#ch: eric ‘bitty’ bittle

[firelemonade]

• check, please! webcomic: bitty x jack

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 25)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 24

"Oh lord," Bitty whispers to himself. "Oh my goodness."

How long has it been, since the first time he stood in front of the Samwell hockey Haus with a pie in hand, just like this? Four and a half years? No, even longer. Goodness gracious.

He's been able to visit from time to time, since graduation. Providence is close, after all, and the Samwell team will always hold such a dear place in Bitty's heart. It's just, usually, he's come down to watch a game, and always together with Jack. They've stopped by the Haus, of course, have made their rounds and tried to catch up with everyone. Besides, it's not like they don't see many SMH members, former and current, at various other social occasions every so often.

But it's just… Bitty loves coming back to Samwell with Jack, loves reconnecting with their important people and places together. Yet even so, Bitty's relationship with his former teammates isn't quite the same, with Jack added to the equation. Not that going back to the Haus with Jack is bad, or uncomfortable, or anything in between. Not at all. It's just…

Senior year, Bitty became captain. The boys all chose him. Stepping into that role, and leading them through that grueling season, through those excruciating, exhilarating, endless playoffs all the way to actual championship victory, is something that still means more than Bitty can put into words. It was everything. And Jack was there for all of it, yes, he supported Bitty through all of it – without Jack, Bitty isn't sure if he would've held himself together until the end. But while Jack was there, he wasn't there. It wasn't his team.

It was Bitty's.

It's not something that Bitty thinks of as a good thing or a bad thing. It's just the truth. And it probably says something that, when Bitty had hesitantly told Jack that he'd been thinking about making a visit to Samwell on his own, Jack had been completely unsurprised. In fact, Jack's smile had been so knowing, he'd almost looked a little bit smug.

"Of course, Bits. You tell your boys hello from me. Don't spoil them with too much pie, eh?"

Bitty adjusts his bowtie, a little wearily. Gosh. He's actually nervous, isn't he? He has literally no reason to be. It's just the boys, his boys. His home away from home. They'll be happy to see him. Won't they?

Maybe turning up unannounced was a bad plan.

"Bits?"

Bitty almost jumps, he's so startled.

Thankfully, it's just Dex.

"Morning!" Bitty tries for cheerful. It almost works. "I was in the neighbourhood, so. Thought I'd pop by for a bit."

"It's so good to see you, man." Dex is grinning widely as he goes in for a hug. Bitty somehow manages to balance his pie and wrap one arm around Dex, simultaneously. "How long can you stay?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose too much, I'm sure y'all are swamped with homework and practice and-"

"Don't be an idiot. Everyone's gonna be so psyched to see you." Dex's grin softens. "Actually, today, we're-"

"Bitty!"

"Holy shit, Bits!"

"Pie!"

Bitty can't help his smile as Nursey, Tango and Hops tumble out of the Haus. It's debatable, whether or not Nursey has actually managed to put shoes on.

"Careful," Dex mutters as he swiftly takes the pie out of Bitty's hands. "Got your back, there you go."

It's just in time before Bitty is engulfed in something that feels so much like a celly, his heart actually aches.

"Goodness, I've missed y'all." Bitty smiles helplessly. "My, Hops, were you always this tall?"

"Probably," Hops says. He grins widely. "Maybe you just got tinier? Even more itty-bitty."

"Hey, now!" Bitty exclaims. He's grinning, too. Somehow, he has a feeling he'll be doing little else, today. "I'll have you know I'm a perfectly respectable height, Jonathan."

"Come on!" Tango is literally tugging at Bitty's arm in excitement. "This is such perfect timing, we were just-"

"Holy shit. Isn't that Bitty? Hey, everyone, Bitty's here!"

There's the unmistakable sound of a hoard of hockey players sprinting down several flights of stairs, and that's only the calm before the storm.

It takes well over half an hour before Bitty actually makes it inside the Haus.

His heart feels pleasantly warm as he steps into the familiar kitchen. Dex has set his pie to the side of a counter, his aunt’s old curtains are still hanging in the window and someone has managed to keep those plants on the windowsill alive. There's even a couple of succulents that Bitty doesn't quite recognise. Evidently, Bitty's housekeeping ambitions are actually being honored.

Most importantly, though, the kitchen is absolutely bustling with activity.

"We're having a deluxe team breakfast," Chowder is telling him enthusiastically. "Or, well, sort of a team brunch. Except, it's more brunch and lunch, really-"

"And snacks!" someone chimes in. It takes Bitty a second to remember his name – Joseph Lyons, one of the so-called Scones. Bitty has met all of the freshmen before, and he's tried his best to be his usual, charming self and make an approachable impression, but there's certainly something of an endearing flush on the boy's cheeks as he speaks directly to Bitty. "We're actually making baked potato bites, soon as Whiskey's done with the oven. I hope you'll like them!"

"Oh, that's exciting! I'm sure they'll be delicious."

Bitty offers Joseph a somewhat distracted smile. Whiskey? The oven?

He looks further into the kitchen, and… Yes. There's Whiskey. He's mixing something in a bowl, and listening to a boy next to him. A boy who is prattling on about something as he chops vegetables, his brown eyes bright with excitement.

A decidedly unfamiliar boy.

"Hey, Ocean," Nursey says – the boy looks up. "Can I borrow that knife, when you're done?"

"Do we want Derek Nurse with a sharp object in hand?" Ocean asks, just a bit too loudly. He grins as the kitchen at large provides a good round of chirps in agreement. "How about you hand me those tomatoes, Nursey, and I'll take care of them for you."

Bitty watches the boy for a moment longer, his brows slightly furrowed. Ocean seems to fit in quite seamlessly. Did he recently transfer from another school? Or did Bitty somehow actually manage to forget a Scone?

"Hey. Bits."

Whiskey has looked up. For some reason, he's watching Bitty with a certain level of apprehension. Bitty quickly offers him a bright smile.

"It's good to see you," he offers, because it truthfully is. "Jack says hello, by the way."

Whiskey smiles, too.

"Tell him I said hi. I hope you're finding the Haus in a decent enough state?"

"Oh, you best be taking special care of my old room, too," Bitty chirps good-naturedly. "I hope it's to your liking, and all?"

"For sure. You can head up and take a look, if you'd like that trip down memory lane." Whiskey's suggestion sounds surprisingly sincere. "You know the way. Door's unlocked."

"Oh," Bitty says. It hasn't been on his list, exactly, but now that it's being offered… "You know, I'll actually take you up on that."

Whiskey nods towards him, once, before returning his attention to his bowl.

Stepping into his old room feels more than a little bit surreal. It's familiar, of course, but also very different. Whiskey clearly keeps it quite neat – the bed's been made, and it's not too cluttered, overall. There's a Samwell banner pinned to the wall and two eye-catchingly colorful yet discreetly minimalist posters above the desk. It all fits in well with how Bitty remembers Whiskey, on and off the ice – here lives someone with a good amount of discipline, and a simultaneous desire to stand out, and fit in.

On the desk, there's a framed picture of the team from last year's championship victory that Bitty can't look at without getting a lil’ teary eyed. He directs his attention out the window, instead. Unsurprisingly, the view is just the same as ever.

"Changed the decor a bit."

Bitty looks over his shoulder. Whiskey is leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. There's a bit of flour dusted over his sweater in a way that Bitty has no idea how to chirp him for. His expression is almost entirely unreadable.

"It's nice," Bitty tells him carefully. Gosh. This shouldn't be so frightfully awkward. "You look well, Whiskey."

"I'm doing alright." Whiskey steps a bit further inside the room. "Actually, I'm doing better."

"Oh." Bitty tries to smile. Is he supposed to offer a follow-up question? Is this a heart to heart, or small talk? "That's… That's nice to hear."

"Excuse me, sorry." Suddenly, unexpectedly, that boy from before pops in. Ocean. He goes straight for a backpack that's sitting on the chair by the desk. "Just need my charger. I'll get out of your way."

"No, wait," Whiskey says quickly.

The boy stills. There's a moment of eye contact between the two of them that Bitty can't seem to interpret.

"You two should meet."

Whiskey turns back towards Bitty. Slowly, and very deliberately, he places an arm around the other boy's waist.

"Bitty, this is Miguel."

Oh, sweet Mary.

Bitty looks between the two boys, blinking slowly. Of course. Of course.

"Hello." Evidently, Miguel has taken it upon himself to fill out the silence. His smile is, quite frankly, lovely. "Eric Bittle, right? I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, sugar, it's wonderful to meet you." Bitty has recovered enough to extend a hand. He's beaming, and it's probably ridiculous, but he can't quite bring himself to care. "My goodness. Hi. Are you a junior?"

"That's right." Miguel seems to take his enthusiasm in stride. He gamely shakes Bitty's hand. "Me and Whiskey had a class together, this fall."

"And now I can barely get you alone for a minute, given how the whole Haus has collectively adopted you." Whiskey doesn't sound at all bothered by this turn of events. He's got his hands back in his pockets, and he looks quite a bit more relaxed than before Miguel came in. "The Waffles are literally going to all of your games."

"Well, so are you," Miguel says, with a fond smile towards Whiskey. He quickly turns back to Bitty, though. "I'm on the water polo team."

"Isn't that something," Bitty says. And then it clicks. "Oh. Ocean, right?"

"Right." Miguel grins. "We don't really do nicknames in water polo, at least not the same way you lot insist upon, but it's actually-"

"Hey, Ocean!" 

There's someone in the doorway. It's… A Scone. One of the Scones. Bitty really must try to visit more often. The Scone looks between the three of them, his expression mildly confused, before he states his business.

"Joyo and Jader need your advice on their potato-ricotta experiment."

"I'll be right there."

Miguel glances at Whiskey for a second, and there's another moment of silent communication. Then Whiskey nods.

Miguel offers Bitty another smile.

"I'm sure we'll have the chance to talk some more, but I believe I really must see to those potatoes.”

His hand touches Whiskey's briefly on his way out. Bitty would never have noticed, unless he'd known to look for it.

Unexpectedly, Whiskey closes the door behind Miguel. He turns back towards Bitty.

For a second, they just look at one another.

"He, uh." Suddenly, Whiskey seems flustered. "He's great. So great."

"I'm glad." Bitty has rarely meant something so much in his entire life. "Am I right to assume that the team doesn't know?"

"That's right." Whiskey actually looks a bit apprehensive. "We don't… I'm not out to my family. Or to many of my friends."

"I'm just so happy that you're happy." Bitty smiles. "And, can I… He's kind of unfairly pretty, isn't he?"

Bitty would never have guessed that Whiskey could smile so gently.

"Yeah. Honestly, he's kind of everything."

"Oh, Connor." Bitty wants to hug him. That would probably be a little much. "Aren't y'all just too sweet."

"I would, um." Whiskey hesitates. He starts over. "Could you not tell Jack?"

Oh.

Bitty feels surprised. And, surprisingly, just a little bit pleased. It's been somewhat unsettling, figuring out bits and pieces of Whiskey's current life through Jack, watching the two of them connect in a way that Bitty was never able to no matter how hard he tried. Still, he's grateful to Jack for trying to help Whiskey, and even more grateful to him for succeeding. Really, he is.

But it's honestly nice to know that Whiskey trusts him with this. To know that, when it comes to this, Whiskey actually trusts him more. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but if Bitty is completely honest with himself, it does.

"Of course." Bitty smiles. "Honestly, I'm so happy you even wanted me to know."

"I did. I really did." Whiskey runs a hand through his hair. "Bits, you… You must know that I have a lot of respect for you."

Bitty stares at Whiskey. He looks so earnest, and there's a depth to his words that Bitty already knows he will always remember. It's one of those moments in life.

"Thank you," Bitty says warmly. "You know, I've never wanted to make you feel like you need to make choices that aren’t right for you. That you’re not comfortable with."

"No, I know." Whiskey shakes his head. "You haven't made me feel that way. I've struggled with this for a lot of other reasons, I guess. The narrative is always about coming out."

"It is. And that's something I've certainly contributed to."

Whiskey actually smiles.

"Sure. But more than that, you've… I've been in this sport for years. And with everything that's happened with you, and with Jack, it's… There's a before and an after. Things are better."

"Oh. That's… Oh." Gosh, Bitty might actually be tearing up a little. When, exactly, did Whiskey grow up so much? "I'm so glad you think so."

"I believe it goes a little beyond my personal opinion," Whiskey says plainly. He's still smiling. It is, quite frankly, unsettling. "Should we, um. I think the Scones might die a little if you helped them with those potatoes. In a good way."

"Oh, I'd love to cook with those sweet boys." Bitty manages a slight grin. "You know… I almost thought Miguel was a Scone, too. Your boy's not really built for hockey, but he just fits in so well, I didn't know what to make of him."

"You sure you wanna talk about being built for hockey?" Whiskey chirps. He sounds almost playful. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

"Hey, now," Bitty admonishes cheerfully. "What happened to having lots of respect for me? Let's go back to that."

"Why don't we go back to the kitchen, instead?" Whiskey suggests. "I kind of need to check on the oven."

"Of course," Bitty agrees quickly. Obviously, the oven needs to take priority. "Is there, um, any chance you could remind me which Scone is Jader? I think I know, but…"

"Jaden Brant," Whiskey supplies readily. "Tall one. In your defense, he's pretty much joined at the hip with Joyo."

"He is, isn't he? Those two…?"

Whiskey smiles.

"Yeah. Those two." He looks away for a moment. "And that's… They're coming in as freshmen, immediately knowing they'll be accepted. No hesitation."

"That's so wonderful."

Whiskey looks at Bitty again.

"You did that," he says simply. "You know that, right?"

"No, I'm…" Dear lord, he's going to cry again. "Their decision to be open can't be only because of little ol' me. It can’t.”

"Maybe not only," Whiskey concedes. "But they chose Samwell for a reason. They knew they'd be safe here."

"Well. That is nice." Bitty wipes at his eyes. "Dear me, I'm… We should… Oven?"

Whiskey nods. His expression is soft in a way that Bitty can't quite put into words.

"Come on. There are literal and figurative scones to attend to."

As they're leaving the room, Bitty feels brave enough for one final, careful question.

"You actually bake?"

"I know," Whiskey says. He sounds… Relaxed. Content, even. "It's not bad. Feels like I'm doing something nice for everyone. You know?"

"Yes," Bitty agrees eagerly. This day is already turning into so much more than he could ever have hoped for. "Believe me, Whiskey. I know."

ch. 26

[xxlittle0birdxx]

Ch. 5: Providence III

Bitty set the iPad box on the coffee table. ‘It feels like charity.’

Jack picked up Bitty’s left hand, thumb stroking over the ring he’d placed on his finger just over a month ago. ‘It’s not.’ He pressed a kiss to the palm of Bitty’s hand. ‘I know it feels that way, but just consider me a sponsor of the Olympic dreams of Eric Richard Bittle. Like Tide or Coke. I’m not even paying the bulk of it. George got the Falcs to kick in funding for you, Chowder, and Whiskey. Local interest story and all.’

[porcupine-girl]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, NHL Player Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Hook-Up, One Night Stands, From Sex to Love, half told in flashbacks, which I seem to do a lot lately, Friends With Benefits, One night stand to friends with benefits to lovers Summary:

Jack had first heard of Eric Bittle when he became the first out NCAA men's hockey captain. Then Bittle signed with Toronto, becoming the first out NHL player. That's how Jack met him.

Now he's being traded to the Falconers, which means that he and Jack need to have a conversation. Because they've done a lot more than meet since then.

---

It’s NHL!Bitty!

Ch 1 of 2, 2 coming very soon. Just gotta clean it up.

[shitty-check-please-aus]

proposed additions to the Eric Bittle Pregame Playlist

So, for anyone who might not have trawled through all the extras (there are a lot) there are four known songs in the Eric Bittle Pregame Playlist

They are:

Get Me Bodied (remix), Beyoncé

212, Azealia Banks ft. Lazy Jay

Chandelier, Sia

Anything Could Happen, Ellie Goulding

So. We have four songs, ranging in BPM from 97 to 126. Our categories (in order) are Beyoncé, Songs You Only Hear at Gay Bars, Drama from Sia, and Songs They Played When I Worked at the Mall. They all have an upbeat tone, and wouldn’t be out of place in either a running or a dancing playlist. The presence of 212 is why I close the tab if I read a fic where Bitty is scandalized by swear words. 

I’m putting the songs that I’d include under a read more. These are very subjective and just suggestions. A lot of them would not work in canon, because they came out after 2017, but I don’t think Bitty would stop curating his playlist after graduation, do you?

Okay so 

Boys, Lizzo

All I Do is Win, DJ Khaled

Call Your Girlfriend, Robyn

Formation, Beyoncé

Make Me Feel, Janelle Monáe

Sorry Not Sorry, Demi Lovato

High Horse, Kacey Musgraves

Feeling Myself, Nicki Minaj ft. Beyoncé

Juice, Lizzo

Telephone, Lady Gaga & Beyoncé

Bitch Better Have My Money, Rihanna

Work B**ch, Britney Spears

Woman, Kesha

Cheap Thrills, Sia

Bootylicious, Destiny’s Child

Don’t Kill My Vibe, Sigrid

Green Light, Lorde

Burn, Ellie Goulding

Brave, Sara Bareilles 

Good As Hell, Lizzo

[andsami]

i'm really curious about your tags in this /post/144806550142/im-still-waiting-for-that-the-cutting-edge-au, like how would it go?

Oh, the Zimbits Cutting Edge AU :D I think it would go kind of like this (I've never thought of how the rest of the SMH team would fit in, so they don't appear here):* Jack is Jackie, a singles figure skater. He still works harder than God and wants to win an Olympic medal and make his parents proud.* * Alicia and Bad Bob are two ex figure skaters. Bob got into figure skating after a bad concussion that made him quit hockey. He paired with Alicia and together they won a gold Olympic medal.* * Jack is training for the next Olympics and he’s the best in his discipline but injuries happen. * * He breaks his leg and is out for a really long time and sadly, his leg never fully recovers. He also has a growth spurt in the months he’s recovering.* * For that, quads are off the table. The triple axel is almost too (he either underrotates it or puts a hand down).* * Without those elements, his programs are really lacking and can’t really compete in base value against the other top skaters.* * He starts training way too hard to relearn everything, but his leg won’t cooperate. * * Bob and Alicia convince him to (more like make him) go on a vacation. To LA. He meets Bitty there.* Bitty is Alex, but instead of aggressive inline skating, he’s into free slalom (and honestly, I think this makes much more sense for someone who is going to switch to figure skating later on…)* * He’s still from Georgia, but has never done figure skating (or any kind of ice skating in his life).* * Instead, he used to do ballet as a kid.* * But much like with figure skating in canon, he had to switch to another sport less “girly”. He switched to inline speed skating (because in this AU speed skating is cool and popular, okay?).* * Instead of Samwell, he goes to a college in LA (the weather is nice in LA and that allows Bitty to skate all year round).* * He meets Lardo there. She’s still an artist but she also does free slalom and that’s how Bitty gets into the sport.* * The first time he tries to do some of the tricks is with his speed skates. It’s a mess and he falls more times they both can count.* * That was 3 years ago. Now Bitty is one of the best of the area and has won a lot of competitions even though he never wanted to get serious at it. It just sorts of happened. * * He still bakes a lot and works part time in a local bakery (he’s just the server, he’s not allow to bake anything… yet).* And it’s in that bakery where they meet. They obviously hit off and kind of go on a skating date [same as in the movie]. Bitty shows off his abilities. Jack founds out how good he is and gets a bit mad because while he seems to enjoy it, he doesn’t want to take it more seriously and go on competitions? (again, let’s assume this sport it’s more popular than it is).* They argue about it. Jack goes home not expecting to see Bitty again. * Jack still tries to relearn everything until he realizes that if he wants a chance at the Olympic gold, he’ll have to change disciplines and get into pair or ice dancing. * The interview happens (where Jack is his awkward self) and Bitty sees it. He decides to try for it.* * Let’s assume than in this AU, pair skaters can be the same sex. Only requirement is that one of them has to be at least 6’’ taller.* Bitty tries ice skating. Much like Alex, he’s awfully bad at it but with help of the kid, he gets really good in a short time (it also helps that he comes from another sport that involves music and skates).* * Once he gets the hang of it, he discovers that spins are way easier in blades than in wheels (steps are not, he still catches his blade from time to time).* So, once he’s ready, Bitty tries for the position of Jack’s partner. Alicia loves him. Jack does not (or more like he doesn’t trust him).* He thinks Bitty is not going to take this serious enough and he can’t afford that. * They fight a lot. They trip each other (by accident or not) a lot. Alicia is getting tired of that. Bob is amused. * The harness thing happens; they start to get along and be more in sync until…* Bitty’s ex boyfriend shows up! (I never thought a lot about the ex, but we could say he’s the equivalent of a LAX bro –maybe a skateboarder).* [_Same drama of the movie goes here_]* * If you haven’t watched the movie, it goes pretty much like this: They fight after regionals and Bitty leaves. Jack convinces him to return and finds out that Bitty is engaged. They train for the Torino Olympics. There, Jack finds that Bitty is getting married after the closing ceremonies and hanging up his skates. Really bad short program ensues, they place 4th.* And here again, Bad Bob knew first (not really, Jack tells him he’s in love with Bitty) and makes his son go talk to Bitty.* A bit more of drama, the ex-now-fiancé leaves and Jack and Bitty perform the best program they’ve ever done. They end up placing first (both in the FS and overall).* [_Happy Ending_](Yeah, the last part goes pretty much like in the movie)

[mamashitty]

Samwell Elementary Ch. 10

Title: Samwell Elementary Fandom: Check, Please! Word Count: 1,898 Ship: Zimbits Chapter: 10 Previous Chapters: tumblr & ao3 Blurb: Jack and Maisie watch Shitty and Bitty play some hockey.

Jack I found a swan in my hotel room. See incoming picture below.

An Itty Bitty Eric OMG Jack! That is so cute. Do y’all usually get towel art in your rooms?

Jack This is a first for me. We’ve stayed at this hotel before.

An Itty Bitty Erc PLEASE PLEASE send me more pictures of your towels!

Jack Okay. Talk to you later, Eric.

An Itty Bitty Eric Good luck tonight! Shitty and I will be cheering y’all on.

Jack -Hours later sends a lot of pictures of towels in various states, absolutely none of them artistically done like the swan-

An Itty Bitty Eric OMG JACK THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT!

It is a couple weeks before American Thanksgiving. Jack and Maisie are on a clandestine mission. Their goal: sneaking in and watching Shitty and Mr. Bitty’s hockey game. Jack is wearing a flannel and jeans he knows he looks good in (for no particular reason). He has a plain hat pulled low over his face. Maisie is dressed in a near-identical outfit as him. Her flannel matches his—she calls it her Papa Shirt—and she too has a hat slung low on her head. No one is really paying them any mind, but Jack is still a little concerned about being recognized. He has wanted to see Shitty playing hockey with his friends for a while now, but usually, the games never seemed to line up for when Jack could go. Bittle will be playing too, and Jack feels maybe a little guilty that he might be more excited about seeing Eric on ice than Shitty.

Jack has seen Shitty play hockey before. He has played with him before. They had been on the same team in college. He has never seen Bitty play before. He has also learned, through their increasing number of texts they have shared since Halloween, from their brief talks when he drops or picks Maisie up from school, or when he stops by to pick Shitty up for a jog (with the weather turning colder their jogging routine will change, Jack will move to his treadmill until things warm up) that Bitty used to be a figure skater, that he loves being on the ice, and that he is apparently very speedy. Neither Shitty or Eric know that Jack and Maisie have come to watch their game, a fact that keeps making Maisie burst out into giggles when she seems to remember it.

He buys Maisie some snacks at the concession stand before they head to the seats. They manage to get right up against the glass, there is not too big of a crowd in the rink. The rink itself is not big, either. It looks a little rundown to Jack’s eyes, and he finds himself hoping that neither he nor Maisie will have to use the restroom during the game. Maisie takes a seat and immediately begins to eat her snacks, while Jack sits next to her. They both have cameras around their necks. Maisie’s camera is a bulky, and overly padded thing for kids. The picture quality is atrocious, but she insisted on bringing her camera too if Papa was bringing his. He makes a mental note to maybe buy her a better camera for her next birthday. He fiddles with his camera as he waits for the game to start.

Jack likes photography. Likes it so much that maybe like is not a strong enough word for it. It is not quite at the level of hockey for him, passion wise, but he could see it getting there. He is also pretty good at it, with the minimal training he has had from the couple of classes he took back in college. His instagram account is really the only social media account he enjoys updating. He sometimes thinks that maybe when he retires he would like to learn even more about photography, and have his own business. He also, sometimes, thinks about teaching. He majored in History, and he enjoys learning about history and talking to people about it. It might be nice having a captive audience of students. He knows he will not be able to play hockey forever. At thirty-three, he is quite aware of the tool the sport has already taken on his body. He wants to retire on his own terms, and not because of an injury or his body giving out. He likes to have plans, and he knows he should start really thinking about what he would like to do when he retires. He knows he will have to do something even if he does not exactly need a job for the money, he knows he will need something to occupy his time. But, he pushes those thoughts aside, lets them stew and linger in the back of his mind, always there but not quite needing to be focused on.

The game is starting, and Jack stops playing with his camera to focus on the players coming onto the ice. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a few pictures with it so that he will be able to send some to Bitty and Shitty right away. Then he puts his phone away, he will text during the break. He glances at Maisie and sees that her eyes are huge, round, and glued to the ice in front of her. His daughter loves hockey, she comes by it naturally. She loves being on the ice too but sometimes he gets the feeling that she prefers watching other people play than actually playing the game herself. He will always let her decide what she wants to do. He’s just glad that, at the very least, she enjoys watching it. He smiles, his heart feeling warm at the sight, and then he brings his camera up to snap a picture of Maisie totally enraptured with what is going on before her. He knows the game has started, he can hear the sounds of it. It feels different on this side of the glass, it sounds duller. He turns away from his daughter and trains his camera onto the game in front of him.

It does not take long for him to find Bitty—and oh is he fast. He handles the puck well, and always seems to be wherever his line-mates need him to be. Jack snaps more pictures of Bitty on the ice than he can remember. He gets some of Shitty too, of course. His focus wants to just stay on Bitty but he forces it to take in the other players. The game is fun, the intensity dialed down so far from what he is used to playing and watching. It is nice, actually. He relaxes into it, enjoying the feeling of just being a spectator. It is nice just watching a game and not having to think about how he will play against either team later on.

The game is fun and the ‘Swawesome Samwellies end up winning the game. Jack took way too many pictures, part of him wonders if he ought to be embarrassed by the number he took or not. All he knows is that he had a lot of fun. Maisie asked a lot of questions, jarring him some from his picture taking, but he had fun answering them. She has an eye for the game and understands it well. She is also very excited to congratulate Uncle Crappy and Mr. Bitty. Jack had sent them a couple of pictures he had taken with his phone, but he knows that Bitty noticed them during the game. He had waved to Maisie (and Jack, he supposes) during the game.

Jack takes Maisie’s hand and leads her towards where the lockers should be. They wait outside, Maisie jumping up and down in her impatience. Jack grins, playfully pulling her baseball cap even further down on her face.

“Papa!” She huffs and then she tries to jump and reach is. Jack laughs and squats down, his knees protesting a little until she can return the favor. He ends up toppling onto his ass and Maisie giggles, going in to attempt to tickle him. Jack is laughing when the doors open, still on the floor. He cranes his head up to see Eric and Shitty standing over him and Maisie, both looking amused.

“Mr. Bitty! Uncle Crappy!” Maisie shouts and stops her tickle attack. She bounds to her feet with an ease that Jack envies and launches herself at Shitty, who catches her in a hug and spins her. “That was a great game, Uncle Crappy!”

Bitty is looking down at Jack, and Jack is for once looking up at him. His hair is damp from what must have been a quick shower. Bitty is all smiles, his face so warm. Jack feels like he is smiling like an idiot.

“Here,” Bitty says, offering a hand to Jack. Jack takes it and Bitty helps to hoist him up. Jack is very impressed by how strong Bitty is. Maybe he holds onto Eric’s hand a little longer than is actually necessary, once he is up and on his feet. He gives it a little squeeze, smiling at Bitty and Bitty is smiling back. Jack realizes that he might have just forgotten how to speak. That maybe he ought to say something instead of just staring.

“Great game,” he says, and before he can say anything else, Maisie is standing next to him and Bitty, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Mr. Bitty! You are so fast! I wonder if you are faster than Papa on the ice,” she asks all innocence and happiness. Jack laughs and drops Bitty’s hand. Bitty then crouches down to be closer to Maisie’s level.

“I think maybe me and your Papa might have to have a race one day,” he says, with a quick look and a wink towards Jack that makes Jack’s belly squirm in a pleasant fashion. Again, Jack finds himself forgetting how to talk. He listens to Maisie and Bitty talk for a few minutes.

Shitty slips his arm around Jack’s shoulder at one point, pulling him close and yanking the cap off his head.

“Brah thanks for coming to the game.” Jack smiles, wrapping an arm around Shitty and giving him a one-armed hug.

“It really was a great game. What are your dinner plans?” Jack asks, his gaze darting back and forth between Shitty and Bitty.

“Zero plans, bro.” Shitty replies, grinning.

“Then you must let Maisie and I treat you, both of you. And anyone else from the team, we can get pizza.” Jack says, he would prefer just Shitty and Bitty, but he knows he would feel guilty not extending the invite to the rest of the team. Shitty lets out a shout, and then bounds into the locker room to invite the others. And Bitty? He flashes Jack a smile that warms his heart. Maisie is excited too by the prospect of meeting the rest of the team, especially when she learns they are all teachers.

And Jack hopes that no one minds if he makes it a point to sit next to Bitty once they get to the pizza place, squeezed in a booth between him and his daughter. And it is nice, better than nice, even.

[halfdesertedstreets]

Best of 2k17: things i wrote that i loved

The wonderful @pongpalace tagged me, so here’s my “best of 2017.” Mind you, it’s going to be very long, because 1) I write a lot. 2) I love a lot of what I write. I’m self-conscious about a number of things, but you better believe that I am proud of everything I’ve written, because frick yeah, I know I’m good. :)

According to ao3, in the year of our Lord 2017, I wrote a combined 145,263 words for two (2) fics. However, my total 2017 word-count for fics is actually closer to 180,000 because of things I haven’t published yet, so...yeah. >.> Believe it or not, I also didn’t start writing fics this year until, oh, August...? (I have been in fandom before, but fell off the bandwagon. This year was the great resurgence.)

Anyway, that right there should tell you how I roll. :D

What I’m going to do is share some of my favorite line/lines from each chapter of everything I’ve written, and why I love it. So buckle up, folks, we’re in for a ride. :D 

Tagging @beaniebaneenie, @believesinponds, @irlkent, @sergeantsexface, @theawkwardconfusedturtle96, & anyone else who wants to strut their awesome stuff. ;)

(p.s. I’m including bonus nsfw bits from an unpublished bittyparse prequel to TACSOL under the cut, so mind yourselves now ^^)

There’s A Certain Slant Of Light, Ch. 1

He hates Eric Bittle—how did this even happen? In what universe is this supposed to be possible? Most importantly, how does he escape from this hell and head back home? He cannot possibly pull off being in love with Bitty, Jack’s Bitty—it’s just not happening. He’s—he’s Kent’s kid sister’s age, for Christ’s sake. He’s all Southern good manners and sweetness and light, Kent’s going to kill him in the space of three days, just watch. He’s way too perfect to be real, he’s far too nice to be stomached, he’s Jack Zimmermann’s soulmate, and he’s not even Kent’s type. How, how did this happen?

(Kent doesn’t want to be fucking him, he wants to fucking be him. What the hell, universe, this isn’t anything he asked for.)

I love, love, love this bit, mostly because it sets up Kent’s idea of Bitty pretty clearly, and what his feelings towards him are. Best of all, I know that all of this is going to take a 180 degree turn in the upcoming chapters, so that dramatic irony is great. Plus, I like the word play in the penultimate sentence, which is still pretty funny, so go me. :)

There’s A Certain Slant Of Light, Ch. 2 

There is also a pad-locked drawer. Literally pad-locked, by the way, like whoever had it installed didn’t trust Kent’s team to leave it the hell alone, and okay, fair enough. His guys are definitely “eat first, regret never” types. The post-it note on it is just a badly drawn dick, though, which…? Why? Like, yeah, he likes eating dick, but the drawer is clearly full of pies, so what the hell? Kent peels it off, certain that he recognizes Gopher’s unique artistic style, and discovers that the post-it note was covering a label that reads Sweets for My Sweetie <3.

I like this section because it starts as a humorous bit that also works as a characterization moment of my version of the Aces/Kent’s relationship with his team, but then it heads into cute, fluffy territory that’s also funny because at this point it’s horrifying to Kent that his other self is like this. 

There’s A Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 3

This. This is the moment that doomed Eric:

Kent Parson, his eyes the exact same color as the dark blue couch he’s sitting on, talking about his cats with far more genuine, adorable joy than he's exhibited at any other point this whole night.

Oh, shit, Eric realizes. This isn’t a crush.

Kent Parson will look up and smile at him, and Eric Bittle will finish what he started in that diner two-and-a-half years ago and fall completely, irrevocably in love.

I like this section because it is the BittyParse AU’s version of that moment in the kitchen in Year 2 when Bitty realized he’d fallen for Jack. It’s Bitty being nothing but big brown eyes and a growing sense of horror and internal panic because oh my God he LOVES this boy, oh NO.

Lots more under the cut! <3

There’s A Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 4

Gopher says slowly, “Jeremiah Pagett, why are you treating our captain like the kitten he is?”

“He was trying to desecrate the Stanley Cup,” Pager explains.

“I see.” Gopher nods as if this makes perfect sense to him. “It done you wrong, man?” he asks, looking Kent directly in the eye.

“It done me wrong,” Kent agrees, nodding back.

Because I love Gopher, and I love Pager, and I love making Kent Parson suffer, lol.

There’s A Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 5

Two and a half weeks after the switch, Eric waters the herb garden in the kitchen while Kent folds the laundry.

He finds the ring box in the sock drawer. It’s not even buried in the back or anything, it’s just right there out in the open, resting on top of his fuzzy green polka-dot socks.

Kent immediately knows that Eric has never seen it, has never even come close to seeing it, because he never does the damn laundry and therefore would never find it.

I love this because 1) The little lead-in of sweet domesticity 2) Then BAM! Heart-breaking feels. 3) It really shows how well Kent’s gotten to know Eric, and how much it’s going to hurt to lose him.

There’s A Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 6

He did it with tears hidden in his voice, heard only by Jack when he gave in and listened to those desperate pleas, late at night when it felt like the only thing besides numbness he could feel was vindictive satisfaction that at least Kenny was hurting, too. That he was just as fucked up, even if he could hide it better.

That’s what he told himself: that they were equally worthless, the two of them, and the only difference was that Parse was better at lying about it.

I like this bit mostly because Jack Zimmermann’s journey to make himself a better, kinder, more genuinely whole person means a lot to me, and that journey wouldn’t mean as much as it does if I don’t also explore where he came from, the sharp edges he’s got. They owe each other a lot of apologies--what would Jack’s be? This section tries to answer that question.

Honorable mentions: 

“Yeah. I mean, I also got turned into a penguin, but—”

“What the fuck.”

Because goddamn, that was funny. Also when Chowder threatened Richards - @abominableobriens said that was one of the best Chowder moments and I’m still way proud of that.

There’s A Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 7

His other hand comes up to cup Kent’s jaw tenderly, and he plants his mouth over Kent’s like he’s coming home, sure and slow and careful. He—he kisses Kent like it’s a good day, like it’s one of his best days, like one of the days after they just won a game in the Q and had Kent’s billet-house to themselves, no fear, no urgency, no anything except each other. Jack kisses like he wants to take his time with it, methodical, savoring every single moment, his big, warm palm cupping the side of Kent’s face, his thumb smoothing over Kent’s cheekbone as if he’s touching something precious.

Kent, God help him, kisses him back.

I love this bit because I am sad jackparse trash. Also, I know everything’s going to get wrecked to hell in the next few sentences. :D

There’s A Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 8

“Really? That’s so kind of him, I’m—I’m so glad,” she says, and she sounds it. She sounds glad, and surprised, and on the verge of tears. Just from that alone, Eric would know there was history here, a story hidden deliberately out of sight.

He’s known Kenny for seven years now, though. Nobody needs to tell him the story of Jack Zimmermann. He’s seen the scars for himself.

Because I love alluding to allllll the history. Also, I just love??? How well Eric knows Kent??? I just love it, okay, like omg, he can read him like a well-loved book, it’s great.  

Snippet from I like a look of agony (a.k.a. the 5+1 porn-with-plot bittyparse AU sequel I work on when I’m fed-up with figuring out how to corral my characters into place. So I write filthy, filthy smut instead.) WARNING: VERY NSFW, ALSO MILD D/s DYNAMICS (because that’s how I roll.)

Eric keeps his eyes steady on Kent’s as he keeps on touching him, the slowest, most deliberate hand-job in history, his hand gentle on Kent’s shoulder, his knees bracketing his thighs, Kent’s body spread out like a feast below him. Eric touches him like he’s got all night to do it, touches him like he never wants this to end, right up until Kent’s back to trembling and sobbing, his eyes squeezed shut, his hips twitching like he doesn’t know if he wants to arch closer or pull away completely.

Kent begs, “Eric—please—I wanna, will you let me, I wanna—”

“Of course, sugar,” Eric says, and maybe he should try his best to sound a little less drunk on how much he loves this boy, but he defies anybody to try when Kent Parson’s looking up at them with grass-green, hopeful eyes. “Of course, baby, you’ve been so good for me—”

At the word ‘good,’ Kent shudders and comes all over Eric’s hand.

“Oh, my God,” Eric says, staring down at him, after.

I’m including this because I’m also proud that I can write good smut, and because I live for dom!Bitty

[khashanakalashtar]

Metadata

By: RiotKid Originally found: here on AO3

Read by: Khashana

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Check Please! (Webcomic)

Podfic Length: 1-1.5 hours

Tags

Relationships: Chris “Chowder” Chow/Derek “Nursey” Nurse/William “Dex” Poindexter, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Ch…

[birlcholtz]

Ch. 8: come home (to you, to us)

ao3 | ch. 1 | part of the zimbits airport au

About half an hour later, Bitty hears the garage door open and close, and then Coach and Suzanne’s muffled voices. Nobody comes upstairs to find him, so he disregards it and goes back to rambling in the old group chat that Shitty had insisted on keeping around— even once he, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster had graduated and Bitty was the only group chat member still at Samwell, Shitty claimed it was ‘his duty’ to give them updates on what was going on.

Bitty: i mean what am i even supposed to do now that i don’t have hockey as motivation to exercise

Bitty: running is gross

Bitty: punching bags are just.... ew, not good

Bitty: weights are meh

Bitty: i can’t just do squats???

Ransom: well jack’s solution to that problem was to join a pro hockey team

Bitty: i’m not getting paid to exercise

Holster: u should like

Holster: join an amateur league

Holster: or smth

Lardo: dude just accept that you can’t afford a car and public transportation is expensive and you’re gonna have to walk everywhere

Lardo: gettin those 10000 steps a day

Lardo: millennial exercise

Shitty: stop being depressing in the group chat LARDO

Shitty: (but she’s right)

Bitty: ew reality

Ransom: can u get a gym membership?

Bitty: not until i have money

Holster: burn calories by running away from your problems

Holster: zoom

Shitty: hOLSTER

Holster: shits ur literally still in school u don’t have to deal with this yet

Shitty: truE BUT STILL

Holster: u small bean

Shitty: ...bitch???

After that, the group chat moves at lightspeed, and Bitty’s content just to sit back and watch it happen. He counts no less than eight invocations of Holster’s age and size advantage and three of Shitty’s mustache. It’s only when there are soft footsteps in the hallway and a knock on Bitty’s door that he realizes how long he’s been sitting there watching his fellow alums (oh God) descend into a near brawl.

“Hey, Dicky,” his mother says when he gets up and opens the door. “Dinner’s ready, if you want it now. If not, we’ll save some for you and you can heat it up when you’re hungry. Your father told me you’re having a rough day.”

Bitty sighs. “It’s been a trying one,” he offers, and Suzanne nods in acknowledgement. He takes the now-empty plate of pralines, since there’s no point in leaving it in his room, and they walk downstairs in silence.

Dinner is interesting in that it’s so different from usual. Suzanne is willing to avoid making Bitty talk, but for once it’s Coach who carries the conversation. He carefully steers it away from Bitty at every opportunity, which is nice of him, but Bitty is completely verbal, he’s just... well, he’s tired. The tears left him feeling dried-up, almost, and Bitty doesn’t have enough energy to be emotional. He probably should’ve taken a nap before dinner, but it’s too late now. He can just go to bed early and hope that sleep serves as a reset of some sort— maybe he won’t wake up feeling so drained.

“Oh, and I’m hoping you can tell me what happened to all of those pralines that we made,” Suzanne says to Coach with a faint smile as she takes the third-to-last piece of garlic bread. “Funnily enough, a lot of them seemed to have vanished by the time I got home.”

“That was mostly me,” Bitty speaks up. His parents glance over at him in surprise, probably because he hasn’t been saying anything. “But Coach started it.”

When Suzanne looks over at Coach to confirm or deny that, he just shrugs.

“Well, alright then,” she says, and moves on while Bitty is still wondering if he should take the opportunity in front of him. She’s asking Coach about the plans for new locker rooms at the high school before he can say anything else.

Bitty finishes his food in silence, and then sits and stares at the table, not wanting to go to bed with the prospect of telling his mother still hanging over his head, but not wanting to say the words either. There’s no lead-in this time, no convenient discussion of roommates that he can use to bring it up. So how?

Coach must have assumed that Bitty’s not going to tell Suzanne tonight, because he’s still determinedly talking at length about how the team will have more locker space to store their gear. He’s only just started extolling the virtues of the new lighting when Bitty folds up his napkin and sets it neatly on the placemat. When he stands up, both of his parents look at him in surprise, and the force that he pushed his chair back with probably was surprising.

Bitty picks up his plate and cup to take to the dishwasher before saying, “Mom, I’m gay.”

The words come out calmer than he’d expected.

Suzanne blinks.

“I’m gay,” he repeats. “And I’m dating Jack Zimmermann.”

Then he puts his cup and plate in the sink and goes up to his room and shuts the door and sits on his bed and squeezes Señor Bun’s paw with one hand while he unlocks his phone with the other and composes three texts and sends them off.

The first one is to last year’s starting line. Chowder, Nursey, Dex, Whiskey, and Tango. Bitty reserves more personal things for this group chat instead of the team-wide one— not just because he was the captain, but also because there are only so many people he actually wants to vent about his life to. Hey y’all, just came out to my mom, send good vibes my way pls.

The second is to the same alumni groupchat that only just finished calming the fuck down. sooo now my mom knows im gay and that i have a boyfriend, am currently waiting in my room hoping that when i come back down things will be ok. left b4 she cld react.

The third is to Jack. told my mom, went to my room without waiting to see how she reacted. gonna go back down and see what the fallout is in like half an hour. i have a bag packed just in case, i’ll let you know if i’m coming over.

Jack responds immediately, as do other people who’d gotten one of his first two texts, but Bitty answers Jack’s first.

Jack: I have a rental car if you need a ride. Just let me know.

Bitty: i don’t think i will, but i’ll call and give u an update once i know more

Bitty: rn i’m just killing time

Jack: I’ll call you in an hour to check in if I don’t hear from you before then.

Bitty: talk to u in a lil bit

The two group chats that he’s texted have blown up over the course of his short conversation with Jack, mostly expressions of hope from the frogs and tadpoles and calm texts from the other alums meant to reassure. Bitty sends the frogs and tadpoles a quick thank you before turning to the other group chat.

Bitty: i have a contingency plan if things go horribly bad

Bitty: but my dad is ok w it

Bitty: so im giving him and my mom time to talk before i go back down there

Lardo: i think that’s a good idea

Holster: Pls. keep us updated about what’s happening.

Holster: Ransom is in the shower but he says if you need help w. anything hit us up.

Holster: (I concur)

Lardo: same, i already said u can crash on our couch, it’s ok if u want to stay here for a while

Lardo: but if ur dad is fine w it then i’m sure ur mom will be too

Shitty: ^^^^^

Shitty: dw

Shitty: #smhgotyourback

Holster: shitty i have been a college graduate for over a year and i’m crying over a gd hashtag.

Holster: why

Shitty: u know it’s true brah

Bitty’s stomach hurts when he walks downstairs, nauseous anticipation. He feels tense. His shoulders are hunched practically up to his ears.

He drops his bag in the front hallway before turning and walking into the kitchen. Suzanne and Coach are there, still sitting at the table. There are three glasses of sweet tea. Without that clue, Bitty wouldn’t have thought that they’d gotten up at all.

“Please sit down, Dicky,” Suzanne says when she sees him standing in the doorway.

Bitty sits, and for a little while, that’s what they do. Sit in silence. Until she sighs and says, “I will admit that whenever I pictured my future family, I always thought that my child would be straight.” She looks tired. “Although I can’t say I’m exactly surprised, either.”

Coach takes a sip of his tea.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand, because I don’t,” Suzanne says. “But I love you. You’re still my son, Eric Richard Bittle Junior. You still bake and you still skate and you’re still going to Boston to find a job in a week. None of that has changed.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Bitty agrees quietly.

“And I don’t want you going halfway across the country thinking I don’t love you, or you’re disowned, because neither of those things are true. I won’t lie to you and say it’s a great idea to tell the rest of the family— I’m sure you’ve already thought about that— but when it comes down to it, family you see twice a year aren’t as important as family you’re with every day, and I’m sure you know that too.” She drinks some of her tea. “I just hope that home doesn’t become such a painful place for you that you can never come back. Even if it’s just for a visit.”

“I haven’t left yet, Mama.”

Suzanne sniffs. Coach silently gets up and brings back a box of tissues, setting it on the table equidistant from his wife and his son. “That is true, isn’t it. I’m not letting you leave without trying that pot roast.”

Bitty smiles a little. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Bitty: it went ok

Chowder: that’s great!!!! congratulations!!!!!!!

Nursey: good to know

Tango: are u still coming up to mass. for the summer or are u staying there??

Bitty: still coming to boston!

Dex: see you soon then!

Whiskey: :) :) :)

Bitty: she’s not thrilled but she’s ok w it

Lardo: fuckin called it

Holster: excuse u u did not call anything

Lardo: umm yes i did???

Ransom: that’s good to hear bitty, we’re v happy for u except holster is busy being irritated at lardo? apparently?

Shitty: congrats brah, that’s a big thing you just did

Shitty: totally celebrating when u get here

Bitty: so overall everything went fine, my mom is not exactly ecstatic but she’s happy i told her

Bitty: oh and my parents want to meet u since i mentioned u were staying in madison for a little while?

Bitty: ur officially invited to the bittle residence on tuesday for pot roast

Jack: I’ll be there. How do you feel?

Bitty: lighter i guess?

Bitty: it hasn’t sunk in that i’m rlly out to both of my parents and it went ok

Jack: It’ll sink in eventually.

Bitty: yup

Jack: And you also never have to come out to your parents again.

Bitty: that’s a definite plus

Jack: Go to sleep early okay? You sound exhausted.

Bitty: i am

Bitty: yeah i’m gonna do that now. gn, ttyl, love you <3

Jack: I love you too. <3 <3 <3 <3

Jack: Talk to you tomorrow.

Bitty: :)

Jack: :-)

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 19)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 18

Dex drives him to the airport.

Even though it's still too fucking early o'clock, Whiskey feels wide awake. He didn’t think he would – it’s not exactly like he got an abundance of sleep, last night. He’s supposed to be joining the Aeros for their practice, right after lunch, and unfortunately, he highly doubts this nervous energy is going to last him until then.

Whiskey closes his eyes, breathes in and out. It’s fine. It will be fine. Somehow.

"Hey," Dex says carefully.

"I'm okay." Whiskey forces his eyes back open. "Thank you for doing this. I’m so sorry it had to be this fucking early."

"No problem," Dex tells him firmly. "Just remember – if you need to get out of there, for any reason, don’t hesitate to call. Alright? I promise I’ll drive right down and rescue you.”

Somehow, that actually makes Whiskey smile.

"Sure. It's literally on the other side of the country, but sure."

"Just a few hours behind the wheel," Dex replies decisively, almost like it could truly be that simple. Like he actually means it. "Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you talked to Jack, yet?"

Wait. What?

"Zimmermann?" Whiskey asks doubtfully, and watches in disbelief as Dex nods. "Why would I… Dex, I don't actually know Jack Zimmermann. I've spoken to him once, maybe twice in my life."

“He’s Samwell Men’s Hockey alumni, isn’t he?” Dex points out. “And obviously, he knows more about these things than any of us. He could definitely help you get some perspective.”

“Maybe, but I can’t just… It’s not like I’ve even got his number.”

“Do you mind if I talk to him, then?” Dex suggests. “I’m sure he’d have your back, Whiskey. And if there’s ever a time when you should rely on all of your support systems, I think it’s probably now.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Whiskey agrees, somewhat tersely. It goes without saying that talking to Jack equals getting Bitty in the loop, and Whiskey’s not sure if he’s completely ready for that, just yet. “You know, it’s really okay if… I mean, Jack Zimmermann is probably very busy.”

“Just leave it to me.” If Dex picks up on Whiskey’s discomfort on the subject, he doesn’t show it. “We should probably also consider how much I should tell the team, while you’re away? They’re bound to have some questions.”

Whiskey closes his eyes again, just briefly. Fuck. The team. Tango and Ford. Louis, Hops and Bully. Chowder and Nursey. Joyo and Jader. Pips. God fucking damnit.

“Tango and Ford already know,” Whiskey says, as evenly as he can manage. “As for the rest, could you just… Try to say as little as possible? At least for now.”

Dex takes a moment before he replies.

“They’re all going to be happy for you,” he says carefully. “You know that, right? Sad, too, and in some cases pretty fucking devastated. But happy, ultimately.”

“Maybe, yeah.” Whiskey attempts a casual shrug that he knows Dex will see right through. “I just think, if I’m really doing this, then I’m going to need to tell them all myself. So for now, just say that something came up and that I will be back on Saturday.”

“Alright,” Dex agrees. His tone is a lot gentler than before. “Sounds good.”

Whiskey nods, once.

They don’t talk much more for the rest of the drive.

Emily has booked Whiskey a first-class ticket, and that should be exciting or at least somewhat distracting, but it’s not. Whiskey barely takes in his surroundings as he moves through priority boarding and fully reclines in his very spacious seat. He manages to sleep a little on the plane, so at least that’s something.

A bored-looking driver collects Whiskey from the airport, and then they’re off straight towards the rink. Whiskey grits his teeth as he steps out of the car. This is it. This is actually fucking it.

Someone is waiting for him by the entrance. It’s one of the players Whiskey certainly knew by name even before he obsessively googled the Aeros’s current roster, the night before. Walt ‘Mickey’ Davis, team captain of the Aeros and one of the highest ranked defensemen in professional hockey.

Whiskey takes a breath. No big deal. Absolutely no big deal at all.

“I hear you’ve had a bit of a whirlwind, these past twelve hours,” Walt greets him. His handshake is firm, and Whiskey immediately likes the steady way he meets Whiskey’s eyes. If Walt Davis is at all concerned with the fact that two of his best forwards are out due to a broken collarbone and a torn meniscus, respectively, he certainly doesn’t show it. “It’s Connor Whisk, right? Let’s see what we can do with that. I go by Mickey.”

“I know,” Whiskey says, only to immediately feel stupid. Which, in itself, is stupid – the only reason he’s here is because he’s been explicitly asked to come, so if he somehow makes an utter fool of himself it’s actually kind of on them. Besides, all of this is just more hockey, isn’t it? Whiskey knows hockey. How fucking hard can it be? “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m really looking forward to getting on the ice with you guys.”

“Polite, eh?” Mickey smiles. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in as best as we can, before practice. I have to warn you, though – Ducky has this slight obsession with the Samwell NCAA team. He might have one or two questions. Just let me know if you ever need him to back off.”

Whiskey blinks. Right. What’s one more utterly baffling thing to navigate.

Ducky, it turns out, has a lot more than two questions. He instantly reminds Whiskey of Tango in the best way possible, which unfortunately makes Whiskey feel nauseous all over again – what the fuck is he even doing here – but he kind of also reminds Whiskey of Bitty in a way that calms him slightly, and of Chowder in a way that almost makes him smile.

“So obviously, there’s been a lot of talk,” Ducky says, after Whiskey has apparently satisfied his curiosity on Samwell’s defensive strategy during last season’s playoffs, “About Eric Bittle. You played with him, right?”

Whiskey stills.

“Uh, yeah. For two years.”

“That long, huh.” Ducky grins. “So, like, is there any chance you’ve got some intel on the whole jam situation?”

“Ducky,” Mickey says, somewhat warningly.

“No, I swear, it’s a whole thing!” Ducky insists. “I used to play with Poots on the Falconers, okay, and I’m telling you, Poots won’t fucking shut up about it!”

Slowly, Whiskey exhales.

“The jam is a whole thing,” he offers tentatively. “But, it’s not... I mean, Bitty’s jam is the greatest, yes, Poots is absolutely onto something there. It’s just, did he really not mention the pies?”

Ducky’s eyes widen.

“Oh my God. There’s pies, too?”

“Dude,” Whiskey says. He actually smiles. “The pies are where it’s really at.”

“Our nutritionist is gonna be all over this,” someone chirps – Lacer, if Whiskey’s not entirely mistaken. God, he’s gonna need fucking flashcards. "Are we talking, like, blueberry or apple, here? Or is there any chance for apricots?"

Somehow, inexplicably, the conversation about pie lasts all the way until they're lacing up their skates. It's only then that Whiskey realises they've talked a lot about Bitty, and at one point little about Jack, but not for one single second about Bitty and Jack. It just hasn't come up, even once. Whiskey's not entirely sure if that should make him feel relieved, or concerned.

Stepping onto the ice is like a breath of fresh air. Whiskey skates a lap, and then another, and it’s like he finally relaxes for the first time since last night. Pretty soon, Mickey calls them to order, and suddenly it’s all starting, but Whiskey still feels like he’s got a decent grip on himself. He’s got this. He can do this.

They run a bunch of drills focused on puck control, at first, and then split up into pairs to work on passing and receiving. And somehow, it all feels achingly familiar. It’s almost like Tango is right there next to Whiskey as he shoots the puck to Ducky over and over again – Whiskey gets the timing exactly right every time, but that's only because he and Tango spent all those hours fucking nailing their passes, last season. And later, when Whiskey races Mickey up the ice in a speed exercise that has him high on adrenaline, it’s almost like Pips skates furiously beside him, like always, pushing and pushing and pushing until Whiskey is giving it everything he’s got and then just a little bit more. It’s weirdly grounding, how every member of the Samwell team seems to manifest themselves through his playing, a constant reminder of how far they’ve all helped him come.

They play something of a mock-game towards the end of it, and Mickey has them changing up the lines again and again. By the time they’re wrapping things up, Whiskey thinks he’s played alongside each of the other forwards at least once.

They’re all good. They’re all really fucking good.

Mickey claps a hand on his back as they’re stepping back into the locker room.

“Not bad,” he says. “You’re fast.”

Not as fast as Pips, Whiskey doesn’t tell him. And neither are you.

“I try to be,” he says instead, and Mickey grins.

“You’ll catch up to an old man like me in no time,” he chirps kindly. “Now, I think Larsen wants to get hold of you sooner rather than later. Let’s try not keep her any longer, eh?”

Unsurprisingly, Emily Larsen is waiting for him when he steps out of the locker room.

“There you are,” she says brightly. “Welcome to Houston, Connor. We’re so happy to have you here at such short notice.”

He’s ushered off to something that turns out to be a meeting. There’s at least three different people who shake his hand on the way there – one of them is the nutritionist, who has somehow already heard rumours about baked goods. 

Emily promises not to keep him for too long, but she does have a few things that apparently can’t wait. She goes over the draft of his contract, aided by someone from the legal department who is able to answer some of Whiskey’s questions, which is good. Or well, it’s at least informative. Then there’s the question of housing options, which Whiskey decides to postpone until all of this is actually completely settled. He’s in a hotel, for now, which is perfectly fine. Finally, Emily runs through a brief power-point presentation on the Aeros, their history, and some aspects of life in Houston. Which isn’t uninteresting, exactly, but Whiskey is sort of more fucking exhausted than he remembers being in last year’s playoffs.

“Almost done,” Emily reassures him as she changes yet another slide.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the next headline captures Whiskey’s full attention. Outreach Activities – You Can Play & The Rainbow Puck Foundation. Our values and vision.

“Well,” Emily says. She looks at the screen, her expression almost a little confused. “This is, you know. What we stand for, and all of that.”

And just like that, she’s moved on to the next slide.

Right.

Whiskey checks into his hotel room, puts his suitcase down, makes it to the bed and sleeps for three hours.

When he wakes up, he’s got seven missed calls and more than twenty texts.

Most of the texts are from Miguel. Whiskey smiles softly while he scrolls through Miguel's more than familiar stream-of-consciousness. It's perhaps a little more chipper than usually, almost as if Miguel is making an effort to sound nothing but cheerful. Whiskey's heart aches desperately as he types up a few lines in response. got here okay. practice was fine. will call you tonight. I miss you so fucking much.

The calls are from Dex, Chowder, Louis and Pips. Pips has called twice, Dex thrice. Dex has also sent him five texts.

The last one contains Jack Zimmermann’s phone number.

call Jack, okay? he’d really like to hear from you. Bitty says hi, by the way.

Whiskey plugs in his phone, and gets up. If he’s going to have a heart to heart with one of the most high-profile players in the league, he’s going to take another shower, first, and his phone is going to have more than six percent battery.

About half an hour later, he’s put on pajamas, because fuck it, and settled into an armchair by the window with his hair still damp. His hands barely shake as he carefully types in the number.

Jack Zimmermann doesn’t pick up until the seventh ring.

“Connor?” he asks by way of greeting.

“Yeah.” Whiskey pulls his knees up to his chest and fiddles with the hem of his pajama pants. “Hi.”

“Give me just one second.” There’s a bustling noise, the sound of a door closing and then quiet. “There. It’s nice to talk to you again.”

“You, too.” God, Whiskey has no idea how the fuck he’s supposed to navigate this. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?”

“Not at all,” Jack reassures him. “How are you?”

“Um.” Whiskey grimaces. “Tired?”

“I can imagine,” Jack says, his voice surprisingly warm. “Dex filled me in a little bit, this morning. You’re already in Houston, right?”

“That’s right, yeah.”

“How are things, so far?”

“Not bad,” Whiskey decides, after a moment’s consideration. “I don’t really… I mean, I’ve actually barely had time to think about it.”

Jack hums.

“How long do you have, before you need to give them a definite answer?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Sunday. Okay.” Jack pauses momentarily. “That’s not unreasonable, on their part. Sometimes these things happen really fast.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Can I ask… Do you have an agent?”

“No, actually.” Whiskey runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t really... I mean, I’ve basically been thinking that there would still be time before I’d need to consider these things more seriously. This opportunity was very unexpected.”

“Okay.” There’s another moment of silence before Jack speaks again. “Look, I’m just going to be very blunt about this. How much are these guys offering you?”

“Ah,” Whiskey says. He tries to remember – there’s been numbers mentioned, several of them, something about a signing bonus and a monthly salary and Whiskey’s barely registered anything beyond how that’s a lot of digits, holy cow. “I haven’t… Honestly, the financial aspect has sort of been the last thing on my mind.”

“Okay,” Jack says again, and there’s something of a smile in his voice. “I understand that, I really do. There are a lot of other important factors. It’s just, you should definitely think about getting an agent.”

“No, I know,” Whiskey agrees readily. “I, uh. This has all just happened really fast.”

“I’m getting that.” There’s no judgement in Jack’s tone. “But you haven’t actually signed anything yet, right? Not even some non-disclosure formality?"

“No, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Then you’ve got the ball in your corner, still,” Jack says encouragingly. “Or, you know. The puck. This is all going to play out the way you decide is best, in the end.”

“... Right.” Suddenly, Whiskey wants to laugh. Fuck, he’s so tired. “The thing is, I’ve honestly got no clue how I’m supposed to figure that out. There’s no telling if I’ll ever get a better offer than this, and that’s...  A major concern for me. This is what I want to do, and I don’t know if I can afford to pass up on this chance. But I never imagined that I would need to be ready to take this step so soon, and I… I just don’t know if I’m going to be.” 

“Okay,” Jack says. And this time, he doesn’t need to pause and consider before he responds. “Look. The only thing you need to do, here, is make sure that you do right by yourself and what it is that you need. Okay? I know the Aeros are in a bit of a hurry, at the moment – I’ve heard all about those injuries and the estimated recovery times. They’re going to have several key players out for the rest of the season, and that’s certainly an urgent situation for them. Now, I’ve seen the way you play, Connor, and I’m more than familiar with your statistics. You’re good. Clearly, this is a move that makes complete sense for the Houston Aeros. The real question is, is it something that’s going to make complete sense for you?”

Whiskey closes his eyes for a moment. He exhales, and feels his shoulders relax a bit. Huh. When he opens his eyes again, looking out over the unfamiliar city outside his window, it’s like he finally has a moment of clarity.

“I don’t know,” he says, almost steadily. “I thought it might.”

“Well,” says Jack Zimmermann. He sounds almost fond, which is of course completely ridiculous. Clearly, Whiskey is having some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination. “Maybe don't rule it out after your very first day. But you might want to give that some serious thought, during the rest of this week.”

“Yeah.” Whiskey inhales, then exhales. “I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.”

Their conversation continues for a little while longer. Jack inquires about some of the Samwell team members, and coach Hall and Murray, and Whiskey finds himself surprisingly at ease as they take turns sharing a few personal anecdotes about Faber, and the Haus. It's never quite struck him, before, how much of a shared history he has with the generations of Samwell team members that came before him.

"I'd really like to stay in touch," Jack says before they hang up. Surprisingly, he tacks on something of a chirp. "If you're going to be my new competition, I'd like to know what I'm up against."

"I don't think I could give you competition," Whiskey tells him honestly, and if that reveals just a little more of Whiskey's deep and genuine admiration for Jack than he had maybe intended to show, well, so be it.

"Don't be so sure," Jack says plainly. "Take care out there, Connor. I'll talk to you soon."

ch. 20

[superman-icecream13]

Bonne Année (A Zimbits New Years Fic)

Bitty had one tuxedo. It was the byproduct of many southern weddings, holiday masses, and the occasional funeral. His mother had bought it for him halfway through high school, and it had hung in the back of his closet ever since Lardo’s art exhibit.

He really should have tried it on before it was too late. But, here he was wriggling and squirming in a desperate attempt to get his thighs past the tight waistline. He was cursing everything under the sun; mostly Holster and his stupid squat regimen.

“Bitty?” Jack poked his head out of the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

“Just,” he tugged, “In need,” another tug, “Of a new pair of pants.” One final tug and they were on. They were tight, but they were on. He was absolutely certain that they weren’t going to come off anytime soon.

“Didn’t you try them on before you got up here?”

“I didn’t think I needed too! But apparently my ass has grown exponentially since Sophomore year!” Bitty angrily tugged on his dress shirt.

“I could have told you that,” Jack said, crossing the room. “Those pants are positively sinful.” He adjusted Bitty’s collar.

“You’re going to have to cut them off of me,” Bitty turned around to grab his tie. And it was a total accident that he knocked it onto the floor and had to bend over to get it.

“Christe,” Jack muttered, “I’m going to go finish getting ready so I don’t have to brush my teeth all over again.”

Bitty winked at him as he tied his tie. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I really don’t want to be late!” Jack called, already back in the bathroom. “So you keep your flirty comments and your tight pants to yourself.”

They weren’t late. They made it out the door just as Georgia called to tell them that they were outside. Thanks to the swankiness of this New Year's Charity Gala she had pulled out all the stops and rented a limo for the team. Now nobody could be late, and nobody could make the excuse not to go. Georgia Martin knew where they lived, and wasn’t afraid to use it against her players.

Jack was thankful for this idea. Thanks to George’s thinking all the players would be on the red carpet at once. It helped with the anxiety of talking to the press if he had people at his back. It probably had Bitty’s anxiety at bay knowing that Jack, the players, and their wives were here to help. Most of them were already cooing over Bitty’s baking and coaching him on how to handle the press mobs on the red carpet.

“Just smile and stand by Jack. You’re there to support him, and that’s all the media cares about. You’re an old friend hanging out with him for the New Years.”

Bitty was nodding, “Okay, that makes sense. So just don’t say anything?”

“Unless they ask you a question.”

Bitty nodded. He could do this, it would be easy. Smile, nod and watch Jack entertain the press. If his life went the direction he wanted then this would soon become old hat for him. Going to big swanky parties would be something he did on an off Friday evening. Hopefully he’d have a better fitting suit by then.

He could do this. It was just another step into his future.

Bitty did it. He regretted it almost immediately, but by then he was out of the limo and Snowy’s wife (Patricia?) was dragging him along down the red carpet laughing at how the reporters seemed to dive straight for Jack. He was Bad Bob’s son, press legendary, and he handled himself like it. Bitty got lost in watching him field the press; simultaneously answering questions and steering Bitty along.

He took a deep breath and slumped against a rack of coats. “Jesus Christ how do y’all stand it?”

“It’s instinct,” Marty said, folding his wife’s coat over his arm. “Kinda like playing hockey.”

“Hockey seems to be a lot less violent,” Bitty laughed, leaning back into Jack’s hands as he pulled his coat off. This was the most contact they could have all night, and it felt good to have Jack’s strong hands running across his shoulders. Bitty leaned into the contact and Jack squeezed.

“You want a glass of champagne?” Jack asked, the two of them standing in the doorway to the ballroom. A room full of swanky executives all wearing Armani and couture.

“There anything harder?”

“If you wanted tub juice you should have stayed at the Haus.”

They were already moving across the ballroom, heading for the open bar.

Bitty took advantage of the din to lean over and murmur: “Miss you in that suit? Never.” He flicked his eyes up and down once, grinning when Jack blushed.

“Just wait here,” Jack elbowed Bitty. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drink.”

Bitty stood, stranded, at one of the standing tables scattered around the edges of the ballroom. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, fishing his phone out of his suit coat. He glanced at the crowd around him to assuage his fear. Nobody was looking at his phone, or at him. He sent a quick text to Jack.

“You look a little out of place,” a voice said behind his shoulder. “Don’t think I’ve seen anyone look more nervous at one of these things!” Bitty scrambled to tuck his phone away as a woman set her clutch down on the table. “Other than me, that is.” Her accent was southern. Alabama?

“I’ve never been to a swanky party like this.” Bitty opened the floodgates on his accent. “But that’s a bit obvious ain’t it?”

The woman laughed and clapped her hands. “Another Southern Belle, thought I was the only one into hockey.”

“I don’t think they know what hockey is below the Mason Dixon line,” Bitty waved Jack over. “Name’s Eric Bittle.” he stuck out his hand.

“Kathleen Rogers,” she shook his hand. “Local hockey reporter. You?”

“Just a fan. My old college teammate plays for them.” It was his typical greeting.

“Jack Zimmerman?”

“That would be me,” Jack said, causing Kathleen to spin around in surprise.

“Jack Zimmerman. Holy shit, i’ve been trying to get an interview with you for months.” She openly gaped when Jack handed her a glass of champagne. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions? It’s a bit on the spot, so I get it-”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Kathleen scrambled to pull her phone out of her purse. “Okay, umm,” she froze, hitting buttons on her phone. “Okay, so on the spot for me too. I guess, what’s it like switching from college hockey to pro? Was it a hard transition?”

Bitty hung around for the brief interview. Kathleen was so genuine, barely mentioning the few things Bitty knew she needed to know. There was nothing pertaining to the overdose, or Bad Bob, or Parson. It was just sports: what it was like to play with the Falconers, who was his favorite teammate. She even asked Bitty some questions, mostly about what it was like to see an old friend play in the big leagues.

“Terrifying,” Bitty laughed. “It’s scary knowing that you don’t really have his back out on the ice anymore. But I’ve met his teammates and they’re good people. They get him hurt and he’ll have the SMH team descend on them in force.”

Kathleen laughed. “Thank you so much guys, sorry to interrupt your night. I’m certain y’all are here to rub elbows with people a lot more rich than a journalist trying to break into a career in the sports world.”

“It wasn’t an issue,” Jack was smiling at her. He looked relaxed, something that wasn’t normal for Jack. “If you want I can get you hooked up with the rest of the team.” he waved at Snowy as he passed by. “Snows, this is Kathleen, a burgeoning sports reporter. Mind answering a couple of questions?”

Snowy shrugged. Kathleen died. Bitty and Jack took that moment to slip away.

“Champagne?” Bitty asked, holding up his empty glass.

“Cider actually. Sparkling.” Jack handed Bitty his glass. “Thanks ch- Bittle.”

Bitty’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he waited for the bartender to pour them new glasses. He looked down at his phone. Jack had replied. And Bitty was now blushing up to his hairline. He croaked out a thanks, grabbed his glass and halfway drained it.

Jack was in conversation with an elderly woman who was important donor to the Jr. Falcs campaign. Jack was smiling and nodding. His shoulders were stiff again, and Bitty lingered his contact as he passed Jack his glass. He heard them talking about how it was important to get children into sports at a young age. It was vital for future health as their bodies slowed into old age.

“Bittle here actually teaches skating summer camps,” Jack mentioned in passing. “Don’t you, Eric?”

“Not skating, per say, but hockey and figure skating. Ours is a community hockey team, not through the school. They’re actually how I got into hockey. It’s a hard thing to be found in the South.”

The woman laughed, “I grew up in Minnesota, so I can’t say the same thing for them. Hockey was everywhere in my high school. Then again, it was the Iron Range. Practically Canadian? Right Jack?”

Jack grinned, laughing. “Close but no cigar. Still the States I’m afraid. Besides, no poutine or Tim Hortons.”

Bitty took this moment to relax. He was fine, doing just as he should. Standing by Jack, nodding, laughing and paying attention. He looked like a dutiful friend enjoying the free bar provided at a swanky party. He was even tipsy enough to dance with Kathleen.

“I’ve seen some of your videos,” she admitted. “I think you should be dancing with some of the very attractive reporters I know.” She nodded at a young man in a bowtie talking to Poots.

“And cause a scandal?!” Bitty asked, laughing.

“Need to find you someone to kiss at midnight,” she said.

“He’s not my type,” Bitty admitted, and it was the truth. Jack Zimmerman was his type. The reporter was too blond. And short. And in the wrong profession. “I’m really not looking right now. Focusing on my future, y’know?”

“Preach,” she muttured. “Maybe I’ll just kiss you at midnight.” She laughed as his startled expression, “Platonically. Bro.”

Bitty laughed, “You’ve got the bro slang down Kat. Now I’ll just introduce you to some old friends to teach you the rest of the hockey slang you need to know to get by.”

“I have a good grasp,” she leaned in closer as they continued dancing, “Like how your boyfriend is growing a borderline flo? Is that the term?”

Bitty almost stopped in the middle of the dance floor. He almost tripped over his feet, his brain shut down. Kathleen… knew? “How?” he asked as he managed to continue to dance.

“Don’t worry, it’s not going in that article. Mum’s the word, especially in this industry. But I’ve been in secret relationships before. I know what it looks like. I’ll cover for you two if you want to sneak away at midnight, if you want.”

Bitty fought back tears. His voice was choked when he said, “Thanks Kathleen, I can’t formulate how grateful I am. And I think when we come out we know who we’ll do it with. Really skyrocket your career. As a thanks.”

“I’m really doing nothing.”

“You’re doing everything.” Bitty pulled them off the dance floor, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Another text from Jack; Bitty was now impervious to blushing. “What’s your address?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m sending you a case of pie. What’s your address?”

The whole crowd was counting down to midnight outside. Bitty and Jack leaned against the doors to the hallway, holding full glasses of champagne. They had matching grins, and were just staring at each other with all the expressions they couldn’t make in public.

“Un” Jack whispered, his lips mere centimeters away from Bitty’s lips.

“One” Bitty whispered, and he pressed his lips against Jack. It was supposed to be only a few seconds. They didn’t have much privacy, or much time. But they had this, the muffled sounds of cheering, and the band striking up Auld Lang Syne. They had each other, hands twisted in lapels, lips smashed together. Jack tasted like the fake champagne he had been drinking all night. Bitty tasted like the hor'dourves he needed the recipe for.

The whole moment felt magical. Their first New Year’s kiss.

“Happy New Year,” Bitty whispered.

Bitty was more than a little tipsy when the limo pulled up on the curb. He wasn’t the only one. Somehow a third of the hockey players had managed to have one too many glasses of champagne. They were all loud and laughing in as the limo dropped them off at their homes.

Bitty was always handsy when he was tipsy. Handsy. His hand didn’t leave Jack’s thigh the entire ride home, and when they were the only remaining ones Bitty crawled into Jack’s lap, pressing his lips against his throat.

“Jack, those texts,” Bitty moaned. “Were you serious?”

“Just wait till we get home cher. I’ll have you up well into the New Year.”

Bitty moaned again, and his hand shifted. Jack’s breath hitched. “How do you say Happy New Year in French again?”  

“Bonne année, cher. Bonne année.”