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Mr. Game Seven

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Justin scores the last goal of the 2006 season, an empty net goal in game seven against the Oilers. It wasn't the game winning goal, wasn't even a really important goal, but when Staalsy stops him in the hallway outside the 'Canes' dressing room, pushes him to his knees and comes with "Mr. Game Seven" on his lips, the nickname sticks.

In 2012, the Kings are the first eighth seed to win a Cup, and Justin rides Quickie and the chip on the Kings' shoulders to a game six win against the Devils. They don't play a game seven that year. He doesn't have to be a hero. He's never really been anything but a team player, and he's happy enough to bask in the team victory, drink champagne from the Cup, and listen to the low, harried, pleasant sounds of Quickie and Kopi in the trainer's room.

The 2014 Cup is harder, probably the hardest thing Justin's ever done. Down 3-0 to the Sharks, down 3-2 to the Ducks, three game sevens on the road, and more overtimes than Justin can count. He doesn't score the final goal in the second overtime against the Rangers, but at the end of the game he is handed the Conn Smythe trophy . It’s the most ridiculous, humbling, overwhelming experience of his life.

"There are no words to describe what we're feeling now. Each Cup is unique, but God, we earned this one. What we went through, to get to this point, it's pretty emotional and special, and we'll never forget it," Justin tells the media, still dressed in his shorts and skates, the Conn Smythe to his right, and not even trying to blink away the tears from his eyes. "I can't believe I won that. That will, I don't think ever, ever sink in. I'm just a guy from Cobourg, who played the game he loves, and has gotten to be surrounded with a lot of great teammates throughout my years."

He doesn’t really remember what else he tells the press.

In the locker room, after, he strips to a t-shirt and under armour and accepts a Bud from Drew, who played more minutes than anyone, who has all year, who went to Sochi and back, was the best defensemen in the tournament, and told them all "Gold Medal and the Cup in the same year, we're gonna do it." And they did, because they trust him, because they have more leaders in this locker room then stalls, and Justin wants to tell him, wants to say "I love you, man," but his throat still feels a little raw, his eyes still a little red.

Instead, he wraps his arm around Drew's neck, presses a kiss to the corner of Drew's mouth, close enough to count as his chin, even though he doesn't really want it to. And Drew gets it, has to, because Darryl says that this locker room closed ranks eight weeks ago, and their coach is never wrong. They're of one mind, the same, from Darryl on down, and as Drew wraps his palm, warm and heavy, around the back of Justin's neck, he knows that Drew gets it. All of it.

"Ten minutes," Drew whispers, placing Justin's ball cap back on his head and leaning in, chest hard against Justin's shoulder, breath hot in his ear. "Trainer's room."

This is Justin's third Cup. He knows what Drew means.

He goes anyway, stopping to share 'congratulations' and drinks and a particularly meaningful hug with Richie and Carts, and has to stop just inside the trainer’s room, back pressed against the door and tears pooling in the rims of his eyes.

"Hey, hey, Stick," Kopi's voice is low, rough, just short of worried. His hands are warm through the thin fabric of Justin's t-shirt, and Justin suddenly wishes that he had changed or showered or at least washed his face, but Kopi's already here, which means Drew isn't too far away.

Justin just shakes his head, leaning forward to breath, open-mouthed, against the clammy, salty skin of Kopi's neck. Kopi shivers against him, and Justin can feel Kopi hardening against his thigh, aroused even though they’ve just played four hours of the most intense hockey they will ever play.

Justin's body is exhausted, but he clings to Kopi's shoulders, using him as leverage to drop to his knees.

"No, no," Kopi murmurs, catching Justin just under his armpits and spinning them so that Justin's pressing back into one of the trainer's tables. "We're here for you tonight."

"I don't-" Justin's brain shorts out. After the Conn Smythe and the ovation and the Cup- "I don't deserve- I didn't do anything special- Kopi-" Kopi's eyes are blue, intense, and Justin lifts his chin, kisses him desperately. "Getzy, Tazer- You were amazing, man," he whispers, when they part.

"Fuck." Kopi drops his head to rub his mouth over the edge of Justin's beard, just under his left ear. "You deserve it. The MVP, the attention, this," he rubs once, deliberately, dragging the head of his dick, obvious through his under armour, against the inside of Justin's knee. "You were brilliant."

"I didn't do anything any of the guys wouldn't have-"

"Team player," Kopi whispers, the word sliding off his tongue like an endearment, like it's the best compliment he can give. "Always giving, never taking."

Justin feels another hand on his chest, thumb against his t-shirt, just above his right nipple, and he looks up just as Drew presses down, a hard, rough pressure to counteract the gentleness of Kopi's lips on his cheek. “Just for tonight, take a little. We're yours, so, just, stop arguing, eh? In the name of team spirit."

Drew flattens his hand, pressing hard, and Justin turns his head, fumbles for Drew's lips and sighs when Drew meets him halfway, mouth open and warm, taking Justin's tongue in without waiting to be asked. Justin moans into Drew's mouth, allowing himself to be pressed back against the table, bringing his left foot up to catch on the edge, so that he can press his inner thigh to Kopi's side.

Kopi takes the hint, dropping one hand to trail along Justin's outer hip, pulling Justin flush against him, and Justin can't do anything to hide his erection as it presses, rather insistently, against Kopi's stomach. Kopi grins delightedly, Justin can feel it against his neck, even as Kopi murmurs, "yes, that's it," and hitches his own hips forward to meet Justin's.

"Jesus," Justin breathes out, and it sounds loud in the room. Neither of them shush him though; he figures Drew put a sock on the door or something, and then Drew runs his free hand down Kopi's chest, tracing the image of the Cup on the championship shirt Kopi'd managed to change into, and Justin forgets to worry about it.

"Can I?" He asks, trailing his right hand under the hem of Drew's shirt, and Drew hums approvingly, raising his hands and stripping of his shirt. Justin's seen him before, seen his shirtless thousands of time in the weight room, but this is different. This is Drew, still panting from the game and the adrenaline and the emotion. And this time, Justin can reach out and trail a finger down the small thatch of hair on Drew's stomach, watch the way Drew's groan forces its way out of his throat, the way the muscles of his chest flutter, how he pitches forward, folding himself over the table to kiss Justin, wet and not at all smooth.

"I've been thinking about this," Kopi's voice is awed, his palm sweaty as he wraps it around Justin's knee and pulls his leg around Kopi's hip. "About the three of us. For weeks."

"Weeks?" Justin asks, surprised, pulling back from Drew so that he can look at Kopi, who's looking a little guilty, even as his hips keep up their slow, steady rhythm against Justin's.

"Since that first goal in game seven, against the Ducks."

"That was-" Justin can't even think that far back, not right now, not pressed between them like this.

"Weeks ago?" Kopi asks. "Yeah. I've wanted this a long time so don't-" Kopi swallows, his hips stilling and his eyes glazing over, as if he's remembering something, something far away, and far less pleasant. Justin flexes his calf, pressing his heel into the small of Kopi's lower back. Kopi shakes his head, rubbing a hand along Justin's inner thigh, smiling ruefully. "I want this."

"Yeah, yeah," Justin's getting that. From both of them. "I do, too," he agrees, as if, at this point, he has to say that out loud.

Except, maybe he did, because they had been holding back, were waiting for him. Maybe they all were.

"I want this," he repeats, and Drew grins, sharing a nod with Kopi before climbing onto the trainer's table, behind Justin, his knees bent so that they can bracket Justin's chest, at the same time as Kopi traces his hands under Justin's t-shirt and, in one, smooth motion that Justin doesn't quite follow, pulls it over his head.

Justin's chest is flushed and chilled from the drying sweat of the game, but then Drew's hands are there, tracing the contours of his muscles, his ribs, and he forgets to be cold. "Knew we called you Stick for a reason," Drew huffs.

"Always been skinny," Justin agrees, arching his back to press into Drew's hands. "Bane of my childhood."

Drew laughs in his ear, flicking his tongue out to trace along the outer shell, "showed 'em, eh?," as Justin feels his whole body shake.

"Okay?" Kopi asks, his brow furrowing, unruly and untrimmed, like the rest of him, and his hands gentle on Justin's legs.

"Long game," Justin supplies, meaning so much more, and Kopi's hands tighten on his ankles.

"Long series," Kopi agrees, then, "okay, okay, we've got you," as he takes Justin's foot, gently, from where it's pressing against Kopi's back and laying it on the table. "Can I?" He asks, then doesn't wait for Justin to respond as he grabs at the waist of Justin's under armour and pulls his pants down his legs, leaving him bare and open.

Drew doesn't waste a moment dropping a hand down Justin's chest to wrap around his dick, where it's straining, red and swollen, against his stomach.

"Strong," Kopi murmurs, "Beautiful," as he urges Justin to turn over, leaning his elbows on either side of Drew's hips, catching his weight on his forearms rather than his knees.

"Here." Drew passes a tube of lube over Justin's head to Kopi, smirking at Justin. "I brought it to New York, but, I think it's more fitting we won at home, don't you?"

"Much," Justin tries to agree, but it gets mangled as Kopi presses a finger, wet and cold and insistent, against his ass.

"Good?" Kopi asks, waiting, this time, for Justin's nod before pushing in.

"Shit." It's been a long time, Justin tries to say, tries to warn, but Kopi goes slow anyway, working his finger gently, bending at the knuckle, until Justin feels his body open and give way, pulling Kopi in and begging him to stay. "Shh, shh," Kopi places a kiss to Justin's hole as he squirts another over-large drop of lube into his hand, returning with two fingers.

Kopi's fingers scissor, stretching carefully, his middle finger pushing further, deeper, searching and curling until he brushes against Justin's prostate and Justin's whole body heats, sweat pooling at his neck and his back, his forehead pressing, urgently, into Drew's thigh.

Drew's fingers tangle in his hair, his hands tracing over Justin's shoulders, gentling him even as his erection strains against his pants, pressing steadily against Justin's cheek. Justin opens his mouth, adjusting his neck and stretching his lips around the bulge, ignoring the taste of the fabric, salty and stale with the sweat of the game, in favor of the way Drew jumps and keens into him.

"Shit, shit, sorry, just-" Drew holds Justin away, breathing careful, deep, steadying breaths for a moment, before grinning down at him. "Almost lost it there. Let me just-" He lifts his hips just enough to push his pants and boxers down his thighs.

His dick is already bruised and hard, leaking at the tip.

Justin did that, that’s for him.

He balances on one elbow, wrapping his other hand around Drew's cock and pumping slowly, teasingly, as he mouths at just the head, just enough to keep Drew on edge. Drew lets out a steady stream of, "Jesus, yes, your mouth, Stick, if I had known- There, just like that-" his fingers warm and sweaty as they brush Justin's hair out the way.

Justin's too focused to feel it when Kopi adds a third finger, but he grunts at the burn of the fourth. "Sorry," Kopi whispers, pressing apology kisses along Justin's back, slowing his movements but not taking the fourth out. "You're still so tight."

Justin has the sudden, ridiculous urge to apologize for his body, for how much he wants this, how grateful he is for them, how much he wants to give this to them, as much as to himself, and he closes his eyes, burying his face in the humid crease between Drew's thighs.

"Just a little more," Drew tells him, his hands moving in comforting circles against Justin's scalp, adjusting his hips just enough that his dick isn't burning into Justin's cheek. "Then Kopi and I are going to show you how much we love you."

Justin loves them, too, his teammates, his brothers-in-arms, the guys who have been here, with him, for every moment of his second chance at this sport, at his life. He presses into Drew, relaxing his own muscles, and feels it when the barriers loosen and Kopi's fingers start to move easily in his body.

"Oh," Kopi pitches forward at the smoother entry, catching himself on the edge of the table, between Justin's spread knees, before removing his fingers. "Ready, yeah?"

Justin nods, "yeah," waiting for more instructions, not sure which of them wants him first. But then Drew's pulling him up, scooting down the table, and Kopi's helping Justin adjust his knees around Drew's hips. Justin balances himself with a hand against Drew's chest, his thighs shaking with the effort of moving slowly, as he sinks down, feeling the heat of Drew's dick as he twitches and settles within Justin's body.

"Oh," Drew groans, his fingers gripping the table as Justin stills, waiting for his body to acclimate, and then takes Drew the rest of the way. Drew grunts, his knees lifting of the table, and his hips flexing uncontrollably for a moment, before he grabs Justin's hips and steadies them both. "You're so hot. And tight."

"Yeah?" Justin tightens, inside, twisting his hips as he starts moving, and Drew's breath catches, pulling Justin down for a desperate, wet kiss, all open lips and teeth and Justin breathes into him.

“Yeah.” Drew pumps his hips, finding a fast, heady rhythm, at the same time as Justin feels Kopi's hand, like a brand, on the small of his back.

"Come here," Justin breaths, pulling away from Drew and grabbing for Kopi's hand, still wet and sticky with lube. He's still wearing pants, which seems unfair, and Justin's mind can't stand it, can't stand feeling Drew in him, all around him, and Kopi standing back, watching, waiting.

Kopi resists, though, letting out a short laugh, and reaching for the lube again. "Just letting Dewey have some fun."

Justin shakes his head. "I want you- you, too-"

Kopi glances over his head at Drew, leaning past Justin to pull Drew in for a kiss that’s so hot and heady that Justin groans, feeling himself twitch against his stomach. Then Drew's fingers are on his chin, pulling him in for a kiss, his lips still wet and swollen from Kopi, and Justin feels a blunt pressure in his ass. He gasps into Drew's mouth as Kopi works two fingers, dripping with lube, alongside Drew's cock.

The stretch is more than Justin's ever felt before, a hot, burning sensation everywhere Kopi's touching him, and he reaches back to press a hand to Kopi's chest.

Kopi catches his fingers, squeezing. "Trust me?" Kopi asks, and it's a stupid question. Kopi is his teammates, his linemate. Justin's always trusted me. Kopi leans down, kissing at Justin's shoulder. "Not on the ice, here," he clarifies.

"What's the difference?" Justin asks, before he can stop himself, and Kopi laughs.

"Exactly." He reaches around Justin's body, wrapping Justin's forgotten dick in his palm, and setting a slow, careful pace with his fingers in Justin's ass. "Promise this will feel good."

Justin closes his eyes, focusing on the squeeze of Kopi's hand and the pleasurable pull of Drew's dick inside him, and when Kopi twists his fingers, pressing Drew into Justin's prostate, Justin gasps, falling forward onto Drew's chest and pushing Kopi's fingers in further, a feedback loop of pleasure that leaves Justin panting and gasping.

"More?" He asks, turning his head to look at Kopi, who leans forward for a kiss while he adds a third finger. It feels good now, the extra pull along his rim, the way Drew stutters, uncontrolled, every time Kopi's fingers catch at the head of Drew's dick, and the way Kopi's breath is coming in harsh, labored pants against Justin's back.

"More, please, Kopi," Justin asks, for all of them, and Kopi grunts.

"Yeah, yeah," he breathes out, his body stilling against Justin's for a moment, before he pulls back. Justin's feels half-empty, without Kopi's fingers on his dick and in his ass, with only the steady, measured thrusts of Drew's hips.

He hears the rustle of clothing behind him, though, and then the dip in the table as Kopi joins them.

"Stick?" Drew asks, and Justin kisses him, focuses on Drew's lips, his tongue, the contours of his teeth, as Kopi presses slowly, slowly alongside Drew. It seems to go on forever, and Justin feels outside of his body, can't separate himself from Drew and Kopi, from the stretch, from the way his skin feels over-strung, stretched, thin.

There are tears at his eyes, and Drew reaches up, wiping them away with the calloused pads of his thumbs.

"Justin?" Kopi asks when, finally, he's seated as far as he can go. He's longer than Drew, but thinner, and Justin focuses on separating the two pressures inside him as he tries to remember how to speak again.

"Stick?" Kopi asks, again, a little panicked, pulling back quickly, but Justin reaches back, grasps at his hip, stops him.

"Full," he gets out, licking at his lips. "You're so- much." Drew chuckles, moving his fingers from Justin’s cheeks to wipe Justin's hair from his forehead. Justin presses his head into Drew’s fingers, and his fingers harder into Kopi's hip, reminding himself that they’re both here, physical, real. "But, good, yeah, both of you, here, love you."

Kopi lets out a rush of breath. "Love you, too," and then he presses forehead, his dick dragging along Drew's, and they groan in unison.

"Fuck," Drew moans, his hips snapping off the bed. "I can feel you, Kopi. You're so warm. So hot, Stick." He pulls out, then snaps his hips, pushing back in, and Kopi reaches for the wall, leveraging himself so that he can counter-measure Drew's rhythm.

Justin loses track of it, the rhythm, the move of both of them, their groans, the slaps of their skin, their terms of endearment, mixing in the air. Then Drew throws his head back, grasps for Justin's hand on Kopi's hip and squeezes. "I'm gonna-"

"Yeah," Kopi agrees, stilling his own hips, letting Drew thrust, faster, uncontrolled, against him.

Justin bends his neck, reaches for Drew's mouth, kisses him through it as Drew's muscles tighten and his hips twitch and he comes in long, stuttered bursts deep inside him.

"Fuck, I can feel that," Kopi says, in awe, his voice deep and scratchy, his body shaking with the effort of holding still until Drew works through the aftershocks and slips out, the exhaustion of the last months finally getting to him as he falls back against the table.

Drew kisses Justin, slowly, gently, soothingly, and then tightens his fingers around Justin's hips. "Can you turn around?"

Justin nods, wanting it, too, wanting to see Kopi, to feel him, and he turns over, settles back against Drew's chest and raises his knees, holding them apart.

"Jebemti." Fuck. Kopi breathes into Justin's lips as he aligns himself and arches back into Justin's body.

Kopi kisses slower than Drew does, a building, insistent burn of lips on lips. Justin eases into it, his body feeling open, sloppy, as Kopi slips out and pushes back in. "Try- tighten-" Kopi mumbles, struggling to find the words in English, and Justin arches up for his mouth again, focusing on contracting the muscles in his ass and feeling himself tighten around Kopi.

Kopi sets a steady, long rhythm, pulling most of the way out before urging his hips back in. It reminds Justin of how exhausted he is, how worn his muscles are, how far he has come, with these men, his team, his brothers. His arousal builds slowly to its peak, until his skin is burning, his erection aching to be touched, twitching against his chest. "Please," he asks, and then Drew is there, his palm wet with lube, matching Kopi's rhythm.

"Come," Kopi orders, just like he does on the ice, the same way he says win or we will come back or believe in each other and Justin remembers, suddenly and blindingly, that they just won the Cup, and he comes, grunting into Kopi's mouth and spilling into Drew's fist.

"Yes, yes, perfect," Kopi whispers, his hips moving faster, and then he's coming, too, muscles bunched under Justin's hands and dick twitching in his body.

Justin doesn't know how long they lie like that, wet and sticky and breathing each others' air, before Kopi presses a kiss to Justin’s shoulder and raises himself on an elbow.


Justin takes stock of the aches in his muscles, the exhaustion pulling at the back of his mind, the way his eyes burn with emotion of it all. “It’s overwhelming,” he admits.

He feels Drew’s lips on the back of his neck, watches as Kopi reaches up to run his hand through Drew’s hair. “This Cup is special,” Drew says, his voice rough and worn.

There’s a knock on the door, and Kopi lifts himself up, frowning. Justin watches, enjoying the view, as Kopi walks, naked and limping a little, to the door, and opening it slowly.

Outside, the Cup is sitting, piled high with strips of condoms.

Justin laughs. “Assholes.” He loves them anyway. They’re team.