#devon crane

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTW: Various Caps; brittle

For the prompt: In light of recent playoff events I NEED to see Crane and his caps in the middle of a 5OT battle!

this is AU in that the Caps never hit that point (it is a rare as hell occurrence) but if they did this is how it would go.

Some games you just get outplayed in every single facet. It doesn’t matter that you’re the better team, it doesn’t matter if you’ve won eight of the last ten match-ups against them, or are on a ten game win streak, or your power play’s hot and their PK sucks. Some games you just deserve to lose.

Except apparently not if Devon Crane has a single fucking thing to say about it.

*

David tries to think if he’s ever been this tired in his life. He can’t come up with any examples. He think he might be too tired to. Too tired to think at all, which is a strange little mercy because he knows if he had any more energy he’d be thinking about all the ways they don’t deserve to win this game, all the ways it could go wrong, the ways he could personally be at fault if this goes wrong.

He glances over at Crane, who could be carved from wood he’s so still, and finds strength in it. Takes a sip of water, another, his body as rebellious as it is grateful, sips it very slowly, and that kills the rest of the time until they have to take the ice again.

“David,” Oleg says before they take the ice, tips his head down, and David knocks his visor against Oleg’s in agreement.

*

There isn’t anything behind Devon’s eyes. Elliott thinks he could wave a hand in front of his face and Devon would track the movement like he’d track a puck, but if Elliott asked how he was doing the question would go in one ear and out the other. He’s dialled in, and usually he dials out just a little during intermissions, just enough to say a bit, drink some water, listen to any speeches, then dials himself right back in when the countdown to take the ice starts. Elliott’s faintly concerned he won’t know how to at the end of the night at this rate. If there is an end of the night. They might still be playing when the sun rises, if any of them are still capable of playing by that point.

It’s not that Elliott has much left to say at this point, is just saying the same thing over and over — one lucky bounce and they have this, one tip, one odd-man rush, one deflection and they’re taking a stranglehold in the series. They all knows this. They knew this after the first, and after the second, and after the third, and — Elliott’s tired of his own voice, honestly, but he says it anyway, because otherwise they’re just going to sit in exhausted silence watching the time count down before they have to get to their wobbly legs and get back out on the ice.

He circles the room on his own wobbly legs, because he’s a concerned if he sits down he’s not going to be able to get back up again. He’s played about two games of ice time now, but he’s probably blocked more shots than he would in five, taken every single shot he can, though it never feels like enough. He knows he’s not the worst of it, though.

“Okay?” Elliott asks Robbie when he reaches him in his wobbly circle.

Robbie, who’s been on the ice half the game, probably blocked more shots than every forward combined, somehow isn’t too tired to give him the most sarcastic expression in the world.

“Okay,” Elliott nods, and after a second Robbie nods back.

*

Someone has to win, and someone has to lose, and the Caps don’t win it. It’d almost be better if it had been a greasy goal, something anticlimactic, just shovelling it in past exhausted defenders, but it’s a showstopper, highlight reel even if hadn’t been the goal to break a deadlock that seemed like it’d go on until morning at least. Crane didn’t have a single, solitary chance.

Sean has a wealth of material for his byline, has been writing things up during every intermission so it’ll be ready to send by a deadline that’s much closer than it should ever be, and all he needs to add at this point is a paragraph, maybe a single sentence, before he goes into the scrum to get soundbites from an exhausted, heartbroken team.

He gives himself around thirty seconds to feel bitterly, bitterly disappointed, a little heartbroken himself, and then he gets right back to work.

[youcouldmakealife]

Which of your various teams is most likely to stretch a playoff game to 5OT and why is it Craney's Caps?

I can absolutely see Devon Crane carrying his team through eight periods with GRIT and DETERMINATION and DEATH THREATS.

[youcouldmakealife]

How does Trigger rank as a goalie talent? He must be good to play for the Scouts but is he elite? (I believe you said Crane was generational if I’m remembering correctly?)

Devon Crane is indeed generational!

Trigger’s not. He’s a talented young (he’s in his mid-twenties, so not young young, but in Goalie Age) goalie. He’s also the Scouts’ backup. The Scouts are considered to have one of, if not the best tandems in the league during that season and the season before, with a really fair workload balance (about 65%-35%, so no one’s getting burnt out or going too long between games) and the elite D in front of him, and very high scoring give him a buffer on his bad nights, so even if he has a poor game, he doesn’t always lose. He’s definitely still learning, and the load management helps -- he’s not ready to be a starter. Or, more, he could start for the Scouts in a pinch, say, if there were an injury: he wouldn’t handle starting for a losing team very well at this point.

I don’t think I’ve been subtle about it (in fact your ask tells me I haven’t!), but in the 2019-20 season (which is where we are in Joey) the Scouts are on top of the pack. They’re a really damn good team. Trigger’s good, and he doesn’t drag them down, but he’s thriving in his environment for a reason.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTW (pt 6!): Robbie, Caps; dirty Santa

This is less soft than like, bawdy ridiculousness because it’s the Caps. But it’s their version of soft! Vaguely NSFW? Because it’s Robbie. And the Caps.

Whoever decided that this year the Caps were going to do a white elephant gift exchange is either the smartest or the dumbest person alive. Robbie genuinely can’t decide. Thank fuck it’s a private thing and not something for CapsTV, because holy shit are the results not family friendly.

Matty goes downright purple when he opens up his present to find a gold vibrator. Robbie wonders if it’s actual gold. It could be gold plated at least — they had a two-hundred and fifty dollar limit, and some dudes were boring and bought stupid expensive bottles of wine or liquor that keep getting stolen, or fucking huge gift baskets, but others got a little more creative. Robbie has no idea who bought the vibrator, but they are his hero.

“Robbie!” Matty says.

“It wasn’t me!” Robbie says, with total honesty. He bought the fancy bondage set that Craney raised one eyebrow at when he opened, and then tucked under his chair, like if anyone dared to try to steal it from him, they were going to be in for a rude awakening.

Robbie suddenly has suspicions about who bought the vibrator, but Craney’s poker face is too good for him to let on.

“Your turn, Chaps,” Matty says, then, hopefully, “Do you want to steal mine?”

“No!” David says, going as crimson as Matty, and then burying his face in his hands when Robbie elbows him in the side and winks.

Robbie’s torn — he kind of wants that vibrator now, because it’s hilarious and gold is awesome, but it’d be funnier to make Matty bring it home and either try to discreetly dispose of it, or hide it where no one can ever find it. Decisions, decisions.

Matty gives him the most hopeful expression in the world when it’s Robbie’s turn, and Robbie sighs and gives in. He can’t deny that face. Plus, someone may as well get some actual use out of it.

Chaps, giant gift basket in his lap, looks like the vibrator’s going to bite him when Robbie sits back down beside him. Robbie pokes his arm with it after turning it on, and Chaps downright shrieks.

Smartest, Robbie’s decided. Smartest person of all time.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTW: Harry/Roman/Evan; undercover AU

For the prompt: Harry/Evan/Roman - SPIES!

This was ridiculously fun to write. (and is more...undercover FBI than spies, BUT.)

Feat. Devon Crane because you can’t have an environmental terrorist group without Devon Crane, okay, you can’t.

“I’m telling you,” Roman says, for the third time. “This isn’t our guy.”

“And I’m telling you,” Harry says, cranky in his ear. “That the intel on this is sound.”

“He just helped an old lady across the street,” Roman says. “He held the door open for three people in a row. He picked up litter.”

“Picking up litter kind of fits with someone in an environmental terrorist group, Novák,” Harry drawls.

“He looked both ways before he crossed the street!” Roman says. “Like, visibly! Head turning both ways!”

“Well that’s just basic common sense!” Harry counters.

“It’s not our guy,” Roman says. “We’re wasting our time here.”

“It’s my job to be the brain, not yours,” Harry says, and Roman rolls his eyes. “Keep on him.”

“Fine,” Roman says. “You coming to debrief me tonight, hear all about how this guy helped another old lady across the street?”

“I mean, it is my job,” Harry says, bored sounding.

“Okay,” Roman says, looking forward to it, because it’s probably going to be the only interesting thing happening all day. The only suspicious thing about Evan Connelly is how strangely pretty he is. Not a word you’d usually use for a guy who’s six and a half feet tall, but it fits him.

He doesn’t help another old lady across the street, but he does give money to three separate pan-handlers, before running inside a coffee shop and getting coffee and a sandwich for a fourth.

Roman sighs.

*

“It really isn’t our guy,” Roman says.

“You can’t let me have two minutes of afterglow without going on about this?” Harry asks.

“I mean, the debrief is your job,” Roman says.

“Yeah, but I wanted to get to the literal part of the debrief first,” Harry says.

“You did,” Roman says, leaning over the bed to grab Harry’s boxer briefs — Harry’s eyes linger, because it’s a good view, makes up for so many of Roman’s deficiencies — and throwing them at Harry’s chest.

“Asshole,” Harry says, but pulls them on.

“He’s not our guy,” Roman says, when they’re back to at least semi-dressed.

“Man, I swear I’ve heard this before,” Harry says.

“Because he’s not,” Roman says.

Harry flops back on the bed. “Can you just — stop listening to your stupid gut for one second and follow the intel.”

“Fine,” Roman says.

“Thank you,” Harry says.

“But he’s not,” Roman says, and Harry rolls over to scream into a pillow.

*

“You want me to — seduce an FBI agent,” Evan says, not sure he’s hearing Crane correctly. He can’t be. Crane’s initial advice when Victor discovered the FBI was trailing him was ‘lie low, don’t contact any of us, and act the way you usually do’, which made sense. This — doesn’t.

“Yes,” Crane says.

“Why?” Evan says, then, “I can’t — it doesn’t even matter, because I can’t.”

“Oh, I bet you can,” Crane says. “I’ve seen your glances at tall dark and thuggish.”

Evan colours, grateful Crane can’t see him.

“I’m really not a good actor,” Evan says.

“Just do your innocent thing,” Crane says. “He’ll eat it up. Hell, he already has.”

“What innocent thing?” Evan asks.

“Exactly,” Crane says, bafflingly.

“I’m not going to do this,” Evan says. “I can’t do this.”

“Think about the poor little California condor you find cute for some reason,” Crane says. “Poof, extinct.”

“They are cute,” Evan protests. “But I can’t—”

*

“I’m so sorry!” Roman hears, right as his coffee lands in his lap. Harry’s going to be furious. Not only because Roman got caught off guard, but because his dick might just be out of commission for a few days.

“It’s okay,” Roman says, through gritted teeth, then looks up — and up — and blinks to see Evan Connelly looking down at him. He’s not even on duty. This is — weird.

“Let me—” Connelly says, napkins out, basically about to pat down Roman’s dick before he colors and hands the napkins over. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats.

“It’s really okay,” Roman says, taking them and gingerly patting himself down.

“I can buy you another coffee?” Connelly says. “I’ll buy you another coffee.”

That is a terrible idea, but then, this has probably blown Roman’s cover — you’re going to remember a dude if you knocked coffee into his lap — so maybe — maybe it’s actually a good one, since Harry’s so insistent that Connelly’s their guy. An in. Beats trailing him, at least.

“Sure,” Roman says. “Thanks.”

Connelly’s smile is — distractingly sweet.

This is — no, Roman changed his mind again, this is a terrible idea. Harry’s going to kill him.

Roman follows Connelly into the Starbucks anyway.

[youcouldmakealife]

Matty/Crane (AU); tactility

So by ‘little bit’ of that Matty/Crane I clearly meant 750 words. 

This is, of course, in response to the runner up summary of: Matty/Crane, Devon POV. Devon slowly, carefully seduces Matty with cuddles. (Matty thinks they’ve been dating for months and are just going slow.)

I’m already 600 words into the Chaz/Raf, so that is probably forthcoming soon as well.

Elliott Matthews is a tactile person.  

It’s not that Devon’s not like that, it’s well — okay, Devon’s not like that, really. It isn’t that he has a problem being touched, it’s that it needs to be on his terms. But if he does want to have — something — with Elliott Matthews, and he admittedly does, then he needs to get over that. Or, not over it exactly, because Matty’s always respected that he isn’t going to be a go-to for cuddling or rough housing or whatever, but Matty likes to be close with the people he cares about, physically as well as emotionally, and while Devon’s always known that and made an effort to be more physically affectionate with Matty than he is with just about anyone else, it’s probably something that he’d find necessary in a relationship.

There is the additional factor that Devon might lately have the — urge, if he can call it that, to be as close to Matty as he can possibly get himself, but that’s not relevant. Well, it’s somewhat relevant. Relevant inasmuch as what Devon wants coincides with what Matty generally wants, so that’s good. Positive.

This is mostly to explain the fact that currently his body is overlapping Matty’s in at least three places, and it’s — nice. Devon feels warm, and yeah, that’s a physical sensation, because body heat, but it’s also not. It’s also something that has him paying more attention to the slight shift of Matty’s body as he readjusts his arm than the droning of the eleven o’clock news. Bardi’s not back yet, and Devon should go before he comes, because he’ll know something’s up, even if Matty doesn’t seem to, but he gives himself a few more minutes, attention snatched again when Matty yawns, a brush of hot air against Devon’s neck.

Which is again physical, but also not. Devon is attuned to the little things. He has to be, doing what he does. The flick of someone’s eyes from twenty feet out that tells him they’re going to pass instead of shoot, the flex of a hand, the trajectory he can read in a scramble of bodies. This, though, this isn’t something he usually pays attention to, or even should.

The next time Devon glances over, Matty’s eyes are shut, lashes shadowing his cheeks, mouth very slightly ajar. Devon feels the sudden urge to touch, press his thumb against the plush of his bottom lip. He resists it, of course. Untangles himself carefully, so carefully Matty doesn’t wake at all, not when Devon gets out of bed, or turns off the TV, or hits the lights after one last lingering look, presumably not even when he shuts the door gently behind himself.

*

It becomes routine. Routine in that it happens on a regular basis, not routine in the actual feeling of it, because if Devon thought he’d be eventually inured to it, well. He didn’t think that, because he’s not an idiot.

They’re in front of a TV again, because they usually are, something about watching the screen, acting like this is just a way their bodies fell together, accidental, no intent — they’re usually in front of a TV. Sometimes Matty’s fallen asleep on his shoulder on the team plane, but the guys will make fun of him for it, and it isn’t the same.

Things have — escalated, Devon guesses. He doesn’t know if you could call it that, exactly, if cuddling is something that you can say ‘escalates’, but the point is that they’re touching in more places than they’re not, Matty’s leg is over his, and it’s not — this isn’t something Devon’s done with anyone who has hasn’t seen naked before, basically. Well. He has seen Matty naked, hundreds of times, actually, but that’s not what he meant.

He wants to bury his fingers in Matty’s hair, wants to inch his fingers under the hem of his shirt, splay them out over the hot breadth of his back, wants to press his mouth to the column of his throat, leave wet, stinging kisses pink on his skin, wants to touch him everywhere, skin to skin.

He doesn’t do any of that.

“You comfortable?” Matty asks.

It isn’t the word Devon would use, for more reasons than one. For one, Matty’s elbow is kind of digging into him. For another, Devon is hyper aware of the weight of Matty’s leg slung over his, the slow beat of his heart where his chest is flush to Devon’s back.

“I’m good,” Devon says, which is not what Matty asked, but it’s true. Inadequate as an answer, but true.

[youcouldmakealife]

Matty/Crane AU; with practice

Two enabling asks in the space of eighteen minutes!

(And of course I jumped on them because I fucking love this AU. First part here. Another via ks emails.)

It’s not that Devon has a hard time picking up, because when he wants to, he generally succeeds — there haven’t really been stretches where he wants to be having sex but he isn’t. But there’s still something different about a one night stand versus something regular, and that’s something he hasn’t had in awhile. 

The first is a one size fits all, mostly — you do what you’re used to, what feels good, what has made other people feel good in the past, and honestly, that’s good enough. Devon’s had some amazing one night stands, and he’s had some good ones, and he’s had a lot of mediocre ones. This isn’t mediocre. Might have started that way, but you fumble enough, eventually you start getting a good grip on things.

This metaphor’s gotten away from him.

What Devon’s really saying, or trying to dodge saying, actually, is that the sex is pretty good. It wasn’t, that first night, but that first night you had two drunk guys, one who hadn’t jerked a guy off since Juniors, the other who — Devon is pretty sure Matty had never jerked a dick other than his own, but he’s afraid to ask, doesn’t want to know the answer.

But when it kept happening — and he still can’t believe he let it keep happening, can’t believe he was so stupid, so shortsighted, that he thought hurting Matty more later was a better idea than hurting him at the time — well. They get pretty good at it, Devon thinks. Matty seems to like it, at least, so. There’s that.

Except it’s hard to pretend he’s doing it just for Matty when he finds himself watching him, seeing if he signals, stomach tight at dinner waiting to see if Matty invites himself to his room later, knowing what that means. Though maybe waiting isn’t the word. It isn’t the only word, at least. Wanting Matty to invite himself over, knowing what that means.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He doesn’t know what they’re doing here. He just knows it’s stupid, and it’s going to blow up in his face, and the sooner he ends things, the better, for his mental state, and Matty’s, and for their friendship, though he doesn’t even know if that’s salvageable at this point. He hopes so. Matty doesn’t hold grudges, so it might be, but Devon’s increasingly worried that even if Matty got over things, pushed past the awkwardness, Devon might not be able to himself.

Matty’s knee nudges his under the table, and Devon looks over at him, wondering if that was a way to get his attention, but Matty just keeps trying to draw Bardi into the conversation, failing at it, leg pressed against Devon’s. It’s not even — this isn’t new. The whole Class of Canadiana plus Masshole lacks personal space with one another, and it’s something Devon got used to in their rookie year. If it was Wheels or Bardi sitting beside him instead of Devon, chances are just as high he’d be doing it, but even so, Devon’s having a hard time not paying too much attention to it, a hard time focusing on his food.

He pulls his leg away. Matty doesn’t seem to notice, and it doesn’t help, not even a little.

[youcouldmakealife]

Would the Matty/Crane cuddle AU fit with their existing AU? This Devon seems a bit more willing to admit to himself that he actually wants Matty.

It does not which means I literally have two AUs of a non-canon couple, dear lord.