember who it was, because he'd suddenly had a vivid image of a huge blond down on hands and knees and a tongue on his dick and Rau across from him, fucking into Bjugy in a slow grind, the feel of Bjugy's breath hitching against his skin...

Well. He tries to switch to "Big Dick Nick" after that one, because A. it's true, the man is 6'6" and well-proportioned and 2. it's not much less likely to give him inappropriate boners, but at least it's shorter and it rhymes. Bjugs gets a really weird look on his face and basically runs away instead of arguing about it indignantly, though, so Vince pretty much has to switch back.

--

Winning is kind of worse than losing, if he's being honest. Barky scores the OT winner in Detroit like the fucking legend he's going to be, and Vince's first thought (after the excitement dies down) is that now they're going to go out and celebrate, and Bjugs and Rau are going to pine the entire fucking time.

Vince dances, and fails to pick up, and tries very hard not to look at them.

--

The next day, he calls Saader. With a goal in the Jackets' win last night, Saader will probably have very few complaints of his own, which is good. Vince has made that mistake before, when a call for advice about the best way to put together IKEA furniture had led to Vince finishing the dresser and all four kitchen chairs before Saader finished his speakerphoned rant about how the pizza place had shorted him some mushrooms.

Come to think of it, Vince can't actually remember Saader ever giving him good advice, but he's already calling before he can stop himself.

"Troch!" says Saader, and Vince is sort of stupidly happy to hear his dumb-and-friendly voice, even if he does mostly only hear it saying stupid things. This was a good choice. "What's up, man?"

Vince almost chickens out, because he hasn't actually said any of this shit out loud yet, even to himself, but it's a little late for that now.

"You remember Bjugs and Rau, right?" is where he decides to start.

"Oh, yeah!" says Saader, sounding unreasonably chipper for someone who almost certainly has a hangover. "They were on Team USA with me in 2012! Really big guy and a really little guy, never went anywhere without each other, right? Man, did they get their shit together yet?"

"Not yet," says Vince, but he can’t figure out what else to say.

Saader, who can always figure out what to say, grabs the conversation and runs with it. "That sucks, man. It's like Wenny and Bill, like they just stare at each other all the time, and-"

"How do I tell them I want to date them?" Vince interrupts, because he really doesn't want to have to hear about Wenny and Bill again.

"You want to date Wenny and Bill?" asks Saader, and starts giggling. Dick.

"Be serious, asshole," says Vince, rolling his eyes and failing to sound at all angry.

"Just talk to them? I mean, we all play hockey, we're pretty dumb about everything else."

"They went to college!" Vince says defensively, but Saader's right: they may have had four years of college each, but they're still pretty fucking emotionally stunted. If he's doing the math right (and he probably isn't, but whatever), they've been dancing around each other for almost six years.

"Talk to them," Saader repeats, and then there's a knock on the door. It's Rau, telling him to hurry his ass up or he'll miss the food, so he thanks Saader and hangs up and daydreams his way through yet another forgettable hotel breakfast.

--

It's kind of hard to find the right time, especially when they lose the next four games in a row. Yeah, they salvage a point off Boston, but it's still not looking good for them at this point.

So not good, in fact, that nobody even notices whether Bjugy and Rau are still pining, not even Vince, who actually has personal reasons to care.

What Vince does finally notice, though, is Eks. Eks has been looking a little... off so far this season. Vince had sort of let it go, figuring it was just a lingering issue from the World Cup, but it's been months, and he's still being weird, so someone should probably talk to him. Vince almost gets Lu and D-Mac, but doesn't, and his decision to handle this himself is proven good when he sees exactly what Eks is looking at.

Eks is looking at the stall next to his. It's Pysser's - but last year, it wouldn't have been. He thinks it might have been Soupy's, then, or Mitchie's, but the point is he knows now why Eks isn't being Eks.

Luckily, he’s just been given the perfect piece of advice to fix this.

"He has a phone, you know," Vince says, casually, as he walks by.

--

They finally win again, against Vancouver, which is nice, and at home, which is nicer. The whole team goes out to celebrate together, including Huby, who's been off the scooter for almost two weeks.

Vince doesn’t feel like dancing, and isn’t in the mood to pick up (or, more likely, be shot down), so he goes back to their table much earlier than he usually does.

Bjugy and Rau are there alone.
They're all up in each other's personal space the same way they always are. Rau's head is on Bjugy's shoulder, and the sight of them is just too fucking adorable for Vince to ignore any longer.

"Come to my place," he says. Bjugs raises an eyebrow but doesn't respond. Rau looks like he might be asleep. "This is lame. We should just chill, and you guys can crash there, it's fine."

"You just want me to make you breakfast," Bjugy says.

Vince is about to protest this when Rau apparently wakes up and says, "You do make good breakfast."

"Two against one, Rotisserie Chicken!" Vince says, adjusting quickly because he’s just that good at this. His voice is slightly too loud but so is this bar, so it’s totally okay.

"Fine," Bjugy says, but he's smiling.

--

They're playing Mario Kart. Badly. They really should probably have better hand-eye coordination, even if they are all slightly buzzed. The computer keeps kicking their asses, and after four races Rau is the only one who even makes the podium.

"So, uh," Vince says, staring at Luigi dancing on the bronze medal platform instead of Bjugy and/or Rau, "you two have been playing hockey together since, like, college, huh?"

"...yes," Bjugs answers, suspiciously, like it's being dragged out of him. "Why?"

"That's a long time," says Vince, ignoring the question. He's pretty sure they're staring at him now. He keeps his eyes on the TV as Luigi does an improbable backflip.

Nobody moves or says anything. Peach and Toad make sad noises from somewhere offscreen.

"So, Bjugy," Vince says, once it's clear they’re waiting for him to get to the point, "how long have you wanted to get Rau naked?"

One of them makes a choking noise. Vince would put money on it being Bjugy. He risks a glance and decides he was right.

"What - I don't - " Bjugs starts, but Vince is pretty good at interrupting.

"Rau, what about you? How long have you wanted a big Minnesota boy in your bed?"

"A while," Rau responds, smirking, and Vince is thrilled because this is all going exactly like he planned:

"Me too!" he says, and Bjugy puts his head in his hands.

Chapter Text

Kyle doesn’t remember anymore the exact moment he realized he was in love with Nick. At this point he’s not even sure he remembers a time when he wasn’t.

What he does remember is being in college, being a Golden Gopher, and Nick, smiling all lopsided every time Kyle scored. He remembers their bond as Panthers prospects, and the feeling of missing Nick all the time the last two seasons, turning to look for him countless times before remembering he’s not there. He remembers late nights watching Panthers games on his laptop, watching Nick succeed effortlessly, wishing he could hear his voice telling him to get off his computer and do his homework. He remembers fleeing college for the AHL, and Nick’s sigh on the phone when he’d found out.

He remembers his first call-up, and the way he’d been sent down again after 9 games. He understood it - they didn’t want to burn a year of his ELC if he wasn’t ready, and they didn’t think he was ready - but he didn’t like it.

It wasn’t really the sending down that hurt. It was missing Nick just after getting to play with him again. It was maybe missing the chance to play with someone who wouldn’t be there next season. It was missing the rest of the guys, too - Eks and his ridiculously serious face, Lu and his wicked sense of humor, Troch and his shit-stirring, his attempts to help Kyle, his sly little grins every time he called Nick “Rotisserie Chicken.”

(Honestly, though, Kyle was just a little bit glad he hadn’t heard the spit-roasting comment in person.)

--

Making the team is amazing. Scoring his first NHL goal is even more amazing, and even though Nick isn’t there on the ice or the bench, he can make do with Mathy, who’s almost as big, in the celly and with Troch’s huge grin as he bumps fists with the bench.

Scoring his second NHL goal in the very next game is really fucking awesome, and they win both, which is even better, and four games later Nick gets to play, and that’s the absolute best, even if they don’t win.

Afterwards, in the room, his eyes are drawn to Nick, muscles shifting beneath his underarmor as he takes off his jersey. Kyle’s got a knot in the laces of one skate that he can definitely pretend is harder to untie than it actually is, and if he just happens to be looking at Nick the whole time he’s trying to loosen it up, it’s not like anyone’s going to notice.

When he finally unties it, he has to stretch himself a little. His own underarmor rides up, and the feel of cool air on his bare skin is welcome after a game like that one. He takes his other skate off, and his eyes drift over to Nick again.

Nick is looking at him too. He looks away, embarrassed, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Nick doing the same.

Out of the corner of his other eye he catches Troch watching them from the next stall, pressing on a bruise with an unreadable expression on his face.

--

Winning in Columbus is the best, because it pisses off Ohioans. Also he nearly pissed himself a little when the cannon went off for the first and only time, and since he was scratched he wouldn’t actually have had a good excuse to change his suit. It really hadn’t sounded as loud last time, when he’d been on the ice instead of in the pressbox.

On the plane, he looks at Nick for a little while, occasional glances when he’s sure he’s not going to be caught. Kyle knows him well enough to feel pretty sure that Nick is staring at him for the same reasons he stares at Nick, which is useful information to have. In his peripheral vision, he notices Troch watching them before scowling down at his phone.

Interesting.

--

Kyle plays his usual minutes with his usual lineys and the team, as usual, is not quite good enough when it counts.

Unusually, it ends with Coach being fired.

Before they find that out, though, it’s just a regular postgame, and Kyle has a plan. He stretches, tipping his head back until his eyes are almost closed, and watches. Nick is looking at him, blue eyes dark, and the beginnings of lust stir in his gut until he remembers his original goal. He shifts his stretch a little to one side, and looks instead at Troch.

Kyle doesn’t expect to learn a lot from just one glance, because Troch is pretty hard to read even when you’re looking right at him, but he sees way more than he expected to.

Troch is looking right at Kyle, watching as his underarmor rides up just a little bit more, when he licks his lips. It’s not showy, like he thinks someone’s looking and he wants to make a dumb, shit-stirring joke; it’s personal, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Kyle’s going to have to think about this one.

--

The thing is, he’s not really the type who usually falls for teammates. Normally he’s pretty good at avoiding it, even. He’s so rarely interested in anyone at all that his “do not touch” compartmentalization didn’t even seem that necessary, really.

He hadn’t been ready for Nick, who’d come at him as a friend more than a teammate, even when most of the time they’d spent together had been on the ice.

He supposes he maybe wasn’t ready for Troch, either, for the casual touches and the jokes and the constant attempts to include him.

He supposes it’s sort of nice not to notice you’re falling until you’ve already hit the ground.

--

When they finally get home from the roadie, they play the Penguins.

They lose.

Badly.

Troch pops up out of nowhere to chirp Nick until he stops being mad at the game and starts being mad at Troch instead, and Kyle figures out what a slightly smarter person might have noticed weeks ago.

Huh, he thinks, and watches Troch try to convince Nick that there’s a spider in his hair.

--

Two days later, they finally win a fucking game again. It’s only Vancouver, but a win is a win. They go out to the bar they always go out to, and sit at the tables they always sit at, in the back, near the bathrooms.

Everyone scatters to drink or dance or whatever else, and Nick and Kyle are the only two left at the table. Nick starts to offer to use his height and get him a drink, just like he always does. Kyle just slides in closer, leans his head onto Nick’s shoulder, and shuts his eyes.

Kyle knows someone’s coming by the slight amount of tension in Nick’s shoulders. Normally he’d at least sit up, but tonight he doesn’t care. He’s tired and he’s pretty sure everyone knows about their mutual pining thing anyway, so he stays where he is and pretends to be asleep. He’s not sure who that would really fool, since this bar is louder than the BB&T Center during a Tuesday night game, but he does it anyway.

It’s Troch. Kyle doesn’t remember him ever coming back to the table this early but maybe he just hasn’t been around long enough to know for sure. Once he realizes what Troch actually wants, though, it’s hard for him not to laugh.

Troch is inviting them over, probably so he can make a dramatic declaration about everyone’s obvious heart eyes for each other and maybe get his dick wet. Since Kyle has been trying to figure out how to do this and drawn a blank, it’s nice that now he won’t have to.

Nick seems to be trying to turn Troch down, but Kyle pipes in and Troch manages to save it and that’s that. They say their goodbyes to D-Mac, who’s keeping a close eye on McCann and Mathy, and head out.

--

Back at Troch’s place, Kyle and Nick each take one of the super comfy armchairs, leaving Troch to crow over having the whole couch. He’s a little confused when Troch pulls out Mario Kart and throws controllers at their faces, but it makes a little more sense when he makes them each take two shots of tequila before they start. He claims it’s just to even things up, since they hadn’t drunk anything at the bar, but Kyle can’t help but think it’s really just a tactic to lower their inhibitions or whatever.

By the time the first round ends, he’s on autopilot, waiting for Troch to just say it, already. Troch is weirdly fixed on the TV as he asks how long the two of them have been teammates, and that’s when Kyle knows this is going to lead up into it somehow because how could it not?

Troch ducks Nick’s question and now Nick is staring at him just as hard as Kyle is. This is why Kyle gets a great view of them both when Troch suddenly says, “So, Bjugy, how long have you wanted to get Rau naked?”

Nick chokes, then attempts sentences, failing miserably. Troch doesn’t wait for him to finish before asking Kyle the same question.

“A while,” he says, with a small smirk, and Troch lights up.

“Me too!” he says, looking away from the TV at last. Nick lets out a small groan and hides his face in his hands, and Kyle has to try hard not to laugh at him. Instead, he goes over to the couch and sits right next to Troch, just a little bit in his personal space.

Sitting down, Troch is about the same height as him. Kyle, reaching a hand to Troch’s face, has a sneaking suspicion this is going to come in handy at some point in the next minute.

And then Troch’s mouth is on his, all scruffy beard and shallow breaths and slightly-too-soon tongue, and Kyle’s sneaking suspicions were totally and completely right.

He’s pretty sure it’s about to get even better when a large shape blocks the light.

Chapter Text

Nick has this feeling that the captain of the Minnesota Golden Gophers probably shouldn’t have romantic or sexual feelings for his teammate.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them anyway.

Kyle is undersized, really undersized, and he’s not scrawny but he’s also not ridiculously bulky like a Martin St. Louis. Despite that, he never ever gives up. As they get closer they talk about their careers, sometimes, about the Panthers and where the two of them will be in 6 or 7 years.

Kyle never once mentions the possibility he won’t be an NHL regular.

He has good reason to be confident, in Nick’s opinion; what Kyle lacks in height he makes up for in hard work, and he’s so, so good.

More important to Nick, he’s nice, and he can see right through Nick’s poker faces, through the facade of responsibility. More than once, Kyle has found him studying too hard, too long, and dragged him away to do something fun, to break the cycle of worry. Nick completely credits Kyle for the fact he’d aced his Finance final.

--

Nick goes straight from college to the NHL and they never send him down.

He still calls Kyle as often as he can.

--

Troch is called up for part of Nick’s first full season. He’s undersized, like Kyle, but that’s about as far as the similarities go. Where Kyle has bulk, Troch is all lean muscle. Where Kyle is quiet, Troch never stops talking. Where Kyle hangs back and observes, Troch feels the need to be the life of the party.

(He doesn’t find out til later that they have one more thing in common: Troch can read Nick just as easily as Kyle can.)

--

Nick has this feeling that “the responsible guy” on the Florida Panthers probably shouldn’t have romantic or sexual feelings for his teammate.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them anyway.

--

Nick’s first game back in the lineup is a loss to the Flyers. He can’t really bring himself to care, though, because Kyle is up and playing well and it feels like forever since they’ve been in the same locker room on a regular basis.

It’s that feeling, like going home and eating his mom’s cooking for the first time after the season ends, that keeps him looking at Kyle.

Well, that and the hint of bare skin that gets exposed when he stretches.

--

Going to a shootout in Columbus sucks; Nick is pretty much a zombie when he gets on the plane. A moment later he hears someone take the seat across the aisle. Seeing that it’s Kyle wakes him up a little bit.

Stealing glances at Kyle, lit by Lu’s booklamp from the seat in front of him, Nick wonders what Troch is doing. He can’t actually look without being obvious, because Troch is two rows directly behind him, so he lets it lie.

--

After their loss to the Hurricanes, Nick feels like he should probably be sad. He’s taken off his pads and his jersey and is working on his skates, trying to keep out of the you-could-have-done-better spiral, when the whole thing is suddenly derailed.

Kyle is stretching again.

His underarmor rides up like the whole world is in slow-mo, and when he’s gone as far back as he’s going to go he tips his head back and lets out a small “mmm” of pleasure that sends all the blood in Nick’s body running straight to his dick.

He tips his own head back then and wills it away, because he’s never jerked off in the team showers before, even when he was a teenager, and he’s damned if he’s going to start now.

That, of course, is when Troch wanders by, saying he’s slow and calling him “Rotisserie Chicken” again, just like he always does.

It takes Nick two and a half more minutes of carefully even breathing before he has himself under control.

--

Nick’s first reaction when Guddy had made the spit-roasting comment was to take him aside and explain why it could potentially be interpreted as homophobic.

His second reaction, after he’d gone home, had been to think about it.

He’d been lying in bed in his comfiest pair of sweats, streaming the third period of some West Coast hockey game on his laptop in the hope that it would relax him enough that he could sleep. Instead of paying attention to the Sharks’ power play, though, he’d suddenly had an image of someone else’s fingers up his ass for the first time in years, the head of a cock teasing his lips as the stretch-burn of adding a third finger ebbed away, and he’d gotten harder than he could remember having been in a long time. The thought of looking up at Kyle, seeing his face pink from beardburn, was enough to make him get his dick out. The thought of Troch pressing in behind him, telling him how nice his ass was, kissing Kyle filthy and sloppy over Nick’s back, loud enough for him to hear - that was enough to have him coming all over himself, groaning from somewhere deep in his chest.

He’d fallen asleep to the sound of Randy Hahn excitedly narrating Pavelski’s trillionth tip-in of the season.

--

Nick had this feeling that, after coming to the realization you want to do sex things with two of your teammates at the same time, you probably shouldn’t want to talk to your mother about it.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t done it anyway.

“Hi, sweetie,” she’d answered. “Did you get Uncle Scott’s email?”

“Yeah, tell him it was very helpful.”

“Nick, what’s wrong?” she’d asked, because she was his mother and mothers always knew.

“I’m… having feelings,” he’d said, for lack of a better expression.

“That’s great, Nick! Tell me all about him and we’ll see what we can do, alright?”

“Well, uh… one of them is Kyle.”

“One of them?” she’d asked, but she’d sounded curious rather than judgmental, so he’d gone on.

“The other is Troch,” he’d said, and she’d sighed.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” she’d told him, “but I’ve never known you to be anything but relentless with what you want. Go for it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he’d said, and stayed on the phone for another two hours to hear all the family gossip.

--

But here he is, almost a year later, and he still hasn’t done a damned thing about it.

--

Boston is tough. They come back to tie it three times, but then it’s OT and they go down once more.

In OT you can’t come back again.

Troch is especially pissed, afterwards, having been on ice for every single one of the Bruins’ goals. Nick had been playing alongside him for the OT loser but wasn’t half as angry. It had pretty much been Mathy’s fault anyway; Nick wasn’t going to beat himself up about it.

Juice is giving an interview out in the hall, so Nick sits down in his stall on Troch’s left. There’s an empty next to him, anyway.

“Fuck off, Bjugs,” Troch says.

Troch calling him “Bjugs” means that he’s especially angry, but it also means Nick has an opening. “Glad you’ve finally realized that nickname is dumb.”

Troch rolls his eyes at that, but his shoulders relax a little bit and some of the tension goes out of his spine. “Nah, I just want the next time I use it to be a surprise.”

“Sure, Troch,” Nick says, and grins at him, as bright as he can.

Troch smiles back. It’s a little strained, but it’s a start.

--

When they beat Vancouver it feels like they can finally take a breath. Nick would really rather take that breath at home, but the whole team is going out and he’s not going to miss it just because he feels like being a stick in the mud.

The table empties pretty quickly, Lu and Yands and the other old guys heading to the bar, Mathy and Barky and the other young guys heading to the girls, and Jags heading to wherever it is he always disappears to when they’re out. Soon it’s only him and Kyle left at the table, just like usual. A waitress comes by with a beer for each of them, and Lu grins and waves from the bar when Nick confusedly looks around.

They drink. He offers to go get them each another, but Kyle just shakes his head before resting it on his shoulder. Nick is pretty happy to sit there quietly and let the white noise of other people’s conversations drift over him, zoning out and thinking about nothing in particular, Kyle a comforting warmth along his side.

He’s just starting to think about taking Kyle home when Troch comes back, much earlier and less drunk than he usually does, and he can’t help but tense up a little, wondering if something’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong; Troch is just trying to get them to come home with him. Nick raises an eyebrow at that but it doesn’t make Troch explain at all. Despite that, leaving now would be nice, and Troch has both a spare room and a comfy couch - but that doesn’t mean Nick’s not going to make him work for it.

“You just want me to make you breakfast,” Nick says.

Something about that makes Kyle chime in and then Vince is shouting excitedly and Nick doesn’t have it in him to pretend to fight anymore. “Fine,” he says, and he can’t keep from smiling.

D-Mac has his hands full when they leave, and he looks ridiculously relieved that they’re taking Troch home, at least.

Nick is just glad, when they get to his car, that he’d only had the one beer after all.

--

Troch makes them drink. Then he makes them play Mario Kart. Nick kind of just wants to go to bed, but he’s also not in the mood to be chirped to death for it. So he sits there, in Troch’s absurdly comfortable armchair, and instead gets chirped for running Toad off cliffs repeatedly.

Troch doesn’t really have any room to talk, anyway, since Kyle’s the only one of them to finish on the podium, but Nick lets it go.

When Troch starts being weird, he wishes he hadn’t.

Why he’s so interested in their college playing careers, Nick doesn’t know. When he asks, Troch completely ignores him, so he crosses his arms and stares and waits for the punchline.

The punchline is apparently his feelings for Kyle.

He chokes, grasping for words that he can’t think of past his worries. What will this do to their friendships? The team? Is he going to be traded?

Vaguely, he hears Troch talking over him, and the words he says don’t make sense, because Kyle himself once told Nick that he’s almost never wanted anybody in his bed, let alone “a big Minnesota boy,” but Kyle confirms it and Nick is basically overwhelmed already so it’s really no wonder, when Troch says, “Me too!” like some kind of happy asshole, that Nick just has to put his head in his hands and collect himself for a minute.

When he gets himself together and looks up, Troch and Kyle are sloppily making out on the couch, and Nick would really like to get in on that; he finds himself walking over to them almost before he’s completed the thought. They turn to look at him, inclining their heads a little, and he realizes he’s kind of looming. He kneels next to them instead, not exactly sure what to say.

“Can I kiss you?” is what he ends up with, looking at both of them at once, not sure which one he meant to ask first.

“Kiss who?” Kyle asks, obviously teasing.

At the same time, Troch jokes, “I don’t know, can you?” It’s so awful Nick feels like he has to kiss him first just to shut him up.

Kissing Troch is exactly like he’d imagined; scruffy beard scratching his face tender, constant pressing for more, and maybe just slightly too much tongue. He feels like he could melt into it and just stop thinking.

“My turn,” Kyle says, grinning when Troch acts disappointed, and leans down to kiss him.

Kissing Kyle is nothing like he’d imagined; he’s quicker, more precise, and not at all hesitant. He’s also really handsy, brushing over Nick’s chest, and through his hair, pulling him deeper into it, overwhelming.

“Come on, bed,” says Troch, with an expression that Nick can’t describe as anything but a leer.

Nick follows them down the hall, knowing there’s nowhere he’d rather be but here.

Chapter Text

When they finally make it to Vince’s room, sans various articles of clothing, Nick and Kyle are a little surprised that his bed is big enough for three hockey players.

(It’s not exactly an accident, but he doesn’t tell them that.)

They’re all kissing each other in various combinations, hands wandering everywhere, but they’re still standing up and Vince wants a change of scene, so he hip-checks Nick onto the bed. Nick, despite having like 40 pounds on Vince, goes down easy.

When he lands, he melts.

“Sorry,” he says, yawning. “I didn’t even realize how tired I was.”

Kyle yawns too, making Nick yawn again, and now all Vince wants to do is go to sleep, preferably while cuddling these two losers. He kisses Kyle again, slowly backing him around to the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers before tipping him onto it. Kyle obligingly scoots to the middle as Vince drags the rest out from under Nick, who grumbles at him sleepily and doesn’t actually help at all.

When Vince finally gets in bed himself, he discovers that Nick gives off more heat than an actual furnace. This is not great given that they’re in South Florida, but Vince has a good A/C so he’s pretty sure they’ll be alright.

He could also get used to being the big spoon, plastering himself to Kyle’s back, Kyle’s breath stirring the nearly invisible blond hairs on the back of Nick’s neck.

Vince is pretty sure he’s never going to be able to sleep again.

--

Kyle can hear Vince’s breathing even out behind him. Its soft rhythm and the warmth of Nick along his front combine to lull him easily into sleep.

--

Nick wakes up slightly chilly. This, he discovers, is because he only has sheets, not blankets, and they’re only covering his foot rather than his whole body. His phone says it’s already 9:30, but they don’t have practice, so he lets Kyle and Vince sleep.

Nick gets up, though. It’s not hard to do; the only thing keeping him in bed is Kyle’s arm, which he gently moves off him before rolling off the bed. What ends up being difficult is not laughing at the sight of Vince in a massive blanket cocoon, but Nick manages to hold it in until he gets to his car.

Nick has kept a few overnight things with him ever since he was in college and his mother told him he never knew where he might pass out. Florida makes it a little harder, because there are things you can’t leave in a car that’s going to be 105 degrees when you get back to it, but he’s got some sweats and clean underwear, a couple of spare toothbrushes and a razor, and that’s all he really needs.

First, though, he’s going to eat.

Vince has a stupid number of eggs and fresh vegetables which are all probably going to go bad while they’re on this upcoming roadie, so Nick doesn’t feel even slightly guilty about making himself an omelet. When the house starts to smell like breakfast, Kyle joins him, and Nick makes him one too.

“I told you you make good breakfast,” Kyle says.

--

Vince wakes up alone. Also sweaty, but the being alone part is way more gross.

He decides to look for Nick and Kyle in the kitchen, not because he’s hungry but just because he thinks that’s where they’re most likely to be. Plus he smells eggs, which is probably a good clue.

Nick says he won’t make Vince an omelet. Vince gives him the puppy eyes until he does. It’s worth it, too, because it’s fucking delicious. When he’s done, he almost asks Nick for another one, but Nick asks him for some toothpaste and shaving cream and then they’re bickering down the hall, Kyle following to make sure they don’t actually kill each other.

--

Kyle rinses out Nick’s extra toothbrush and watches Vince trim his beard with what he’s fairly sure is too much focus, especially since the end result is just going to be scruff. Still, if it makes him happy, Kyle’s not going to be the one to say anything.

Nick might, but Nick is currently brushing his own teeth, sensitive skin over his collarbones still faintly pink from beardburn and - Vince is trimming his beard.

Kyle thinks about how it had felt against his skin last night, a little scratchy and a little wiry, and thinks about how it would feel right now, freshly trimmed and sandpaper-rough. He really, really wants to know for sure.

He doesn’t even notice Nick is done until he comes up behind him and rests his chin on Kyle’s head. They watch, silently, waiting for Vince to be done.

--

Nick had never imagined that this would actually happen, and he’s kind of at a loss as to how to ask for what he wants. Is there even a polite way to ask your teammates to completely fuck you up?

And does he even know what he wants?

The spit-roasting thing, that had been incredibly hot in a lot of ways, but he’s been thinking about this all morning, imagining Vince down on his knees, beard scraping thighs, teasing Nick’s cock with his tongue, or Kyle looking the picture of intense focus, fucking himself open on Nick’s fingers, or the two of them on the bed rutting against each other, one of them reaching out a hand to jerk Nick off…

There are too many possibilities, basically, and Nick is kind of hoping someone else has a clear idea how this should go, because he’s got no clue.

--

The way they’re staring at him is one part weird but ten parts really hot, so Vince finishes up as quickly as he can and drags them both back into his bedroom, fumbling with the drawstrings on his pants. By the time they reach the bed, he’s managed to untie them, and he kicks them across the room, bouncing back onto the mattress with a dumb grin on his face.

Kyle and Nick are just standing there like they have no idea what’s actually going on at all. Vince rolls his eyes at them.

“Take your pants off already, come on,” he complains, and they join him on the bed seconds later. He really wants to touch them both all over like right now, but he only has two hands and there are a lot of options and he’s not good at making quick decisions except on the ice so he kind of freezes a little.

“Any more ideas?” asks Nick, and Vince is about to chirp him back when Kyle speaks up.

“Vince,” he says, “come here,” and pulls him in.

--

Vince’s stupid beard feels exactly as rough now as Kyle thought it would, and he shivers a little as Vince breaks for air, as the coolness of the room contrasts with the warm, slightly raw skin around his mouth. Vince trails gentler kisses down his jaw, down the line of his throat, and it’s sort of tickly but somehow really does it for him.

--

Watching Vince kiss Kyle is so much better now that Nick’s actually awake for it, but that’s not really a surprise. What’s actually surprising is how wrecked Kyle’s face looks. Nick really wants to kiss him, to feel that heat on his own face, and maybe there’s a hint of possessiveness to it too, but the point is he wants to kiss Kyle, so he does.

It’s a little awkward because Vince is kind of in the way, but Nick is a solid ⅔ of a foot taller than him and manages to twist around him pretty easily without having to get up.

--

He’s trying to leave a hickey under Kyle’s collarbone when he feels Nick come up behind him. And he does mean come up. Judging by what he can feel, “Big Dick Nick” might actually have been a slight understatement. He wants to touch it. Then he remembers he can totally touch it, because this is real and actually happening.

Vince reaches behind him, fingers making contact with Nick’s hip first. He slides his hand down, feeling Nick’s abs tense, and wraps it around his cock. The angle is a little awkward, but he’s not in a hurry for this to be over anytime soon.

--

Having Nick’s lips on his is kind of unexpected since Vince is in the way, but Kyle is definitely not complaining. Vince and his beard and whatever it is he’s trying to do to Kyle’s collarbone have been kind of hypnotic, so Nick bringing a change of pace is really welcome. He feels overly sensitive, like all his nerve endings have been electrified, like someone even breathing near his dick might set him off. He’s so keyed up at this point it’s getting kind of hard to focus, to think of doing anything but lying there and letting them take him apart and put him back together again with teeth and tongues and hands.

--

Nick is surprised by Vince’s hand on his hip; as it travels lower, it’s less surprising and more arousing, more inevitable. It feels like time slows down, and Vince finally reaching his dick makes him sigh into Kyle’s mouth.

Kyle reaches up and pulls him in a little harder, as if Nick was ever going to stop kissing him, and Nick has to reach over Vince’s shoulder then, has to get his hand on Kyle’s dick.

--

He doesn’t expect Nick to move, to sling an arm over him, but he has to pull his hips back slightly to do it. That gives Vince a little extra space to work in, and he gives his wrist a small twist at the end of his next stroke. Nick makes a noise which is extremely gratifying.

Kyle also makes a noise, because Vince has finished with the hickey and moved down Kyle’s chest, and his nipples are apparently very sensitive. He’ll have to remember that for next time.

--

Vince flicks his tongue over Kyle’s nipple and he can feel his back arching with the pleasure of it. That’s probably why he doesn’t notice Nick’s hand approaching his dick until it’s already there, stroking a little too fast and a little too rough, just the way he likes it, and Vince is introducing his teeth to Kyle’s chest, and that’s it. Kyle comes all over himself and Nick’s hand and probably a little bit on Vince too.

The sensations are kind of a little bit too overwhelming after that.

“Stop,” he manages, and they stop touching him and give him space, which is all he really wanted. He didn’t actually want them to stop touching each other too, but that’s easy enough to fix with words, when he gets his breath back.

“Are you OK?” Nick asks, looking all concerned, which might actually be the expression of his Kyle loved first.

“I just get sensitive, after,” he says. Nick looks relieved, which is pretty cute. Vince looks like he’s making a mental note of it, which he can only hope is going to be used for good and not evil.

“Do you need anything?” asks Vince.

“Um,” says Kyle. “I’d like to see Nick blow you.”

--

Someone makes a noise, and Nick is not at all sure that it isn’t him. What he is sure about is that he definitely likes the idea. So does Vince, apparently, because he goes willingly along with Nick’s maneuvering him to the edge of the bed.

He drops to his knees and licks his way down Vince’s cock before taking it into his mouth. He’s never been one to throw anything fancy into a blowjob - just spit and suction and keeping his teeth out of the way are enough for him to focus on - but it seems to be working just fine for Vince.

Come to think of it, though, Vince has been awfully quiet. It’s not that he’s not making any noise at all, it’s just that it’s all groans and gasps and no actual words, and it seems very unlike him.

He takes a few seconds to get his breath back, and Kyle says, from much closer than Nick remembers him being, “you can use your words, you know.”

Nick nods in confirmation. “You can pull my hair a little bit too, if you’re interested,” he says, and turns his attention back to Vince’s dick.

--

Vince runs his fingers through Nick’s hair. It’s soft, and touching it gives him something to do with his hands, which is nice.

It’s also nice not to have to hold his tongue. Honestly, though, they both know him so well he’s not even sure why he bothered.

“Oh, fuck, Nick, you’re so good at this,” he says, almost experimentally, and Nick speeds up just a little. Vince almost chokes.

“Shit, Kyle, look at his face, look how good he looks with a cock in his mouth.”

--

Vince is right. Nick looks really good like that, with his cheeks flushed and his hair all messed up where Vince has been playing with it. It’s almost enough to make him want to go again.

The muscles in Nick’s neck and shoulders are working, and Vince’s abs keep tensing, and he sort of zones out watching Nick’s cheeks hollow and fill, watching inches of Vince’s dick disappear and reappear with more and more irregularity.

“Faster, fuck, just a little faster,” Vince is saying when he starts paying attention again. “Harder, ah, just… more, Nick, please.”

--

“So close,” says Vince, and Nick takes just a tiny bit more of his dick this time down. When it pulses, Nick pulls off as quickly as he can manage.

Vince comes on his face.

--

The sight of Nick like that has Vince pulling him up onto the bed for a kiss, and it’s not like he’s never kissed someone who tasted like his come before. This is definitely the first time it’s been this hot, though, even if it is going to be kind of annoying to get out of his beard later.

Vince might never get tired of making out with these two.

--

When Nick stops kissing Vince to demand that someone fucking touch his dick, already, Kyle is already reaching for it.

He’s wanted to touch Nick for a lot longer than he should probably admit. Seeing him hard, a little precome smeared and drying on the head, just makes it that much better.

Kyle doesn’t hesitate.

--

Nick has no idea which of their hands is actually on his dick right now, but whichever one of them it is is jerking him off with short quick strokes that feel amazing. The only reason he doesn’t actually look to see who it is is because Vince is kissing him again, beard rough on his face, licking into his mouth in a way that gives Nick all kinds of ideas about what might happen next time.

The hand on his dick changes pace, slowing down, drawing each stroke out longer, teasing, and he arches his back, trying to push his hips into it, letting out a frustrated breath when he can’t get as much as he wants.

--

Vince really wants to rim Nick until he’s begging to be fucked.

Next time.

--

Kyle stops teasing, going faster and harder, enjoying the muffled ‘ah’ noises Nick can’t help but make, watching the flush rise on his cheeks. When he opens his eyes, they’re wide and dark and a little glazed. Knowing he’s partly responsible for that is pretty awesome, and it makes him feel brave enough to get a little fancy, a tiny flick of the wrist, a thumb brushing the head of his dick, picking up the pace slightly more every time.

Nick makes a noise like he’s been punched and drops his face to Vince’s shoulder.

--

When Nick looks up, Kyle is looking back at him, showily licking Nick’s come off his hand.

He smirks.

Vince smirks.

Nick groans and drops his head again.

--

Vince is just about to take a nap he wants but doesn’t really need when Nick’s responsibility complex rears its ugly head.

“We need a shower,” he says, bossy, weirdly adorable, and Kyle snickers.

Then the words actually connect.

The three of them race each other to the bathroom, laughing, avoiding their forgotten clothes.

(Vince definitely doesn’t trip on his pants.)