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27 Ginner/Marty rare pair don't care - ted

27) Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

If you aren’t expecting it, two hundred pounds of hockey player dropping sideways into your lap is enough to completely knock the wind out of you. Usually, Brock’s expecting it, or at least bracing for it - with a team like his, there’s a chance that at any given moment there’s going to be a grown man in your lap.

But that was in the room, not in the VIP section of a fancy club the team had decided to rent in celebration of - something. Brock can’t actually remember the occasion, all he knows is that the rookies are getting absolutely shitfaced and the veterans are pretending to be better than that even as they buy them shots, downing glasses of pretentious whiskey like it’s water.

“Brock McGinn,” Marty whisper yells from his new seat in Brock’s lap, because he’s incapable of being quiet. He stinks of whiskey, and his eyes are glassy.

“Jordan Martinook,” Brock answers, attempting to catch his breath after it was knocked out of him. He wraps an arm around Marty’s waist, telling himself it’s for balance. “What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be harassing rookies?”

“I’d rather be here,” Marty sighs, dropping his head to rest on Brock’s shoulder. “I saw you hiding in the corner and would rather be with you.”

Brock squeezes his eyes closed, because that isn’t - he wasn’t - he’s drunk.

“You’re welcome here,” Brock managages to say. Marty hums and drops a gentle kiss to his neck that he feels in his toes.

“Always?”

“Always.” Maybe he’s being too honest, too open, but the other man won’t remember this in the morning anyway. He gives in and places a kiss to what part of Marty he can reach, which turns out to be his ear. Maybe he can pretend, just this once, that Marty wants him back.

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