Archive of Our Own ^beta

Macklin wishes he wasn’t quite so vulnerable to manipulation via bets and dares, but what can he say? He’s a professional athlete, alright, you don't get drafted first overall in the National fucking Hockey League if you haven’t spent most of your life learning to love the feeling of winning; to hate the feeling of losing.

Mack’s no loser.

So when Toff punches Will in the arm as they’re getting seated on the bus and asks him if he’s sorted out his Halloween costume yet, and Will turns to Mack, easy as anything, saying, “I dunno, what are we doing this year, Celly?” Mack just shrugs and says he hasn’t thought about it. It doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Apparently according to Mario, it’s worthy of commentary. “Good to know you do the same thing as the rest of us and leave that shit to your wife, Kibble!” The guys all roar with laughter, and Mack frowns.

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, I’m not a woman!”

He can hear Toff muttering, “Really, that’s your comeback here?” from behind them, but he’s distracted by Will making a big show of turning fully to look Mack up and down as well as he can from the bus seat next to him, smirk spreading across his face, eyes going half-lidded.

“I dunno, I think you could probably pull off the whole Angelina Jolie Mrs. Smith thing.” He’s looking at Mack like it’s a joke, but also not, and Mack has to concentrate on not letting the blush that he can feel forming spread across his face and neck at that.

“Fuck you,” he says, because he’s gotta say something, the guys are all watching them now. “You’re Angelina Jolie, I could be Brad Pitt!”

Will snorts loudly. “As if, I’m the one who’s blond!” He points at his hair, like Mack was gonna question that statement.

“Well, I’m glad that you two figured out what you’re dressing as for Halloween,” Toff puts in, sounding all smug, and fuck, the guys are snickering again, and Mack feels like he is losing this conversation.

He hates losing.

“No, fuck you,” he insists, pointing at Will, who’s still fucking smirking, “you’re the one who brought it up, you wear the stupid dress.”

“Yeah, okay,” Will says, smirk still in place as he leans in, and suddenly Mack can hear alarm bells going off inside his head, but he’s helpless to Will’s bright eyes and wide smile as he leans towards Mack. “I’ll wear the dress,” he says, and suddenly Mack can’t breathe, “if you can get more points than me tonight. Otherwise, start fucking dress shopping, Celly.”

And, well. Mack’s not a fucking loser. So he nets a goal and three apples in their 5-2 win over Utah that night.

(Two of his assists are on Smitty’s pair of power play goals. Mack’s pretty sure there’s no better feeling in the entire world than scoring goals with him. Not even playing on a line with Crosby. Not even sex.)

He realizes now, in retrospect, that perhaps all of this was a mistake on his part. Because the reality of Will being pressed all along his side, laughing into a Sprite, looking comfortable as anything amongst their teammates and the WAGs while wearing a slinky, strappy black dress with a high slit that shows off his fucking shaved legs….

Mack may have underestimated what this would fucking do to him. His blood has been abandoning his brain all night to rush south like a snowbird at the first sign of frost, and it’s increasingly making the situation in his pants a… situation.

They’re leaning against the wall of whatever private lounge this is—Will had known where they were going and he was driving, so Mack hadn’t bothered to check—with Cat and Toff. The Toffolis are dressed in matching SpongeBob and Patrick t-shirt/headthing combos, like the vaguely embarrassing Millennial pseudo-parentals that they are, and Will is currently trying to convince them to get the bartender to serve him and Mack.

(It’s not going well. Despite the fact that they’re both of legal drinking age in Canada now, their teammates are all assholes who’ve started mocking them in baby voices if they ask for alcohol at official team parties, so both of them have mostly stopped trying. Cat hasn’t given Will the hard shut down yet tonight, though, so he’s still doggedly trying to convince her, waving his can of pop around and gesturing.)

Mack can barely concentrate on what either of them are saying, because Will keeps leaning into his side as Mack digs his fingers in a little at the dip of Will’s waist, the fabric of the dress so thin that he can feel the warmth of Will’s skin there.

The thing is that normally, Will is always just Will—whether he’s driving them somewhere, or spotting Mack in the gym, or watching a romcom on the plane with shared AirPods, or discussing strategy on the bench mid-game, or sloppily sucking Mack’s cock like he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing but wants to make it good. At all those times, he’s nothing more or less than Mack’s best friend, his favorite person.

Will doesn’t look or feel like Just Will right now. He feels like…

Will giggles into his pop again at something Cat said, Toff shoots Mack this half-fond, half-exasperated sort of commiserating look from over her shoulder, and, well.

The thing is that Will feels like his WAG right now, and it’s totally doing Mack’s head in.

Because they may have been hooking up since last season, but it’s not like they’re—they’re not boyfriends, or whatever. Just two single guys who like each other’s company, and sometimes when it’s convenient, they get off together. It’s easy. It’s good.

But it’s nothing like having a girlfriend: someone repping him amongst the Sharks Girls, showing up to team events on his arm, looking hot in a way that makes other guys jealous while wearing a jersey that says CELEBRINI 71 and cheering for him.

Except… Mack thinks back to the Beanpot bet last year that he’d won; thinks about what it’d felt like to see Will in a tarp that had Macklin’s name on the back of it. And then he looks down at where Will’s fully leaning into him, comfortably snuggled up to Mack’s side while wearing a goddamn dress, like it’s exactly where he belongs at this party.

Mack darts a look around the room at where half a dozen other guys are propped up against the wall with their wives or girlfriends in precisely the same way, wearing couples costumes and chatting in groups with other couples and teammates and the occasional staff member.

His mind can’t help superimposing the two images, thinking about Will in girly jeans that hug his ass under a bedazzled Sharks tarp with Mack’s name and number emblazoned on the back, jumping up and down with Cat and screaming up in the family box at SAP Center when he and Toff score a goal.

The mental image makes Mack’s throat go so dry that he has to reach over and steal Will’s pop can out of his hand, draining the last few sips.

Three pairs of eyes are suddenly focused on him now. Whoops.

“I was thirsty?” he tries, by way of explanation.

Cat snorts loudly, and Toff mutters, “Yeah, I bet you are,” but Mack can’t focus on that because Will is firmly tugging the empty can out of one hand, and lacing their fingers together with the other.

“Come on, Mack, these two are being lame. Let’s find the real party.” Will shoves the empty Sprite can into Toff’s grip, and drags Mack away.

As Toff is yelling, “Hey, what am I supposed to do with this, asshole?” at their backs, Will throws back his head and laughs. Mack cannot look away from the long, pale line of his throat.

Jesus Christ, he needs to fucking get ahold of himself. It’s just… it’s just Smitty.

Right. Just Smitty.

Will hadn’t meant for it to get quite this far out of hand.

Every time Mack’s gaze rakes over him again, he can practically feel it like the fingers that have barely left his waist since they got here. It leaves him itchy and wanting, half-tempted to pull Mack into a dark corner and take every inch of him apart with his tongue.

Will may be a planner, but he hadn’t planned any of this at all in the beginning, is the thing.

Toff and Mario had been chirping them, just dumb shit that felt normal, almost comfy, and Will was practically on autopilot, half-thinking about the special teams drills they’d been running the other day that he’d wanted to ask Mack about before the game, not even entirely dialed in to the Halloween costume conversation on the bus.

And then Mack had yelled at him that he should wear the dress, and Will had totally been about to tell him that he’d do that when Mack got a fucking dick trick, just more stupid chirping. But as soon as Will had started to agree, even in jest, Mack’s whole body had sort of… shifted. Like he hadn’t been giving the conversation his full attention either up to that point, but suddenly he was laser fucking focused on what Will was saying, on the idea of Will wearing a dress.

Will just knew, in the same way that he just knows on the ice sometimes that he has to deke left and then shoot bar down, that this was an exciting new way to get Mack to look at him. And he’s long over questioning why he always needs Mack’s attention on him. He just likes it.

Will’s kind of an expert at not questioning things that make him feel good. Thinking too hard’s a good way to fuck yourself over.

So in an instant, he’d reconsidered, said instead, “if you can get more points than me tonight,” lowered that bar enough that he felt pretty confident that Mack would do it.

After all, Mack’s pretty easy to play if you know how to read him like Will does.

And hey, if he hadn’t managed it, it wasn’t like Will was gonna be upset about parading Mack around in a dress while everyone called him Mrs. Smith. Seemed like a win-win to him.

But it’s Mack, so of course he managed it. Will never really doubted he would.

The thing that Will hadn’t counted on was the degree to which him in this dress really, truly seems to be doing it for Mack. Like, to the point that Mack’s been looking a little starry-eyed and stupid, and it’s on the edge of embarrassing, honestly, except that having Mack looking at him like that, in public, in front of their teammates and the WAGs and God and everyone, is making Will feel a little bit invincible. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but he wants to see how far he can push Mack; see how much he can get away with and still keep that slack-jawed, single-minded attention on him.

So he pulls Mack away from Toff and Cat, out into the middle of the main room. It’s not a club, so there’s not a dance floor, but there’s a sound system quietly pumping some Spotify mix that’s probably labeled “Eerie Spooky Mallgoth Chill” or some shit, and Will considers trying to make Mack dance with him anyway, but… well. They’ve gone clubbing together enough times (twice) for him to know that Mack needs at least three liquor-based drinks in him before he’ll even think about a normal dance floor, let alone somewhere like this not meant for it.

Instead, he tugs Mack along to the nearby area of the bar where Delly—who’s wearing an orange-brown jumpsuit, and Will can’t tell if he’s supposed to be a prisoner or a garbage man—seems to have gathered a small group.

As Will slides up to them, Delly whistles and starts to ask, “Shit, who brought the roc—” before he does a double-take and chokes on his Michelob Ultra.

Mack comes to a dead stop at the edge of the group, his hands going to Will’s hips like a reflex, keeping Will tethered in front of him. Will drops Mack’s fingers and leans backwards into him, bare shoulders brushing against the lapels of Mack’s suit jacket. A gentle press of bodies.

“Uh, is that fuckin’ Smitty?!” Lily helpfully asks, loud and disbelieving, and a couple of the guys have already started laughing now. Mack props his chin on Will’s left shoulder. He can’t actually see Mack’s expression in his peripheral vision, but it definitely feels smug.

“Bro, you look like a—” Delly’s eyes very clearly dart over to Leddy’s girlfriend in her cat ears and Mario’s wife in her pink dress and little crown, fleeting but noticeable, “—chick, the fuck?”

Will just shrugs his free shoulder, a little sheepish but still leaning into Mack’s body rather than away. “Bet’s a bet, man. You all heard it, on the bus before we beat the Mammoth five-two.”

“You really committed, though,” points out Mario’s wife—fuck, was her name Mackenzie? McKendall? “The shaved legs are a nice touch.”

“Mmm, I think he could’ve committed a little bit more, no? You’re going to shave your legs but not put on any makeup?” Felicia Wennberg is brutal, and Will cannot hold back an aggrieved gasp. She’s wearing an oversized red Winnie the Pooh shirt with yellow leggings, and she’s laughing at him, not with him, and somehow it doesn’t feel mean. Will wishes to learn her ways. “I’m only saying, not even some lip gloss?”

“What the fuck is this conversation,” Delly asks no one in particular, and so no one answers him.

“I can lend you my lip gloss, if you’d like,” Leddy’s girlfriend in the cat costume (whom Will has met twice and been introduced to twice and somehow still cannot remember her name, whoops) offers generously.

“Actually—” Will can’t believe he’s about to say this, but something about the way Mack’s whole face has rotated on Will’s shoulder, staring at his lips, open-mouthed and obvious since the lip gloss came up, is making him extra bold. “Do you have any of that—what’s the stuff that goes on your eyelashes?”

“Mascara?” The girl’s eyes are lighting up, and she’s already pulling out her phone. “Okay, hang on, I’m pretty sure that Madi has most of her kit in her purse, we are so giving you a makeover, do not move.” She darts over to where a bunch of the women have been congregating at the other end of the bar, followed by McKirsten and Felicia.

“That’s pretty fucking gay of you, bro,” Delly says the second they’re out of earshot.

“You’re gay,” Will shoots back easily. “Besides, which one of us is about to be surrounded by a bunch of hot women all focused on me? Not you, man!”

“Yeah, all taken women, because they’re here with your teammates,” Leddy points out, his voice a little muffled from under the plastic dog nose he’s wearing, but Will just waves him off.

“Whatever. Details. You’re just jealous.”

“I cannot overstate how untrue that is, Delly thought you were an actual woman, you fruity little shit.” Mario—dressed as the video game character of the same name, which Will’s gotta admit is a pretty fun look—is shaking his head, but he looks a little impressed by Will’s bravado, which means it’s working. He’ll take that W.

He’s saved from answering by the return of Leddy’s Cat Girlfriend, arm in arm with another girl—a brunette dressed as Minnie Mouse that Will thinks is Goody’s wife—who’s got a purse of slightly terrifying proportions. How much makeup do girls normally carry with them? Will thinks he may have underestimated.

Shrugging, he waves cheerily at the whole group—the two in front, plus Felicia and McKath, and three more women trailing behind them. “Hey, ladies! Think you can beautify me?”

“Oh, you’re right, no way am I not sticking around to see this,” says the girl in back dressed as Dorothy with a giggle.

“Come on,” says Terrifyingly Large Purse Minnie Mouse, grabbing Will by the hand. He turns around to toss a wink back at Mack, whose fingers are grabbing at air while he’s staring blankly, like his brain got stuck rebooting, before Will lets himself be led off towards the women’s room.

As Mack stares at the girls dragging Will away—into the women’s bathroom, Jesus Christ—there’s a gentle pressure at his elbow. He doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

“Dude,” Toff mutters, voice pitched low from the vicinity of Mack’s left ear, barely carrying over the hum of increasingly intoxicated voices, “did he break you? You need to snap the fuck out of it, Celly.” He claps a heavy hand on Mack’s shoulder.

“It’s not—I’m fine,” Mack tries to say with absolute and full confidence. Instead, it comes out in such a whine that he makes himself wince, heat flushing across his face.

“Dude,” Toff says again, and then suddenly Mack’s being hauled off towards the men’s room.

Wenny—wearing a fluffy striped orange onesie that, given Felicia’s outfit, Mack thinks must be a Tigger costume—is washing his hands when they come in. He nods at Toff. “Oh, good, glad someone’s talking to him.”

Mack lets out an involuntary whimper, covers his face with his hands, and backs up until he’s leaning against the wall. He knows that every bit of skin above his shoulders resembles a tomato right now. There’s a rushing in his ears that he’s pretty sure is his own blood.

This is officially the most embarrassing night of his life.

Mack is usually so much better than this at controlling his body’s reactions. Will’s—his everything tonight is just making Mack feel a little unhinged, and it’s thrilling and awful and terrifying and very, very overwhelming.

He hates that he’s being so obvious about it all that the team vets feel like they have to take care of him. Mack should be the one taking care of his guys, not the other way around.

“Mack, hey, man, look at me, seriously.”

Mack opens his eyes. Wenny’s gone, and the bathroom is otherwise empty. Toff is staring at him like he’s genuinely concerned.

He meets Ty’s gaze for a second before dropping it, looking down at his own shoes. “Sorry. ‘M fine.”

“Are you? Really? Don’t bullshit me, there’s no one else here.”

Sometimes Toff reminds Mack so much of Aiden. It’s both annoying and kind of comforting.

He would never admit any of this to his actual brother, but maybe that’s the advantage of having Toff there, right? Someone who can give him brotherly advice or whatever, but without it being too awkward to say—

“I think I made a mistake when I agreed to that stupid bet to make Will wear a dress, and I’m normally so much better at controlling my body than this, this sucks and I’m so embarrassed.” He blurts it all out and then promptly slaps his palms over his too-warm face again, so he doesn’t actually have to see Toff’s reaction.

There’s a pause before Toff speaks. “What part are you embarrassed about?” he finally asks.

Mack doesn’t remove his hands, but Tyler doesn’t sound like he’s judging Mack, at least. “That I can’t control my reactions. That it’s so obvious that I, you know.” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and luckily Toff doesn’t make him.

There’s the soft weight of a friendly shoulder pressing against his own. Toff must be leaning against the wall with him now. “You know you’re not the first guy in the show to be a little more, like, into your teammate than is considered normal, right?”

Mack finally removes his hands from his face to cross his arms over his chest. He blinks to adjust to the soft light of the fancy bathroom again, and then turns to glare at Toff. “Right. Good for Tyler Seguin. You gonna tell me about how there are more queer guys in the league than I think next?” Mack knows he’s being kind of a bitch, but he can’t really help it. Everything in his brain feels like he’s playing panicked defense all by himself right now.

Toff just shrugs, the pressure of his shoulder moving up and down Mack’s own. “I mean, there definitely are, but it sounds like you don’t need me to tell you that. What’s actually bothering you, dude?”

It’s so annoying how much Mack actually wants to talk to Toff about this. What the hell, why not.

With a groan, Mack presses his back into the wall and slides down into a sitting position. He kinda wants to be able to curl up into a ball if he needs to during this conversation.

After a moment, Toff joins him on the floor of the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything, just looks over at Mack expectantly.

“I just…” Mack starts, and then doesn’t know how to word all his stupid, swirling thoughts. Frustrated, he clutches at his hair. “I think maybe I just need to get a real girlfriend?”

“Yeah?” Toff sounds so soft and non-judgmental. It’s nice. Mack presses their shoulders together a little harder, encouraged.

“Yeah, like. When I see him like that, I can’t stop thinking about how…” He knows his face is burning, but he presses on, voice lowered. “How he’d look wearing my jersey and cheering for us with the other WAGs.”

Toff nods, and doesn’t say anything.

“So… probably this is just a wake up call that I should like, get on the apps or whatever? Right?” Mack bites his lip and glances at Toff.

“Is that what you want? A girlfriend who isn’t Will?” His expression is totally relaxed, neutral. He seems to really be asking, not fishing for anything. It makes Mack squirm.

He lets his head thunk back against the wall and imagines it: some leggy blonde, with curls, maybe, and a fabulous ass, wearing tight jeans and a bedazzled CELEBRINI 71 jersey, cheering with Cat about a goal he and Toff just scored.

The more Mack thinks about it, the more the most compelling part of the entire fantasy is Will, back on the bench, grinning and waiting for Mack to slide back in next to him so he can bump their shoulders together and say, “Hot goal, Celly.”

Mack closes his eyes and sighs. He feels so tired, suddenly. “No,” he mumbles.

Toff hums at him in a sympathetic sort of tone. “I assume you haven’t, like, talked to him about any of this?”

“NO!” It comes out loud as Mack’s eyes fly open. Even just the thought makes his breath quicken.

“Well, have you considered maybe… trying that? Talking? With him? He’s out there wearing a dress for you, dude.”

“It’s not for me—” Mack starts to say, but Toff cuts him off.

“You know that he made Cat call up her drag queen friend to take him shopping for that, right? He said he didn’t want to ‘look stupid,’ and then dragged my wife and her friend out shopping for hours in San Fran. They were gone for so long, like practically all day.”

Mack swallows. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m just saying, I think maybe you’re not the only one here who’s been having, like. Gay thoughts, or whatever.”

“Gay thoughts?” Despite the tension coiling in his shoulders at this conversation, Mack has to shoot Toff a deeply unimpressed look at that.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you know what I mean, eh?” Toff pushes at Mack’s knee with a fist, smiling. “Maybe he wants to hook up with you too, is what I‘m saying.”

“Oh, we’ve already done that, that’s not…”

“Wait.” Toff’s frowning now. “Hang on. What?”

“Well, we’ve been hooking up since last season, but that’s not really—”

“What?”

The interrupting is getting kind of annoying now, so Mack shoulder checks him. “Oh, now you’re gonna get weird about it? Really helpful and supportive, Toff, thanks.”

“No, no, that’s not—” Toff takes a deep breath, then lets it out. He takes off the stupid cone-shaped Patrick Starr hat and rubs a hand through his hair. “Okay, let’s back up. You two have already been hooking up? For a while now?”

“Yeah, I mean, not—not all the way, or whatever,” Mack manages to get out around the marbles his mouth now seems to be full of, “but like, you know.” He tries to fight the instinct to sink down into his suit jacket like a turtle. “Hands and, and mouths, and. Stuff.”

“Stuff?” Toff’s eyebrows are up around his hairline, and Mack groans.

“We kinda kissed, like once, okay? And yeah, it was nice! But we’re not—we’re not boyfriends! We both still have sex with girls!”

“Would you rather have sex with girls than with him?” Toff’s face is back to that soft, neutral, “I’m not judging you” expression.

Mack shrugs, still uncomfortable. “Maybe?” He thinks about the last time he had sex with a girl, a night last month he and Smitty had gone out to a bar and both picked up. She’d taken him back to her apartment, gotten mad at him for coming too fast, and then when he’d tried to go down on her, she’d said after only a couple minutes that he wasn’t doing it for her, could he pass her the vibrator from the drawer next to her bed.

He’d been so humiliated when she kicked him out shortly after that that he’d actually walked four blocks away before calling an Uber.

He thinks about the other night, when Will had tackled Mack onto his bed, trying to make a point in some argument about basketball stats that Mack can’t even remember now. They’d wrestled for a few minutes until they were both panting and obviously hard, and Will had asked him, “You want a beej?” in the same tone of voice as he’d ask Mack if he wanted a Gatorade from the minifridge. And Mack had just nodded, curled his hands into Smitty’s hair as he slid off the bed and sank to his knees.

When it’d taken Mack less than three minutes to come, Will had wrinkled his nose at the spunk on his face, but didn’t actually say anything about the facial. He’d just grabbed the bottom of Mack’s shirt to wipe himself off with, and said, “It’s pretty hot how fast you come for me,” and then dragged Mack’s hand down to his own dick.

Afterwards, they’d half-watched the last three and a half innings of a World Series game where Ohtani obliterated the Tigers’ lineup, and argued about whose turn it was to clean out all the cup holders in Will’s car while they scrolled through their TikTok feeds.

“Macklin?” Toff’s soft voice breaks into his whirling thoughts. “You still there, bud?”

“No.”

Toff starts to say something, but it’s Mack’s turn to cut him off.

“No, I mean, I wouldn’t rather have sex with girls. Than him. I’d rather have sex with him. Yeah. Fuck.” And then he turns and buries his face in Toff’s shoulder, because that’s another thought that feels very big and overwhelming.

“Aw, Celly, c’mere, man.” Toff wraps an arm around him, warm and friendly and comforting. He’s much nicer than Aiden, actually, Mack has decided. He’s not even teasing Mack at all, just running a soothing hand up and down the center of his back, making quiet shushing noises.

After what feels like too long sniffling into Toff’s ugly salmon t-shirt, Mack finally pulls far enough away to ask, “What do I say to him?” It comes out all watery, but it’s not like Toff can’t tell that Mack’s eyes have been leaking onto his sleeve already.

Toff pushes himself up off the ground, then reaches out a hand to pull Mack up.

When Mack takes it, he finds himself pulled to his feet and into a proper hug. As Toff claps him on the back, he says quietly, “Time to man up, kiddo. Just tell him how you feel. Be honest.”

Then, before Mack even realizes what’s happening, he’s being grabbed by the shoulders and maneuvered out of the bathroom and back into the main lounge.

Right. Here goes nothing.

As soon as they spill out of the girls’ bathroom, the WAGs all tell Will that he needs to pose with them for their reels.

Will, who barely recognizes himself in the mirrored wall outside the bathrooms, freezes for a sec. His brain is scrambling to catch up, because, like.

The chick in the mirror looks hot. Shit. Madi and Amy had somehow managed to make his face look… softer around the edges. His blue eyes stand out now, surrounded by dark lashes, and so does the cut of his cheekbone, but not his jaw. His lips are pink and shiny with gloss.

McKenna had also done something with the straps of his dress—bound them together somehow behind his back with a hair tie, maybe? And it’s brought them closer to his neck, making his shoulders look not quite as wide as they really are. It also makes the neckline of the dress scoop down in a loose curve, almost giving the illusion of cleavage.

Fuck, he’d hit on himself on any normal night. Might as well enjoy it, right?

“Wait, wait, ladies—” he throws his arms out, “we need a dance floor.”

They all quickly agree that, yes, there should be a dance floor, and several of the WAGs immediately enlist their guys to start moving some of the tables out of the center of the room.

Will hops up to sit on the bar, letting his feet dangle and cheerfully directing some of his teammates around, pointing out where he thinks the tables should be set.

Wenny shoots him a death glare. Or, at least, what probably counts as a death glare by mild-mannered Swedish standards. “Why the fuck aren’t you helping here, Kibble?”

Will’s got a chirp about his fuckass Tigger pajamas all lined up, but before he can open his mouth, Felicia’s beat him to it. “Shush, Alex, we’ve claimed him as one of the girls for tonight, leave him alone.”

He knows he’s gonna get so much shit for that in the locker room tomorrow, but Will barely even cares because McKenna is pressing an alarmingly pink drink in a martini glass that matches the shade of her Princess Peach dress into his hand and saying, “Drink up, babe!” Upon a sniff-test inspection, it definitely contains alcohol. A lot of it.

He tips back a long swallow. Oh yeah. So alcoholic. Will points at her and shouts, “You’re my favorite!” She shoots him an air kiss and then slips off with her own pink drink.

As Will sips at his girly drink and watches his teammates lug heavy furniture around, he smirks to himself. Tonight kinda rules.

He lets his feet sway back and forth, dangling off the bar. He’d wanted to go for the heels, but Mateo had said he’d lend Will a pair of his own pumps if Will could convince him that he wouldn’t injure himself with them. When Will had failed to clear that bar badly enough that Cat threatened to rat him out to the team trainers if he tried it, Will had reluctantly agreed to a pair of Doc Martens. They have a nice kind of weight to them like this, he has to admit as he swings them now. Reminds him of wearing skates when he was little.

As if she knew he was thinking of her, Cat appears at his side, leaning against the bar. She eyes his drink, but doesn’t say anything about it or take it away, which he appreciates. He feels like he’s earned at least one alcoholic drink here, girly or not.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” is all she finally says, but the look she’s giving him speaks volumes.

Unfortunately for her, Will’s been inoculated against that brand of judgy big sister looks thanks to a lifetime of exposure to Grace, so he just beams back at her and says, “I think I missed my calling in high school as a queen bee.”

Cat rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling, so he’ll call it a win. “Yeah, you’re clearly a natural,” she quips.

Will just shoots her a wide smile and then calls, “Hey Ekky, you’re gonna block the bathrooms if you put that there, man, c’mon, you gotta move it way further back!”

Eks, dressed in his dumb matching Top Gun Air Force coveralls with Lily that Will will not admit he thinks look kinda sick, even in the privacy of his own brain, sets down the table he’s been dragging to shoot Will a cheeky salute. “Ma'am, yes ma'am!” He does change trajectories, at least.

Mario has gotten ahold of DJ powers, somehow, and has his Spotify hooked into the speakers. Fanny slips back in the door that leads to the staff area from the main lounge, and a second later, the lighting starts sort of… pulsing.

Will never’ll doubt hockey WAGs’ ability to turn the party on command ever again. Vibe fucking set.

He sets aside his empty drink glass and vaults himself off the bar and back onto the ground. Time to get this party started.

He’s laughing with Amy a few minutes later over some crazy story about Sheila’s sorority sisters and a Zamboni when Mack suddenly appears at Will’s side, looking way too serious for the room vibes.

“Hey, can we go talk for a minute?”

Will turns to face him, and he clocks the exact moment that Mack notices the makeup, because his breath hitches and he sort of… freezes. Like his brain’s gone offline.

Perfect. Will grins. “Sure, I’ve always got time for my husband.”

He says it with an exaggerated wink, and next to him, Amy and Madi break into giggles. Over by the bar, Becca, clearly well on her way to trashed now, lifts her drink in their direction and calls out, “GO GET YOUR MAN, GIRLFRIEND!”

Mack’s still frozen and his breathing’s all weird, but now he’s gone all red and flushed too, and like… God, it’s so hot how horribly down bad Mack is for this whole thing, but Will’s not a fucking sadist, alright, so he takes pity on the guy, grabbing his hand and tugging him up towards the entrance.

There’s a bored girl who barely looks older than him sitting at the stand in front of the little coat check room, scrolling on her phone. Will stops in front of her, and Mack kind of collides with his back with a small huff, and then just stays there, hooking his chin over Will’s shoulder. It’s enough to tell him that Mack’s already got a half-chub going, and he grins.

“Hey.” Will smiles winningly as he double-taps the little stand in front of the girl with two fingers. When she looks up, he meets her eye. “I will Venmo you fifty bucks right now if you give me thirty minutes in there, make yourself scarce, and don’t ask any questions.”

The girl blinks slowly at him through heavily lined eyes, like she’s trying to gauge how serious he is. Will pulls out his phone, opens the Venmo app, and calls up the little QR code scanner. He holds it up to show her, wiggling it back and forth a little.

Her eyes dart up to look at Mack leaning on his shoulder, and she lets out a small snort, then says, “Yeah, sure, fuck it.”

She offers her phone, and Will dutifully sends her the money. Mack leans into Will’s back, giggling a little breathlessly, hands clutching at Will’s hips. The girl shoots Mack a suspicious glance, but says nothing more as she hops off her stool and wanders away.

Before she’s fully around the corner, Mack is crowding Will into the little glorified closet of a room, only a few jackets actually hanging up. San Jose’s not exactly freezing in October. There don’t seem to be any lights, or at least if there are, they’re not on; only the flood lights in the parking lot drift in, like folding slats of light.

Mack had seemed to have this determined kind of air up to now, trying to get Will alone, but now he’s hesitating.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Will prompts him, turning to close the door firmly and then stepping towards where Mack is standing in the middle of the small, dark room, looking awkward.

“I—” Mack starts, but then doesn’t say anything else.

Will waits, patient for an entirely reasonable amount of time before he feels that pull to help Mack, throw him a line, he just—watching the guy flail these days always makes Will twitchy, feels like he’s flailing, too.

“Dude, it’s just us, there’s no one else here. You can say whatever, it’s fine.” Will slides a hand around Mack’s neck, fingers dipping below the collar of his shirt. He’s all sweaty there. It should probably gross Will out, but instead it just feels… nice. Familiar. “Why are you freaking out?”

“You’re dressed as my wife,” is what Mack finally comes out with, and, huh.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes? I mean, no. I—fuck.” Mack closes his eyes, like even just looking at Will through the low light is enough to derail his thoughts.

Yeah. The way that this is doing it for Mack is getting Will going, too.

He leans into it, wraps his other arm fully around Mack’s neck, sliding a hand up into the back of his hair. “Think I did a good job, Macky?” He bats his eyelashes, aware of how much more noticeable they are with the mascara, and then leans in to whisper into Mack’s ear, voice low and breathy. “Did I look good for you out there? Impress all the other WAGs? Did we win Halloween?”

Mack makes a sort of punched-out exhale, and Will wants to taste it, suddenly, so he starts at Mack’s mouth, sealing their lips together to steal the groan that comes out.

He doesn’t let Mack get comfortable, moves right down to Mack’s pulse point next, pushing aside the open collar so he can use his teeth to mouth lightly at the skin there—just enough to leave a faint mark, not a full hickey.

Mack’s saying words now, but they’re barely coherent, just broken attempts at Will and fuck and something that might be, “hottest girl I’ve—”

“Mmm,” Will agrees, lips vibrating along Mack’s neck as he drags them up towards Mack’s ear, leaving a slightly sticky trail of the remaining gloss on his lips in their wake. “Fuckin’ love how hot you are for me like this.”

Suddenly, Mack’s pushing him backwards, a little rough and a lot desperate, and Will wheezes as his back hits the wall of the small room. Mack’s mouth is on his chest, pushing the straps of Will’s dress off his shoulders, and he’s muttering, “Jesus christ, your fuckin’ tits,” and… huh. Yeah, okay, Will can get into that.

“Mmm, you like my boobs, baby?” Will wriggles out of the top of his dress, letting it fall to his waist as he tightens his fingers back into Mack’s shoulder and pushes his chest against Mack’s mouth. It makes Mack moan and bite down on Will’s nipple, and oh, fuck, yeah, that’s great, actually, so he tells Mack that. “Holy shit, love your mouth on my tits, that feels amazing.”

Mack responds by biting Will’s nipple again, and when Will arches towards him, trying to chase Mack’s mouth, he finds himself crowded back into the wall by Mack’s body, which seems so much larger than his own suddenly, even though it doesn’t, normally. After all, they’re the same height, they hover right around the same weight class, Mack doesn’t even have any muscle on him anymore after this summer, but. There’s something about the way Mack’s trapping him against the wall with his body right now, pressing in in in on Will with his mouth and hands and shoulders that look extra wide from this angle in the suit jacket Will had picked out for him….

It makes Will feel small in a way that’s kind of like being boarded by some of the bigger guys in the league. He should hate it.

He doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t hate it.

Will lets out a hiss that turns into a whine as Mack slides a hand under the high slit in the dress’s skirt and up to where Will is wearing those goddamn panties he got talked into, which are starting to get pretty… uncomfortable.

“Oh shi— what the fuck’s that?” Mack seems to have finally noticed the panties, his fingers slipping across the smooth, stretchy material as he palms Will’s ass beneath the dress. “Are you…” He takes a moment to swallow, audibly, and Will grins, soaking up the feeling of Mack falling apart above him over this.

Will pulls away just far enough that he can see Mack’s face before he says: “Yeah, they’re called ‘tucking panties.’”

“Holy fuck, that’s so fucking hot.” Mack is panting, staring at where his left hand is disappearing under Will’s dress. His whole face is flushed like Will’s bag skating him, not just leaning up into his body wearing women’s clothing.

“Yeah, well, I think I’d rather you take ‘em off me right now.” Will makes a move to flip his skirt up over his legs to reveal the panties so he can remove them and free his increasingly aching dick, but Mack lets out a whining noise and drops to his knees.

“Oh, yeah, sure, okay,” Will offers, breathless because Mack doesn’t usually like to go down on him, seems to prefer to jerk them both off together or just rub up against each other until the pressure does its job.

But now, Mack is taking his time. He’s licking his way under the tight tucking panties, then running his tongue right over where Will’s hardening cock is trapped between his legs, making the fabric all wet with drool.

“Shit,” Will mutters, “take em off already, fuck.” He grabs one of the straps of his dress and throws it back over his shoulder so the whole thing won’t fall onto Mack’s face, then presses his hands back into the wall, like that can relieve the pressure on his dick.

Mack digs his teeth into the inside of Will’s upper thigh, just for an instant. Will flinches, and then whines when Mack soothes over the spot with his tongue, little kitten licks. It’s sharp and hot and perfect and it’s driving him crazy.

Will’s ready to start yelling at him when Mack mutters something into Will’s skin. He doesn’t catch all of it, but “—sexy girl, I’m so—” definitely comes through.

Taking a deep breath, Will buries both hands in Mack’s hair, and yanks his head backwards. It’s still so dark in this weird closet-room, but Will’s eyes have adjusted to the strange lighting now, and when he looks down, he can tell how blown out Mack’s eyes are, his mouth slack and shiny as he looks up at Will.

He meets Mack’s gaze and makes sure to pitch his voice up. “Do you wanna go down on your wife?”

The effect on Mack is immediate. He lets out a high whine that makes Will so thankful he paid that girl to actually leave because now he can totally get Mack to make that sound again (and again, and again).

Mack’s pawing up under Will’s skirt now, trying frantically to get the panties off, but it’s messy and uncoordinated. Will moves his hands from Mack’s hair to his shoulders, and pushes him back gently this time.

“Here, lemme just—” Will lets go of Mack so he can flip the skirt of his dress open and unceremoniously shove the panties down his legs and step out of them.

He flicks them off his ankle deeper into the little room behind them, shivering at the cool air hitting his hard cock as it springs free, and then pulls Mack—who’s still kneeling and has been staring silently up at Will like he’s not sure this is real—back in towards his body.

Mack pushes up the skirt of Will’s dress almost reverently. Carefully, so careful, not rough at all like he usually is with Will, like they both are, he coaxes Will into throwing his left leg over Mack’s shoulder. The front of Will’s skirt falls across Mack’s back like a cape as Mack practically falls onto his dick mouth-first.

It’s Will’s turn to make a loud, undignified noise.

He thinks Mack must have been learning the previous times he’s done this with Will, because he remembers Mack being way more hesitant the last time they tried this, so much less sure.

Mack seems pretty fucking sure now, one hand wrapped around the base of Will’s dick as his mouth bobs up and down to meet it. He fucking hums around Will’s cock, sending vibrations through it that have Will’s blood singing, driving him higher, and he can’t stop his hips from bucking up off the wall and his ankle driving into Mack’s back, making him choke a little.

Will’s about to apologize, reaching a hand down for Mack, when his skirt falls away, and Mack’s looking up at him again. “It’s okay, you can fuck my face. I—I want you to.”

He has to close his eyes against the groan that rips out of him at that. Mack’s voice is gravelly, ruined from choking on Will’s dick, and it’s maybe the sexiest thing Will’s ever heard. He can’t help but bury his fingers in Mack’s hair and guide him back onto Will’s cock.

Mack sucks him with renewed fervor, cheeks going hollow before he swallows Will back down, and oh shit, Will drags his eyes open again because he’s not gonna fucking last here, he’s gonna— “Mack, babe, I’m so close, I’m—”

Mack looks up and meets his gaze, pointedly taking Will’s cock deeper into his mouth, then hums around again.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Will moans as sparks crackle around his vision and his whole body goes tight with pleasure, spilling into Mack’s mouth.

It’s quiet for a minute as Will comes down from his orgasm and catches his breath. Mack swallows and wipes his mouth, pressing a soft little kiss to the inside of Will’s left thigh before gently shrugging his shoulder out from under it.

“Holy shit,” Will mutters, grabbing at Mack’s jacket lapels to pull him up and in, pressing their mouths together messily and tasting himself on Mack. “That was so hot,” he murmurs as he presses sloppy kisses along Mack’s jawline. “You took care of me so good, babe.”

Mack lets out a whine, burying his face in Will’s shoulder and pressing him back into the wall in a way that makes it clear that Mack is still painfully, achingly hard.

“Mmm, I got you baby, hang on,” Will says, brain already forming an idea.

He flips them so he can prop Mack against the wall, leaving him with a quick, hard kiss. Mack whines as he pulls away, but Will assures him, “I’ll be right back, just gotta—” He spots the panties on the ground several feet away, and goes over to pull them back on, carefully tucking his balls away like Mateo had showed him and resituating his still-sensitive dick in them.

He turns back to Mack, who’s leaning against the wall exactly where Will left him, looking a little wrecked, mouth red and shiny and staring at Will with open longing on his face, like Will’s fucking everything… fuck, Will really is, like, embarrassingly into the dude. In a sex way. Yeah.

Whatever, he’s just feeling a little soft post-nut.

Sidling back over, trying to put a little swing in his hips like girls do—he’s not sure if he nails it, but Mack lets out another small sound like he’s overwhelmed, so Will’s counting it as another W—he pitches his voice up again and leans in to whisper, “Your turn, babe.”

This time Will is the one to drop to his knees, making quick work of Mack’s belt and fly so he can get Mack’s straining dick out. He doesn’t waste any time, licking and sucking up and down the shaft, using his hand to spread the saliva around. Mack is moaning, nothing that’s recognizable as English, and Will wants him to make that loud, high whine again.

As soon as he feels like Mack’s cock is slick enough, he rises to his feet.

“Bwuh—” Mack starts to fumble out, but Will kisses him firmly.

“Shhhh, trust me, gonna take care of you, babe.” Will grabs Mack’s shoulders and flips them around so that his own back is against the wall. Reaching down to grab his skirt at the top of the slit and wrap it around his hips, he leans back against it with his ass, trapping it against the wall and leaving his legs exposed.

With one hand on Mack’s shoulder blade and one guiding his dick, Will pulls Mack’s body back into him, letting his slick cock press between the top of Will’s thighs, damp already with sweat. “Fuck me like this, baby.” He presses his thighs together and grabs at Mack’s hips, encouraging him to thrust.

Mack presses in in in again, mouth at Will’s neck and dick squeezed between his legs, and for a split second, Will wishes that Mack was actually pushing inside him, just so he could feel that close and—

Nope. That seems like a thing to think about later (or never). Will gives his head a shake as Mack lets out another rough groan, rutting into the space he’s making for himself between Will’s thighs.

Bending to bite at Mack’s earlobe, Will whispers, “Fuck me, please, come on, want you to come in me—”

Mack lets out that high, loud whine that makes Will feel a little crazy one more time, and then his whole body stills. Will feels hot liquid spill between his legs.

For a moment, they stay there, leaning against the wall of this small coat room, panting together. Mack’s forehead is stuck to Will’s clavicle. Will can feel spunk dripping down his smooth legs.

“Fuck,” Mack mutters with a low little laugh, breath ghosting across Will’s half-bare chest, and suddenly Will can feel himself breaking into a wide grin.

“Well, that was hot.”

Mack groans, but he nods against Will’s shoulder. His body is still kind of smashing Will’s into the wall, but Will is surprised again by how much he doesn’t mind it. He lets his fingers come up and run through Mack’s sweaty hair, scratching his nails across Mack’s scalp occasionally, and smiles again when he feels Mack shudder.

Ugh, he should probably take care of the mess on his legs sooner rather than later, though.

Tapping Mack’s back, he says, “Hey bud, I gotta clean up here.”

Mack extracts himself with what looks like a great deal of effort. His face is entirely red. Will feels a hook of pleasure beneath his sternum that he was the one who caused that. He’s the one who got Mack to fall apart and look like that.

He looks down to hide a small smirk before his eyes dart around, taking in the meager selection of actual coats in this coat closet. After careful consideration, Will makes a beeline to the puffy pink thing in the corner.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Mack is leaning his back against the wall again, dick tucked away again and pants done up. He’s still breathing heavily.

“Uh, cleaning up, I told you.” Will unzips one pocket in the jacket and digs a hand in to investigate. Hmm, old ski pass, lone Tic Tac, pen cap. He tries the other pocket. An empty candy wrapper, a bandaid, and— “Bingo!” He triumphantly turns around and brandishes a crumpled napkin in Mack’s direction.

Mack shakes his head at him, but he’s smiling now.

Will immediately bends down, wiping the semen off the inside of his legs, and then winces. “Aw, fuck, some got on the back of the dress.” He pulls up his skirt to inspect it more closely; on the interior side of the back of the skirt, there’s a telling smear of white.

Will winces, then spits on it and tries to scrub at it with a clean corner of the napkin. Mack steps away from the wall towards him, looking contrite. “Sorry about that.”

Will waves him off, just turns a little, trying to catch the stain in the light streaming in the window. “No big, dude.”

“I think,” Mack says, taking one more step towards Will. He swallows and doesn’t continue.

Will is distracted, still trying to get the spunk stain out of his dress. He thinks the rubbing might be making it worse. “Hmm? What d’you think?”

“I think I’d like you to actually be my WAG,” Mack hisses out in a rush.

Will stops scrubbing at the dress with the napkin. He looks up.

“Uh. Dude. You realize I’m not, like, actually a girl, right?”

“No, I, duh, I mean—” Mack clutches at his hair briefly. It looks like he’s pulling at it, but Will can’t be sure in the low light. Nonsensically, Will thinks that he should be the one pulling on Mack’s hair. Finally, Mack lowers his arms to cross them over his chest, takes a deep breath, and restarts. “I mean I want to date. You. For real.”

There is absolute silence for a brief eternity. Then Will feels a high-pitched nervous giggle escape from his own mouth. He drops the napkin and his skirt, claps a hand over the lower half of his face on pure instinct, and watches silently as Mack’s eyes get wider and wider.

“Not—not like, in public! I just mean... when it’s us. You know. At home. And maybe around a couple of the guys, like Toff and Ekky. And not—”

Mack is holding his hands up like Will’s a dog that’s gonna jump up on him at any second, so Will figures it’s just easiest to shut him up by kissing him.

It’s clear that Mack wasn’t expecting this, because he stumbles back against the wall with a little “oomph!” that makes Will giggle again, less nervous and more pleased now. He loves being able to surprise Mack; it’s rarer these days that he manages it than he used to last year.

Mack tries to pull him away by his hips. His fingers are low enough that Will can feel them on the swell of his ass, clutching just enough to catch the fabric of the dress. “Does that—are you saying yes?”

He looks so earnest and hopeful, Will can’t bring himself to say anything other than: “Yeah, okay.” Because he thinks that probably sounds… weirdly all right, for as little as it would’ve occurred to him even yesterday. But he needs a little more time to turn the idea around in his brain, and Mack’s always easy enough to distract with his mouth.

The thing is that Mack’s always so fucking focused, and Will already likes having Mack’s attention focused on him normally. Somehow with all the fooling around that they’ve done over the last year, they’ve barely ever really kissed before tonight. Just, like, twice, maybe. And Will had kind of… well, he’d forgotten how fucking good Mack is at this, holy shit.

Normally when Will kisses girls—women, corrects a voice in his head that sounds like Grace—it’s just like, perfunctory or whatever; a step he’s gotta take before he can get his dick wet that doesn’t really do much for him, but he tries not to be an inconsiderate asshole when he’s hooking up, and does whatever he can to make the other person feel good.

He’s pretty used to zoning out during kissing, is what he means, thinking about other stuff while he uses only a fraction of his brain to judge when whatever chick he’s with will let him go below the belt.

But Mack’s single-minded attention on licking his way into Will’s mouth, open and slick and exploring without being too wet, and then pulling back to nip with his sharp teeth at Will’s lower lip before diving back in… it’s a lot. It’s making Will feel like he’s maybe become one of those women who go breathless when you’ve kissed them long enough the right way. Maybe it’s the dress and makeup.

What’s he supposed to be thinking about, again?

Mack pulls away to nibble along Will’s jawline, and before he can stop it from escaping, Will gasps out, “Fuck, why haven’t we been kissing more? This feels so—”

And then, thank god, Mack’s mouth is back on his so he doesn’t have to figure out how that thought was gonna end. Instead, Will buries his fingers in Mack’s hair, tugging at it just like Mack had earlier, but it’s better now because Will’s the one doing it and it makes Mack make these noises into his mouth that Will swallows up and—

There’s a loud banging noise on the door to the coat room. “Hey, assholes!”

Will thinks he’s the one who makes the whining noise when they break apart to stare at the closed door, but he’s not totally sure.

“The ladies want to take group photos, are you two decent?” asks Toff’s voice through the door. He doesn’t actually wait for them to respond, and somehow instantly finds the light switch they’d previously failed to notice. The whole room is bathed in harsh halogen light.

Will becomes slightly more aware of the fact that his dress is half-on, and his lipgloss is smeared in a pink smudge down Mack’s neck.

“It isn’t what it looks like?” He figures it’s worth a try.

Toff rolls his eyes and shoots off a text. “Some of the girls are gonna come help you fix all of…” he gestures at Will and Mack’s collective head-to-toe existence, “that. I’m proud of you guys for getting your shit together. Now please don’t embarrass us publicly on social media by being sloppy at one of the first big team parties of the season?”

Before they can answer, the door is shut very firmly. Not quite a slam, but there’s a suggestion of force.

Will breaks out into helpless giggles again, and sort of collapses into Mack, who’s being held up by the wall. Mack’s laughing too, flushed from his hairline down to below his clavicle, and Will can’t help but lean in with purpose and kiss him once more.

It feels like winning.

“Cat, I swear to god, I’m gonna—”

Tyler’s wife will not stop laughing at him. So unfair. He loves her so much. He has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road.

“I’m serious! They’re so much stupider than we thought!”

In his peripheral vision, Cat shakes her head at him. She’s still sort of cackling. “Mack’s bathroom breakdown cannot possibly be stupider than watching Will try on half the black, slinky dresses in all of Jackson Square while Mateo kept making him turn around so he could blatantly ogle Will’s hockey butt. Will seemed super into it, by the way, did I mention that before?”

This time Tyler shakes his head. “I still can’t figure out if that kid is bizarrely well-adjusted for his age, or if he’s just better than Mack at hiding a breakdown.”

“Could be a little of column A, little of column B. Besides, the second part feels like a really low bar.” Cat’s voice is muffled, and when he glances over, she’s flipped her head upside-down and detached the SpongeBob headband, tossing it into the back seat and combing out her hair.

“Did you know they’ve been hooking up since last year?”

He feels more than sees Cat freeze, then slowly turn to stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. I had all these—I had, like, talking points prepared, okay? To get one or both of them through a sexuality crisis or whatever, whenever they got there! And it turns out that actually, Mack thinks him and Will having sex is totally normal, he only started freaking out tonight because of some G-rated fantasy about Will like, being his wife and wearing Mack’s jersey.”

Cat huffs out a little chuckle. “That’s kind of sweet, actually. He’s just a nineteen-year-old kid, Ty. I’m not surprised he’s more afraid of feelings than orgasms.”

Tyler chokes on a laugh. “Fuck.”

He continues to drive towards home in comfortable silence, before— “I keep thinking I should call Carts, I don’t—he’d be better-equipped to handle this, eh?”

Cat hums at him. “You think Jeff Carter would be better able to handle an emotionally stunted teenager possibly having a sexuality crisis because he actually wants to date his teammate and not just hook up with him, or whatever?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Cat, I… when did I become the adult in the room? Like, when did that happen?”

His wife reaches over and tugs his right hand, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were starting to turn white and he hadn’t even noticed, over to the center console so she can lace their fingers together, and then sets her other hand on top. Pressing a kiss to his knuckles, she says, “Mmm, sometime after LA, but before Jersey, I think. Calgary, maybe.”

Tyler sighs, and lets himself sink into his wife’s wisdom and affection, and the zen of long, uncrowded California highways at twilight.

Cat starts to fiddle with the radio after a few minutes of silence, but she doesn’t unlace their fingers. Finally, she says, quietly like she’s not sure she should ask, “When did you last actually hear from Carts?”

He shrugs. “Got some family vacation photos from him this summer. His kids are getting big.”

“Do you…” She pauses, and then restarts, voice hesitant. “Do you know when he last heard from Richie?”

Tyler shakes his head. “He and Megan were at Richie’s wedding reception a couple summers ago, I know that. But I’m not exactly in close contact with either of them.”

Cat nods, and then, after a beat, turns off the radio. “I don’t… like the thought of Will and Mack ending up like them,” she says slowly, into the fresh silence that suddenly feels very loud.

“What, with multiple Cups?” Tyler asks, pointedly does not say, with a career-ending drug problem, but she levels him a Look and he shuts up. “No, I know. I get it. They won’t, Carts and Richie are fucked up assholes, Will and Mack are…”

But he’s suddenly hit with a memory from that very first year he got called up to the show, hanging out at Richie and Carts’ place between playoff games with Pears, stealing all their beer and watching as the two of them moved around the kitchen, bumping into each other like they knew the other one was there, but just wanted the physical contact. He and Pears had developed a whole language of facial expressions the following year to commiserate about how weird they were, but that first year in the playoffs, he just remembers noticing the way that Jeff always looked at Mike. Tyler hadn’t recognized or understood it then, hasn’t thought about it in years, in fact; it wasn’t the most notable thing going on in his life at the time.

He thinks about that look now, though, and realizes that he was watching an echo of that expression on Mack’s face tonight. Like he was so enraptured with something he already had, but somehow wanted more. A sort of… hockey player-specific kind of longing.

Tyler squeezes Cat’s hand. “We’re not gonna let Will and Mack end up like those guys. They have us.”

Cat squeezes back. “Damn straight. Or… not so straight.” She giggles, and it makes Tyler smile helplessly. He loves her so much.

As if on cue, Cat’s phone buzzes in her lap. When she checks it, she bursts out laughing.

“What?” he asks.

“Will just texted me asking how to get spunk stains out of stretch velvet.”

Tyler groans. “I didn’t need to know that!”

Cat squeezes his hand one last time and then extracts her fingers so she can use two hands to reply to the text. “They really are lucky they have us.”

And she’s right. They are. And Tyler feels good about that. He’s glad that he can maybe help his rookies—they’ll always be his rookies, even if they’re not rookies anymore, just like a part of him will always be Carts’ rookie, even though Carts is retired now and Ty’s been in the league for over a decade—be less of a disaster than the guys he came up around.

Progress, or something.

He makes a mental note to text Mack an annoying amount of links tomorrow about how condoms are helpful not just for pregnancy prevention and sexual health reasons, but easy cleanup too! Tyler grins, already imagining how red the kid’s face is gonna turn.

Yeah, they’ll be okay. And maybe being the grownup in the room isn’t such a bad gig.