Bryce and Jared cuddling! #3, but only because there are no public transit options
Jared can’t get comfortable on the couch. He worked hard in the weight room today, and every muscle in his back (plus a few he didn’t know he had) is complaining.
“Ow,” he says. He slides off the couch to sit on the floor.
Bryce’s hands hover over his shoulders. “I could–” His hands come to rest on Jared’s shoulders, warm and heavy.
Jared sighs. “Okay.”
Bryce’s fingers press into the muscles by his shoulders. “I’m not very good at this. You should get a trainer or someone professional if you actually need a massage.”
Jared’s head tips forward. “It’s fine.”
Bryce’s hands move lower. “Shove up,” he says, and moves to sit on the floor behind Jared, his thighs bracketing Jared’s. Bryce twists to put a pillow under his butt and behind his back.
His thumbs dig in below Jared’s shoulder blades. Jared can’t help the shiver that runs through his entire body at the release of tension.
Bryce works his hands down and down, until he’s massaging just above Jared’s sitbones.
“Okay,” Jared says. “You could stop, I don’t want you to mess up your hands or something.”
Bryce kisses his neck. “I don’t mind.”
Jared tilts his head back so he’s resting it on Bryce’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Bryce kisses him. It lands off-center on Jared’s mouth. He pulls back. “I miss you,” he says.
Bryce has been saying that kind of thing more, lately. And Jared is caught between two impulses: to agree (it’s true, he does miss Bryce) and to deny (why would I miss you?).
“Me too,” he says softly, and isn’t even sure Bryce hears him until Bryce’s arm wraps around his middle.
“Shift up a sec,” Bryce says, and Jared does. Bryce settles Jared more comfortably against him, and Jared closes his eyes.
He doesn’t mean to doze off, but he must, because it’s noticeably less light outside when he opens his eyes, and Bryce is breathing slowly and deeply next to his ear.
Jared manhandles him up onto the couch, thankful that Bryce has a couch big enough for two professional hockey players. He arranges the pillow under their heads and closes his eyes again.
@pies-for-riley asked for #31 (“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me!”) for Bryce/Jared. This is pure, unadulterated fluff.
It’s only a slight exaggeration to say that Jared has never known true fear until Bryce Marcus comes over for dinner.
Jared is...actually helping his mom cook. Which he does sometimes, and used to do a lot more. He’s supposed to be chopping potatoes. Right now his hands are shaking so badly he has to put the knife down and curl his fingers around the counter to steady himself.
“What, baby?” his mom asks without turning around.
Jared takes a deep breath in, holds it for three, and lets it out. “I’m really nervous,” he says.
“Mmm. Why?” She shakes more paprika over the chicken.
“I really like him,” Jared says.
“It’s not just the sex?”
“Mom!” Jared goes beet red and picks up the knife again. He doesn’t know how to explain to his mom that they’re not always having sex. Sometimes they watch movies, or play dumb video games, or just mess around on their phones while cuddling. But they do have a lot of sex.
“I have to ask,” she says. “It is your first relationship.”
Jared makes a face. Calling it ‘first relationship’ implies that there are going to be others, and he doesn’t want to think at all about how deeply he dislikes that idea.
Jared dismembers a potato. “He’s important to me,” he says. “I want you to like him. I want him to like you.”
“Oh, honey,” his mom says. Then she laughs. “I remember the first time I brought your dad home for dinner.”
“Yeah?”
“Uncle Billy and Aunt Catherine helped Grammy make every single one of my least favorite dishes,” she says. “And I couldn’t say anything.”
“I can see them doing that.” Jared salts the potatoes and puts the tray in the oven.
The doorbell squawks--Bryce didn’t read the sign, again, and tried to ring it. Then there’s a belated rap on the door. Jared pulls the hem of his shirt straight and goes to answer it. Bryce is standing on the porch. He’s wearing a collared shirt and holding a brown paper bag of bread in his hand.
“Hey,” Jared says. He leans forward and kisses Bryce, just saying hello, and Bryce startles slightly. “S’okay,” Jared says softly.
Bryce smiles and steps into the hallway.
For some inexplicable reason, Jared’s parents like him, after they grill him first. Jared’s sister (traitor) unites with him in teasing Jared. And after dinner, his mom pulls out a certain green leather-bound photo album.
Jared buries his face in his hands. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”
Bryce, however, greets pictures of Baby Jared with something like glee. And when the pictures reach Jared’s toddler years and earliest attempts to skate, his eyes go soft and fond.
He touches one picture, Tiny Jared, using the hockey stick as much to keep himself upright as to push the puck. “Look at you,” Bryce says softly.
Jared doesn’t even have to look up to know that his parents are having a conversation in Eyebrow behind his back.
Bryce looks up and grins. “You were so cute. What happened?”
Jared’s entire family breaks down into laughter, and Jared reluctantly joins them.
#43 it is. And it came out fluffy rather than angsty!
“Coming out with us?”
Bryce, drying his hair, can’t see who’s asking him. It probably isn’t Luke–not his voice, and Luke doesn’t invite people anywhere. One of the Americans, then, probably.
“Nah,” Bryce says, once he has most of the water out of his hair. He swipes on deodorant and shrugs into his shirt.
“C’mon, man, you can drink here now!” The Americans are peculiarly concerned that he’s now 21 and legal to drink in their country. He’s not sure why. They were still feeding him drinks when he was 18 and ostensibly not legal.
“Meeting a friend,” Bryce says. He takes his cufflinks out of their box and puts them on.
“Seriously?” Josh asks, leaning into Bryce’s space. “Are you going on a date with that hot reporter?”
Bryce stiffens when he hears the word date, then relaxes at the end of the sentence. “Ugh. No.”
“She was all over you, man,” Josh says.
Bryce shrugs. “She was just doing her job.” He checks his phone. Jared his waiting outside by his car. “Got to go.”
He power walks out of the locker room, down the hallway to the exit, ignoring the questions his teammates call out behind. He’s not quite in enough of a rush to start running.
Jared’s car is grey and sensible–sensible, but expensive. Good. He spent his salary on something useful, for a change. Bryce taps on the passenger door. The lock clicks open and Bryce slides into the seat.
Jared’s hair is drying, a curl springing loose over his forehead. Bryce leans across the console and kisses him. Jared’s mouth opens against his. Then he pulls back. “Wait,” he says. “We’re in the parking lot.”
“You don’t have tinted windows?” Probably a good thing. If he did, Bryce would suggest they crawl into the backseat.
Jared starts the car. “No, a tint’s not legal here.”
They pull out of the parking lot.
“I missed you,” Bryce says.
“God,” Jared says. “Don’t start.” He sighs. “I missed you too. I missed you so much.”
Bryce laughs, and starts flipping through stations on the radio. “I’m here.”
“What time do you have to be back in the morning?” Jared asks, as smooth jazz fills the car.
“Eight.” Bryce tips his head back against the headrest, suddenly tired.
“Okay,” Jared says. The saxophone purrs in the background.
They stop to pick up food, and then drive to Jared’s apartment. Nothing to see here, Bryce thinks to the doorman, who nods to them. Just two bros, chilling two feet apart, because they’re not gay.
In the elevator, he bumps his shoulder against Jared’s. Jared pushes back.
Inside the apartment, they set their takeout down on the counter and drop their bags on the floor. Then they’re in each other’s arms, kissing frantically.
“It’s been a month,” Jared mutters against Bryce’s mouth.
“I know,” Bryce says, and bites Jared’s neck just below his ear.
Jared’s moan is interrupted by a rumble from his stomach. Jared detangles himself, laughing. “I’ve made huge mistake.”
Bryce sneaks one last kiss. “Food,” he says. “Food before sex.”
“Okay,” Jared drawls. He keeps smiling at Bryce, as he gets out plates and silverware and Gatorades for them.
Bryce hooks his foot around Jared’s as they eat. He can’t stand to not be touching him.
Aileen hasn’t heard from Bryce in a couple days. Not that this is unusual--he calls her once or twice a week during the season. She’s not expecting to hear from him. But still, when she checks her recent calls and sees that she last heard from Bryce eleven days ago, she’s surprised.
hey. facetime on wed.? she sends. Her friends keep telling her that Bryce doesn’t need his mom. Aileen, he’s an adult. Give him his space. And she is. She’s not texting him every day, all up in his business (unlike the friend who gave her that advice who stalks her daughter’s Instagram). She doesn’t have his hockey stats memorized (unlike other moms she remembers from Bryce’s childhood hockey teams). She’s better than that. She hopes.
Bryce texts back a couple of hours later. sure? five-ish? and a string of silly emojis that means nothing to anyone who isn’t them.
She’s sitting in her favorite armchair with a cup of tea and the fan blowing on her face when he calls. “Hi, mama.” His face is blurry, then the screen resolution clears.
“Hey, buddy,” she says. “How’s camp?”
The last time they talked, Bryce hadn’t had much to say about camp. It was going “okay.” She gets the sense he doesn’t think much of himself as a teacher. But that makes sense to her. He’s always been better at doing things than explaining.
“It’s good,” he says. He tells her about some of the drills they’re doing, about the strength training he’s doing on the side to get ready for his own season. Normal talk.
They talk about hockey some more and the conversation slowly dies out. She smiles at him. He looks away from the camera.
“Buddy?”
He looks back at the camera.
“What is it?” She’s seen that look on his face only rarely. When they go together to visit his father’s grave. When she picked him up from the precinct after he crashed his car. When he called her to tell her what had happened with the Oilers fan. “What’s wrong?”
“I--” he stops. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“I love you,” she says, because he looks like he needs to hear it. “I love you, you know that?”
His face twists. “I think I fell in love,” he blurts out, and then looks astonished, like he didn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth.
“Oh?” she says.
He nods.
“Want to tell me more?” If she waits, quiet and patient, maybe he’ll say more. Maybe he won’t.
“He’s really beautiful,” Bryce says. He’s speaking so softly that his microphone barely picks it up. “He’s funny. I--I met him at camp. He’s--his name is Jared.”
She goes in for the kill. “Were you afraid to tell me because you love a boy?”
He looks away. “Maybe.” He looks back at the camera. “I didn’t know what you’d think.”
“I think if you love him, he must be somebody pretty special,” she says. It’s what he needs to hear, but it’s also true. Bryce smiles suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Tell me more about Jared,” she says, and Bryce does.
He picks his head up out of his pillow (screaming finished, for now, though he reserves the right to continue screaming later). He rereads his phone screen. Bryce definitely just agreed to the ‘boyfriend’ label.
Jared does not know how he’s going to survive tomorrow.
There’s a scratching at his door. Erin slips in, closes the door behind her, and sits on the end of his bed. She’s in her pajamas already, boxers and an oversized blue shirt. “I heard yelling.”
Jared groans. “Did you hear all of it?”
“Apparently you were fucking Bryce Marcus in the driveway. What the hell, Jared?”
“I wasn’t fucking him.” Jared sits up and pokes her bare knee with his toes.
“Okay,” she says, stretching out the syllables.
“I was maybe trying to fuck him. While parked in front of the house.”
Erin bursts out laughing.
Jared kicks her until she quiets down. “Shh!”
When Erin finishes laughing at him, she says, “Seriously, though. Bryce Marcus.”
Jared thunks his head back against the wall. “Dad is freaking out because he’s nominally my coach right now.”
“Isn’t he?”
“He’s kind of like a more useless aide,” Jared says. He thinks about Bryce’s comments on his backhand. It’s getting better. “I honestly think he is just doing this camp to rehabilitate his image. Maybe get some community service hours?”
“Whoa. But you’re dating him,” Erin says.
“Yes.”
“How the hell did that happen? Come on, spill. You haven’t been around most of the past week...”
Jared’s face heats. Erin points and laughs. “Yeah,” Jared says.
“Doesn’t he have, like, an apartment? Why’d you have to do it in his car?”
“I didn’t even get to do anything!” Jared says. He knows what Bryce’s dick feels like in his hand, albeit briefly, and now he wants to know how it feels in his mouth, and...everything is fucked forever. “And he hasn’t invited me over.”
“Maybe he’s a slob. Maybe he’s living in a hotel. Maybe--”
“Hush,” Jared says. “I’ll just...ask him. ‘I would really like to touch your dick in private please. Text me your address.’”
Erin loses it again, muffling her laughter in her hands. She sobers. “Isn’t he, like, four years older than you?”
“He’s twenty,” Jared says. “And I’m way more mature than he is.” He said this to his mom and dad already. Maybe if he keeps repeating himself he’ll believe it.
She rolls her eyes. “Gosh, I can’t wait until you bring him home to meet mom and dad properly.”
“He met Dad already. In the driveway.”
“Oh god,” she says.
Jared shakes his head. “They think he’s just hooking up.” He pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them. He thinks of Bryce’s shy smiles, his breath hot against Jared’s neck.
“You’re blushing,” Erin says.
“Shut up, I’m not.”
“You like him.”
“Shut up,” Jared says.
Erin shakes her head. “I’ve got your back, okay? Just say the word and I’ll take him out, I’m not afraid, even if he punches Oilers fans.”
“Thanks,” Jared says.
Erin stands up. “Be safe, use condoms,” she says as she heads towards the door.
Bryce puts his arm on the armrest again like it’s completely normal. Like maybe it doesn’t feel like every hair on his forearm stands erect at the brush of skin. Jared is cursing himself for all of this--the picnic, the dinner, Jurassic World--he should have gotten away while he could.
Bryce is actually watching the movie, too, sitting up in his seat. Jared’s already seen the movie. So by halfway through it has turned into Bryce watching Age of Ultron while Jared watches Bryce watch Age of Ultron.
Jared’s parents have texted him back, too. Ok. see you later. As did his sister, so who’s your hot date? For a millisecond, Jared considers answering her. But his sister has no loyalty--she’d tell his parents, and then he’d walk back into an intervention about why he’s dating Bryce Marcus. And then he’s have to tell them that it’s just a tragic Straight Guy mix-up: Bryce was just lonely for a bro and Jared happened to be around. Better not.
Bryce’s fingers brush the back of Jared’s hand.
A line from school rises unbidden to the front of Jared’s mind: why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Bryce hasn’t shaved since this morning. Jared can see the gold glint of his stubble. He tries to will his thoughts away, but it’s too late: he’s imaging what that would feel like against his skin.
Eons later, the movie ends. Bryce stays seated. “I want to see the post-credits scene.”
Jared flops back in his chair dramatically, but he stays.
As the credits start to roll, Bryce says, “One sec, sorry--washroom,” and stands up. Jared follows him, because actually, yeah, that’s a good idea.
He washes his hands, waits for Bryce outside the washroom. His mouth is suddenly dry. He takes a sip from the water fountain.
“Did you like it?” Bryce asks.
Jared shrugs. “Not my favorite Marvel movie.”
“You seem like more of a Captain America guy,” Bryce says.
Jared is insulted. “Truth, justice, and the American way?”
“Smug little shit who doesn’t know when to stop,” Bryce says, but he says it with a laugh in his voice.
“Does that make Rafe the Winter Soldier? No, don’t answer that.” Bryce laughs and unlocks his car. Jared folds himself into the front seat. “Nah--don’t laugh, okay. My favorite Marvel character is Loki.”
“Interesting,” Bryce says.
“You?” Jared cannot believe they’re having this...normal conversation. What is even happening here?
“Tony Stark,” Bryce says without apology. “Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.”
“You would,” Jared mutters, and Bryce starts the car. He has put the top down, so the night air blows Jared’s hair, but he isn’t driving fast, so it feels good rather than completely overwhelming. Far too soon, they’re turning onto Jared’s block.
“That was fun,” Bryce says.
Jared actually agrees with him. Jared is a big enough person that he can admit it. “Yes,” he says.
“So, uh.” Bryce puts the car in park. “Can I see you again?”
Jared is confused. It’s Saturday night. Well, possibly Sunday by now. He hasn’t looked at the time. “You’ll see me on Monday.”
It must be the streetlights that make Bryce’s face look like it’s turning pink. “Not like that,” he says. “Um, like this.”
“You want to take me for a ride?” Jared says, and then goes red. He didn’t mean for it to come out of his mouth sounding like that. Except that maybe he kind of did?
Bryce’s gaze goes sharp. “Yeah,” he says.
Which, whoa, okay. “Wednesday?”
“Sure,” Bryce says, easy and relaxed except for the way his left hand is pressing white-knuckled against the steering wheel.
“Thanks,” Jared says. “For uh, dinner, and the movie.”
Bryce smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Jared should get out of the car. Jared really should get out of the car. There’s a cold block of ice that just appeared in his stomach; Jared should get out of the car. Instead he just blurts it all out: “What is this? Like, are you just looking for a bro? Because I’m--I’m not--” he cuts himself off.
Bryce reaches out and touches him, the pads of his fingers against Jared’s cheek. Definitely not a bro touch, Jared thinks. His eyes drop to Bryce’s mouth. Bryce bites his lip and releases it. He drops his hand. Jared can still feel Bryce’s hand on his face.
Jared gets out of the car. “Night,” he says. He’s not responsible for how breathless he sounds, as if Bryce had actually kisses him.
“Good night,” Bryce says, and it gives Jared a small petty glow of satisfaction that he sounds equally shaken.
@nervous-breakdown-hat asked for Bryce & Jared do Valentine’s Day. Happy Day-Before-Half-Priced-Chocolate Day, everyone!
On Valentine’s Day they’re playing games across the country.
The plans are this: a Flames blanket, a sandwich, Skype. The call connects as the computer screen resolves into clarity.
“Hi, babe,” Bryce says.
“Not another watch,” Jared says.
“Nope.” Bryce sounds insufferably smug.
“You did something,” Jared says, unwrapping and biting into his sandwich. He’s hungry.
“The hockey program you told me about? The one that gives gear and stuff to players who can’t afford it?” Bryce sounds nervous. “I wrote them a check in your name.”
Jared feels his face heat. “That’s...actually romantic.”
“I didn’t know Bryce Marcus was gay,” Rafe says quietly.
“What?” Jared looks around and nearly drops a barbel on his foot. Bryce has gone off into a corner to sulk again which is--great. Fine. Totally fine. Jared doesn’t notice him at all, ever, except to notice that he’s gone.
“Do you have another explanation for all of this?” Rafe asks, still quiet.
“You think he’s flirting,” Jared says.
“You don’t?” Rafe sets his weights down and picks up a heavier set.
Jared’s mind is splintering. Because, no, honestly, he hadn’t. Forget the fact that summer training is the last place--literally the last--he would look for a date. Now that he considers it, though...
“Just a theory,” Rafe says, like he can see the way Jared’s hands have started to shake.
Okay, they have started to shake. He sets the weights down hastily before anyone else can notice. And, Bryce is back for another attempt. “Here,” he says, and reaches across Jared. “Hold it like this.”
Jared copies him and lifts. He’s not going to lie: the stretch feels better immediately. When he lowers the weight Jared says, “Are you hitting on me?”
Bryce’s face goes flat. So that’s what real anger looks like on him, and not the pretend pissy stuff. He’s scary. “Do the other side the same way,” Bryce says.
He’s calming himself down. Jared watches him consciously relax the fingers of his hands and take short little breaths in and out through his nose and mouth.
Jared has to say something. He lifts the barbel to shoulder height and holds it. “I’m gay,” he says, staring straight ahead at the far wall.
Bryce doesn’t react.
Rafe doesn’t either. But Jared was already out to Rafe.
“Okay,” Bryce says.
Jared racks his weights. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Bryce smiles over his shoulder at him and goes off to tell someone else they’re doing it wrong. And, okay. All right. Jared has just about decided that he doesn’t need an answer.
Later, Rafe looks at him, looks away, and laughs. “You get your answer, then?”
Jared scrubs his hand through his hair. “He’s still really annoying,” he mutters sulkily. And adds, in the privacy of his own head, but he’s really hot, too.
