what they dont tell you is that if you're a hockey fan for a long enough time you start feeling insane about the new wave of fans who don't know Anything. not in a hockey sense, but in a fandom sense
willykyle snippet that probably won't turn into a full fic because i don't want to jinx my willy-to-the-pens agenda. but i said id try posting more fic fragments instead of letting them languish in the notes app so pls enjoy 🫡
"And of course, Pennsylvania state income tax being what it is - "
"Yeah," William says, a smug slow grin spreading across his face. "Talk dirty to me, babe."
Kyle rolls his eyes and reaches down to nudge the corners of his three-page printout back into a neat stack. He had a whole fifteen-point plan for how he wanted this conversation to go, but of course William had other ideas. "Hardy har."
William shrugs his tanned shoulders. They're toned and bare. He's the kind of guy to show up to a business meeting in an artfully tattered wife beater.
Well, he is now. Kyle still remembers him at nineteen, eager and mostly dressed in team sweats all the time, still growing into his body, not yet grown into his style. He'd been sweet then, and hungry, and he'd smiled at Kyle like -
Like he's still smiling at him now. With a secret joke behind it that only William gets to know, that he never shares with you, never lets you in on.
He arches a smooth blonde eyebrow. "Well, you're here to seduce me, aren't you?"
Kyle clears his throat, and shifts in his seat in the dark leather booth. He'd picked this place because it's private, the booths tall and close, less likely to have them seen by Toronto insiders who can leak to the press that William Nylander was spotted taking an off-season meeting with the GM of the Pittsburgh Penguins.
But, of course, they've also been here before, years ago, and sat in this same booth, and William had looked at him across this same table and told Kyle casually, I think you should come back to my place.
So, all right, maybe this reads as a ploy on Kyle's part, an appeal to the old way they were, which is sleazy and completely unprofessional and not at all what Kyle was intending by inviting William here.
Unless, the conniving bastard that lives in the back of Kyle's brain says, in a rough and merry old voice that sounds a little like his grandfather, unless it works.
Kyle's career has taught him a lot of things, and one of the main ones is that sometimes you have to put down the stats sheet and the nice-guy-in-glasses act and just follow that nasty ruthless little voice instead.
"Well," Kyle clears his throat. "Well, is it working?"
Willy laughs, loud and bright and happy. He picks up the glass in front of him and downs the rest of his beer.
I feel it everywhere. It sort of runs through me in a way. It's like… dangerous. It is the best and the worst thing all at once. It's like the only thing. It's the only thing I've ever felt. It's like I'm fucking… high off of you or something. Chemically dependent. I don't know.
📸 sportpic_agency – Cyclocross World Championship, Tábor, 4 Feb 2024 / visualsofharry – E3 Saxo Bank Classic, 22 Mar 2024 / ucicyclocrossworldcup – Cyclocross World Cup, Antwerpen, 23 Dec 2023