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It's Complicated

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At some point, PK thinks to himself while he pulls Carey closer, drags him in by the back of his neck to kiss him, frantic, greedy and more than a little wet when Carey opens his mouth for PK's -- at some point he's going to have to stop sleeping with so many teammates. Not that the sex isn't good; it’s actually pretty fucking great. But at some point, he figures he'll go from 'Subby's good for a buddyfuck' to 'Subby's really, really slutty'. And both are kind of true, but it’s not exactly the reputation he wants in the league.

"Something wrong?" Pricey asks, pulling back to look down at PK. His hair is even messier than usual, and his mouth is shiny from kisses, and PK can't even pretend to be bothered by anything as stupid as his "reputation" in the face of that.

"Nope," he says and pulls Carey back down on top of him, biting at his lower lip. Carey grinds down against him, legs on either side of PK's body, and PK reaches up and holds onto Carey's biceps, pressing him down a little harder. He's so fucking hard, just from making out with Pricey, rubbing up against him through their clothes.

Pricey pulls back and PK lets him go, a little worried that he's changed his mind about this whole thing. But Pricey just slides down and starts pulling at PK's belt, and even through his jeans and boxers, PK can feel how hot Carey's breath is. "It's been a while since I last did this," Pricey says in that flat way of his, never looking up. "Since, like, Juniors."

PK doesn't have a problem with that; if Pricey's going to put PK's dick in his mouth, PK's not about to be picky. "That's cool," he manages, and then gasps because Pricey takes his dick out. He wraps his hand around it and jerks him a few times, hands dry even though PK can see he's a little nervous. Pricey's got a nice little rhythm going, and PK's ready to rock his hips up into it when Pricey lets go. PK doesn't have time to complain, though, because Pricey doesn't bother with any other type of exploration or anything, just opens his mouth wide and then closes it around PK's dick.

"Fuck, Pricey," PK groans, and when he looks down, in addition to looking incredibly hot with PK's dick in his mouth, Pricey looks smug as hell. "Whatever," he adds, but Pricey starts sucking, and that shuts PK up. It isn't the best blowjob he's ever had; Pricey wasn't joking about being out of practice, and he's sloppy with it, lots of tongue and spit everywhere. It's a mouth on his dick, though, and PK's not so jaded from his sudden embarrassment of casual sex riches that he doesn't appreciate it.

Pricey does something with his tongue and slides two fingers back behind PK's balls, brushing against his perineum and then even further. It's a dry, barely-there press of Pricey's finger against the rim of his entrance, tracing more than anything, but he's always been into that. PK arches his hips, and Pricey makes an unhappy sound and pulls off. His mouth and chin are shiny-wet from spit and he glares up at PK.

"Sorry," he apologizes, reaching down to pat Pricey's shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry." It's against all of the buddyfuck rules to choke the dude giving you a blowjob, regular fuck rules too... unless they ask for it. He half expects Pricey to roll away or get up, but instead he leans back in, draping one arm across PK's hips before going back to sucking PK's dick. He opens his mouth a little wider, taking PK a bit deeper before moving his fingers back.

He rubs against PK's entrance, dry and insistent but clearly not pushing for anything else, just trying to make PK feel good. PK doesn't know if someone's been talking or if it's just that obvious how much he likes it, but he can't complain, especially not when Pricey runs his tongue over the underside of PK's dick. Pricey's mouth is hot and so wet around him, and PK's settling in to enjoy himself when he opens his eyes. He looks down his body and fucking sees what Pricey looks like, with his eyes closed and his mouth spread wide around PK's dick, head bobbing and his hand moving between PK's legs, and he's fucking done.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he whispers, tapping on Pricey's shoulder. Pricey nods and pulls off, jerking PK off the rest of the way. He laughs at PK's come-face, but it's not like PK isn't aware of how stupid he looks when he comes.

"Man," Pricey says, grinning. "You make the dumbest faces when you come. Anyone ever tell you that?"

PK rolls his eyes. "All the time and as recently as yesterday," he says, and Pricey laughs. Pricey doesn't laugh all that often, and PK's sort of glad to be the one to be able to make him. "So... you want me to do something about that?" he asks Pricey, rocking his hips up against Pricey's and feeling him hard through his clothes.

"So... you want to fuck me?" Because Pricey was touching his ass a lot for a guy that wasn't looking to get a piece. Pricey looks down at him, head cocked, face as impassive as when he's facing down pucks and power forwards.

"Maybe some other time," he says, and reaches down to grab PK's hand. He puts it over his crotch, and through Pricey's boxer-briefs, PK gets to feel how hot and hard he is. "Jerk me off, PK," Pricey whispers, rocking his hips forward. Because he's not an idiot, PK's more than happy to oblige.


Sometimes, people will say something like next time even though they don't ever expect to fuck around again. PK's heard it from countless girls he's picked up and more than a few handfuls of teammates. So he's a bit surprised when Pricey comes over to his locker stall and starts ribbing him about pinching up too much on the 5 on 3 drill that PK fucked up earlier. Pricey can laugh, all he had to do today was his preseason tests; PK tells him that and gets a little smile from Pricey.

"Yeah, but I'm still hungry. You want to grab something to eat?" Pricey asks. PK had plans to go out with Larsy and his girlfriend, but even if Pricey's more subtle about it than most of the rookies PK's been fucking lately, he knows what he's really being invited out for.

"Sure," he says, grinning. "Lemme tell Larsy and I'll meet you at your truck?" Pricey nods and walks off, and PK meets up with him outside.

"I remember you liking sushi," Pricey says. "You want?" PK thinks he told Pricey about that last year, during the playoffs when Pricey didn't talk much and PK didn’t stop to make up for it. He nods and climbs into Pricey's truck.

Twangy country music comes out of the speakers, and PK spends the ride to the restaurant ribbing Pricey for his taste in music. They order way more than they need, but Pricey keeps him away from the rice, and PK talks Pricey into eating some octopus and sea urchin.

"So that's your idea of keeping light?" Pricey asks him when they're back at his truck. He reaches out and pats PK's stomach after he says it.

"I won't tell Martin if you don't?" PK says, and Pricey rolls his eyes. "Or I could come back to your place and work it off?"

Pricey laughs. "Jesus, how do you ever get laid?" he asks. "That was the worst pick-up attempt ever."

"You bought me dinner," PK says, opening his door. "I'm assuming you're kind of a sure thing at this point."

Carey fucks him that night. PK doesn't do that with all of the guys he fucks around with. Not because he fucks around with dicks who would think less of him for letting them, but because in PK's experience, a lot of guys don't know what the fuck they're doing and tend to get it wrong a lot. He figures Pricey will take care of him, though, and he's not wrong.

Pricey takes his time opening him up, blowing him while he slicks him up and not skimping on the lube. PK would point out how weird it is that Pricey's so good at this when his blowjob skills are so rusty, but he's way too busy moaning and coming his brains out.

Pricey comes after him, laughing through it. "I just can't take how dumb your face looks when you do that," he says, and PK laughs too.

"I know!" he says, because he does and isn't sensitive about it. It would be a dumb thing to get pissed about, given that he's actually seen himself when he comes. "It's just really not sexy." He mimes it, grunting a bit, and Pricey laughs again.

"You gonna be okay for training camp tomorrow?" Pricey asks. It's a legitimate question. The truth is, PK hasn't done it in a while, and he's definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow. But Pricey's a good guy, and PK knew this would happen, so he just shrugs.

"I'll be fine," he says, stretching out. Pricey's bed is great, big and plush without being too soft.

"Comfortable?" Pricey asks, and the sarcasm in his voice is thick.

"Yeah, actually," PK answers, putting his arms behind his head and grinning. Pricey just shoves him over so he's not taking up half the bed and collapses beside him. There's about half a meter of space between them, and they just lie like that for a bit. PK would think Pricey were sleeping, but he's steadily tapping out a beat on his own stomach. Even that's comfortable, and before PK realizes it, he's been lying around in Pricey's bed with him for nearly an hour.

"Shit," he says when he finally happens to see the clock. "Sorry, man. Don't know where the time went." He rolls off the bed, wincing at the twinge that goes through muscles he's not entirely used to using. He fishes his underwear off the floor and heads for Pricey's bathroom. Before he closes the door, he catches sight of Pricey's reflection in the mirror. He's sitting up and looking back at him. He smiles, the soft one he gets after a win or a really great practice.

"Next time," Pricey says, and swallows when his voice comes out a little hoarse. "Next time, maybe you can fuck me, eh?" It's unexpected, mostly because Pricey is clearly someone who means it when he says 'next time,' but also because Pricey comes across as exactly the kind of uptight control freak who can't properly appreciate a good deep-dicking.

"If you want," PK says with a grin, and lets the door close behind him.


He goes out with Larsy and Patch the next day, and it isn't his idea to call up Pricey and invite him out with them, but he's hardly complaining. Pricey agrees and meets up with them downtown. They end up in a diner, because Pricey's the only one who can afford to spend like he won't possibly be going back to Hamilton in a few weeks, and even then he's kind of a cheapskate.

"I'm not cheap," Pricey says, smacking him with his laminated menu. "My mother just taught me to be careful with my money. Consider that a bit of sage advice from a seasoned veteran to you rookies."

PK laughs out loud at that, and Patches tries to hold off for a while, but he follows soon after. Even Larsy is quietly grinning from his corner of the booth.

"You're all dicks," Pricey tells them. "I'm trying to give you important tips here." There's some raucous laughter a few tables behind them, and when PK looks back, a table full of people are laughing and casting glances back at them. PK's used to people recognizing him around Montreal from the playoffs last year. Between how crazy the city got and being the only black guy in a three block radius at a given time, getting noticed is just part of his life. But this is different. Those aren't oh my god! Those are Habs! I can't wait to tell Twitter! glances. Those are shit-talking and wondering if they can tell glances.

They're being loud, but they're also speaking French, and PK's French is terrible enough that normally he'd be grateful and let it go. Unfortunately, he can easily recognize both Jaro's name and Pricey's, and he's been in Montreal long enough to recognize the way one of them is sneering. Pricey's pretending he can't hear it, but Larsy looks really uncomfortable, and PK wonders how it must feel to have been a part of the trade the entire city can't stop fucking talking about.

"We gonna order?" Pricey asks them, tapping the table. Larsy and Patch immediately turn to look at their menus, but PK looks back at the other table for a second. He catches the eye of one of the men at the table, who looks surprised. PK keeps looking at him long enough to get across that he heard and isn't all that happy before turning back.

"Someone order fries so I can eat some," PK says, and Larsy and Patch shake their heads, probably because they're trying to make the team too.

"It doesn't count as sticking to your diet unless you actually stick to your diet." Pricey looks smug while he says it, but he orders a sandwich with fries, so PK doesn't really care how smug he is.

Larsy and Patch both have places to go afterward, but Pricey offers him a ride home. PK's not sure if he's offering him a ride or offering him a ride, but so long as it’s not too strenuous, he's down for either.

"Where do you live?" Pricey asks, pulling away from the curb. How he found parking downtown that was big enough for his truck is completely beyond PK.

"The Crystal," he says, and Pricey smiles.

"What, still?" he asks.

"I went home over the summer," he explains, shrugging. "And I haven't made the team yet. I could have another year left in Hamilton."

"For playoff hero, PK Subban?" Pricey says.

"Who knows what Jacques and the front office are thinking," he says with a shrug, and Pricey's shoulders go tense.

"I didn't mean it like that," he assures him. "I just meant... with me, for me and... it wasn't about you at all."

Pricey shrugs. "Nah, you've got a good point. It's a crazy organization."

"We'll just have to prove we're worth the shot, right?" PK asks him, and Carey smiles. "Buds won't know what hit them!"

Turns out Carey was just offering him a ride, but when PK brings it up, he's more than willing to come up to his room and fool around. They've got a game in the morning, though, so neither of them are up for anything more involved than jerking each other off.

Pricey's naked on his side and facing him, hand wrapped around PK's dick. PK's got his hand around Pricey too, looking down to watch Pricey's cock sliding in and out of his fist. He looks up to find Pricey watching him. Their eyes meet, and for a second they're just awkwardly sharing breath and staring at each other.

"Are you cool with kissing?" PK asks, and Pricey sort of pulls back. "I know we did before, but it's cool if you're not. I was just asking for clarity," PK assures him, though he's a bit disappointed. Pricey's got a nice mouth, he's pretty sure kissing him would be pretty fucking great.

Pricey rolls his eyes but leans in and presses his mouth to PK's. It's a good kiss, and it gets better when Pricey opens his mouth and bites at PK's lower lip. It's insistent and pushy like Pricey himself, and PK really wants to pat himself on the back for suggesting they give kissing another shot.

"Quit smirking and fucking come already," Pricey whispers against his mouth, and PK does, shuddering through it.


It's not the worst game PK's ever seen. They get pummeled by the fucking Maple Leafs, but at least it isn't the worst game he's ever seen played. He wonders if it's the worst Pricey's ever played, though, and he gets his first taste of just how nasty Montreal can be when the Bell Center boos Pricey off the ice.

Afterward, PK and the boys have to answer to the press, and everyone asks about Pricey's dismal play. Some even baldly ask if he's missing Jaro yet. The questions about Pricey are made worse because Pricey's not talking to them. He showers and dresses by himself, not talking to anyone. His shoulders are tense and his hands are clenched into fists. He looks pissed and about ready to punch something. PK's surprised when he looks up and catches Pricey's eye. Pricey hasn't looked at anyone since he got pulled, not the coaches, not the other guys, not even Josh.

He's even more surprised when Pricey glances toward the exit of the locker room and then looks back at PK. His eyes are hard, mouth set in a harsh line, but PK knows an invite when he sees one, so he nods. He makes his excuses to the rest of the team and then follows Pricey out. Pricey's silent the entire way back to his place, and PK can't decide if this is a great idea or a terrible one, but that's never stopped him before. Why start now?

When they get to Pricey's place, Pricey starts pulling his shirt off as soon as he's inside. His hair is fluffy from not putting product in it after his post-game shower, and pulling his shirt so violently over his head makes it stand up a bit. "So I was thinking I'd collect on your offer to fuck me," he says, and PK frowns.

Technically, Pricey told him they should, next time, but what's really tripping PK up is whether it’s a great idea right now. Pricey's hands are in fists at his sides, and he's already shaking a little. PK wasn't around when Pricey lost it against Boston two years ago or punched out a wall in Vancouver, though he's heard the stories. The other guys tell them so the rookies won't get the wrong idea about him. Gomer personally told him that Pricey was calm and collected but was far from having ice water in his veins. PK hadn't seen it before, but he thinks this might be what he was talking about.

"Have you done that recently?" he asks, and Pricey glares at him.

"I want to do it now. Is that not all right with you?" Pricey shoots back.

PK rolls his eyes. "This is probably gonna hurt," he says, as plainly as possible. "And you're really not in any mood to go easy on yourself or let me go easy on you. Why don't you fuck me instead?"

Pricey looks at him, and PK tries to will him into understanding, into getting it. Maybe it works, or maybe Pricey just wants to get to fucking, because he shrugs. "Whatever," he says, and turns to walk back to his bedroom.

PK follows him, stripping his shirt off along the way, and when he gets to Pricey's room, Pricey's rummaging around in his bedside dresser for condoms and lube. PK unzips his jeans, and he's pulling them down when Pricey comes up behind him. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Pricey's bigger than him. With Pricey pressed up against his back, ducking his head to bite at PK's shoulder and his hard-on poking him in the back through Pricey's clothes, it’s not easy at all.

"PK," Pricey says, rocking his hips against PK's back.

"Yeah," PK answers back stupidly, yanking down his jeans and boxer-briefs. He kicks out of them and moves forward, kneeling on the bed. He's not expecting Pricey to go so easy on him. Not because Pricey's a dick, but because that was a tough loss for him, and PK's not expecting him to be on his game here. He's sloppier with the lube and uses even more than usual, opening PK up with two and then three fingers. It hurts, but it hurts in exactly the way PK likes, more burn and stretch than anything else. Pricey stays bent over him, whispering nonsense into his ear and kissing his neck, fingers working between PK's thighs until he's nearly shaking with it.

"C'mon," PK says, when he feels plenty lubed up and open. He arches back on Pricey's fingers, and Pricey just presses his free hand between PK's shoulder blades and shoves him down against the bed. He holds him there and keeps twisting his fingers around inside him. "I'm ready," he says, voice muffled by the sheets he's practically face-down in but still perfectly audible. "Fuck, Pricey, please."

Pricey never lets him up. He pulls his fingers out, and PK hears him ripping open the condom wrapper and squirting more lube, probably onto his dick -- but he never even eases up the pressure on PK's back. PK's done this often enough that he's not ashamed to say he's into it. Pricey keeps him still like that when he slides his cock inside him, slow and steady and not easing up for a single second. He holds him still like that when he sets up a rhythm, just as steady but a little quicker now, and so fucking deep. PK spreads his legs and moans for him, more than happy to just fucking take it. Pricey doesn't talk much, the occasional 'fuck' or 'Jesus,' but mostly he's just breathing hard and keeping up the same pounding rhythm that's driving PK crazy.

Carey shifts forward, dropping down to the bed so his hands are on either side of PK's head and his front is pressed against PK's back. It changes the angle of Carey's dick inside him, and with Carey's height, like this he's covering PK almost completely. He's in him and on top of him and all around him. PK bites his lip and digs the fingers of one hand into Carey's sheets. He reaches down with the other to wrap around his dick, not bothering to jerk himself, just letting Carey's thrusts fuck his fist. He's so hard already, just from this, the rough pressure of Carey's dick inside him and Carey's body around him.

"PK," Carey whispers. It's the first time he's said PK's name, and his voice sounds more than a little wrecked. PK isn't sure what he's trying to say, but from the way Pricey's hips are stuttering against PK's, he can guess.

"Yeah," he says, and even though he hasn't moved much so far, just let Pricey drive the whole way, he arches back. It's just a tiny roll of his hips, but behind him, Pricey groans. PK feels Pricey's mouth on his shoulder only moments before he sinks his teeth into his skin there. He knows Pricey's coming, pinning PK's hips to the bed with his own and just holding him there, entire body going rigid. Pricey stays there for a few moments. At some point, he stopped biting PK's shoulder, because his forehead is pressed against PK's back, exactly where he'd been holding him down before. Either PK's back or Carey's forehead is really sweaty, but PK has a feeling it’s probably both of them, so he doesn't say anything.

Carey eventually pulls out, holding onto the condom and half-collapsing onto the bed. He squirms around to throw the condom in the trash, and while he's busy, PK crawls up the bed. He's still hard, and he's thinking about jerking himself off when he feels Pricey's hand on his hip. "Lay back," he says, and his eyes look seriously intent.

Pricey blows him like that, leaning over his dick and sucking him deep. He fingerfucks PK while he does it, taking advantage of PK already being lubed and stretched. It's good, really fucking good, especially when Pricey holds down his hips and starts fucking his own mouth on PK's dick, taking him deep enough and hard enough that he gags, spit getting everywhere. Between that and the ruthless twist of Pricey's fingers inside, he can't really figure out which of them is getting fucked, and he really couldn't care less.

He's lying in Pricey's bed afterward, drowsy and looking up at the ceiling. "I should shower," he says, emphatically, to no one.

"Hmmm?" Pricey asks, and he sounds half asleep.

"My ass is covered in KY and my dick is covered with spit," he teases. "I should probably go shower it off."

The bed moves next to him, and when PK turns his head, Pricey's shrugging his shoulders. "If you want?" he says, like its a question. He looks even more half-asleep than usual. PK nods, and it's the last thing he remembers.

He wakes up to Pricey looking at him, and when he turns to check the clock, it's three AM. "Fucking creepy, Pricey," he says. His ass itches. He blames falling asleep covered in lube.

Pricey shrugs and sits up, rolling his shoulders. It gives PK a really good view of his back. It's a nice back. "You make dumb faces in your sleep," he says, which doesn't surprise PK at all. He makes dumb faces no matter what, why should his sleep be any different?

"I'm hungry," he says, and grins. "Feed me."

Pricey turns back to him, rolling his eyes. "What makes you think I have food in my apartment?"

"So cook me something," PK shoots back, rolling out of bed. "Or order something. So long as there's food when I get out of the shower, I'll be happy."

He's really not expecting Pricey to be standing over his stove in boxers and a t-shirt, poking at something in a frying pan with a pair of tongs, when he gets out of the shower. "The hell?" he asks, and Pricey jerks his hand when he looks up, splashing himself with something.

"Fuck!" he shouts, and turns to the sink. He rinses his hand with cold water, and PK steps closer.

"Are you frying something?" he asks.

"I'm making bannock," Pricey answers, looking at his hand. "Don't tell Jacques or the trainers, eh?"

"Like I would," PK answers, jumping up on the counter behind him. There's a bowl next to him with bits of dough stuck to the bottom, and PK can see where Pricey rolled it out on a cutting board. "Looks like a lot of work for a late night snack."

Pricey shrugs. "It's delicious, and you said you'd never had it before."

"It's just fried bread, right?" PK asks, and he can't see Pricey's face because his back’s to him, but he can tell that Pricey's rolling his eyes.

"You only say that because you don't know better," Pricey says, turning to wave the tongs at him. He pulls a few pieces of the fried dough out and sets them on a paper towel off to the side.

"So... can I eat that?" he asks Pricey, and Pricey laughs.

"Jesus, wait a few minutes, PK," he says.

Pricey carries the bannock with him back to his room, and PK's more than willing to follow him. He's a big fan of eating in bed, even if what he's eating is completely new to him. "It's good," he tells Pricey, and Pricey just nods, eating several pieces.

"I grew up on this," he says, finally. "When me and my dad would get back from hockey practice, even if it was really late at night, my mom would make this for us."

PK nods. "My mom would try and leave goat water or pumpkin soup in the fridge for when me and my Dad came back from the rink in the middle of the night." He pauses, swallowing. "Mostly my dad would just take me to Tim Horton's for a ten-pack of Timbits."

Pricey laughs and looks up at him. "Thanks," he says, and gestures kind of vaguely at the bed. "For everything."

PK grins. "I had fun," he says. "You're hot when you're pissed."

Pricey shakes his head, smiling. "Yeah, but I probably shouldn't have taken that out on you."

"Please take it out on me," PK says. "Any time. Literally."

Pricey reaches out and smacks his thigh. "It's not even a big deal, really," he says. "I mean, it’s just the preseason."

PK nods. "Not like they hand out the Cup after the first game," he agrees, and he can see Pricey's shoulders get lighter. PK's never wanted to be a goalie, and he can't imagine being a goalie in Montreal. After the shitstorm this summer over Jaro being traded, he wonders if Pricey feels that way too, sometimes.

The next day, Pricey tells the media to chill out and when he uses PK’s line about the preseason and the Cup, PK grins over at him. He’s more than glad to be so useful.


Training camp is coming to an end, and PK's still with the team. Every day or so, they'll pull someone aside and talk to him behind closed doors, and then they'll be gone. PK started training camp thinking he was a lock for the team, and he hasn't made any major mistakes, but as final decisions come closer and closer, he's starting to sweat it. He liked it in Hamilton, he did, but he knows he could contribute here. He knows that he can compete in the big show, and he wants a full year of it. Last year's playoffs made him hungry, and all he wants is more.

On the last day, the very last day of camp, he gets a nod from the assistant coach to head to the front office when he's done. He wishes he'd worn anything but a t-shirt and jeans today. He didn’t anticipate having to do this, he thought he was home free. Jacques is in the office with Molson when he gets there, and PK shakes hands and tries not to sit down too heavily.

They've got his stats sheets in front of them, little notes scrawled in the margins in French, and PK can't read them at all, but he desperately wishes he could. They talk about his conditioning and how well he's prepared for this year, how much improvement they've seen in his game since they drafted him. There's talk about the shortcomings he still has in his game, his errors in the defensive zone, what could potentially be a turnover problem if he doesn't learn to protect the puck more. They also talk about his offensive upside, his skating skills and strength, his continued improvement in all facets of the game.

PK isn't completely sure he's expecting it when they tell him, "With this in mind, we'd like to extend an invitation to join the Montreal Canadiens for the 2010-2011 season." He sits there, motionless, for a moment before letting a grin break over his face. It’s handshakes all around, and PK feels like he's won the sweepstakes when Molson tells him "Welcome to the team".

When he gets back to the locker room, Larsy and Patch are watching him, and he thinks Pricey might be too. Instead of answering with words, he holds his hands over his head in victory. Apparently more people were paying attention than he thought, because the whole place erupts into applause. There's no practice tomorrow, so he raises his eyebrows almost comically in Pricey's direction, and Pricey rolls his eyes but nods him over.

"You want a ride, PK?" he asks, and PK grabs his bag and grins.

"I definitely want a ride, Pricey," he answers.

As soon as they're inside, Pricey pins him up against his hotel room door at The Crystal. "Oh, I'd love a ride, Pricey," he says, letting his voice go stupidly falsetto in a way PK has never spoken in his life and ducking his head to bite at PK's neck. PK has no complaints against being pinned or bitten, so he just tips his head back to give Pricey better access and lets him do what he wants. "I don't know how you get laid so much."

"Only having sex with people who have low standards helps," he says, trailing his hands up Pricey's back and cupping the back of his head. Pricey's hands are heavy on his hips, gripping tight and holding him flat. Pricey is really fucking strong. PK forgets sometimes that he's not just a professional athlete, he wrestles nearly-wild animals as a hobby. He likes it, though, likes feeling all that strength shoving him up against walls or doors or holding him down.

"I was thinking it's about time you fucked me," Pricey says, before biting his ear, and PK shudders. "Now that you're officially a Canadiens rookie."

Just like PK figured, Pricey's pretty fucking terrible at this part. PK has him on his back, legs spread, so PK can blow him while fingering him open. He's got his mouth around Pricey's dick and his lubed fingers rubbing little circles over Pricey's perineum, but that's as far as they've gotten. PK's about to suggest they scrap the whole idea; he's more than happy just sucking Pricey's dick. Pricey's cock is fucking pretty. He's cut, like most of the guys PK's sucked off, but he curves just a little to the left. PK likes the way that feels inside him, and he loves how sensitive the shaft is. He's perfectly fine keeping this up, or even having Pricey fuck him.

"Okay," Pricey says, and when PK looks up, he nods at him. "Go on, do it." PK does as he says, pressing one lubed finger against Pricey's entrance. He slides his fingers against him a few times, putting just a little more pressure against Pricey's hole each time before pushing inside. Pricey's biting his lip, and PK frowns.

"We don't have to -" he starts, and he's cut off by Pricey's rocking back onto PK's finger.

"I want to," he says. "I just... whatever, I want to." PK smiles and twists his finger around inside of Pricey. It's cute how Pricey can't admit to being an obsessive control freak. "Okay," he says, and bends his head back down to blow Pricey some more, working his finger in deeper. He tries for a second finger, and Pricey's sort of shuddering underneath him. The muscles in his thighs are jumping, and when PK looks up at him, he's clearly moaning silently.

Then Pricey shakes his head and reaches down, shoving PK off his dick. "Don't," Pricey says. "I'm gonna come if you keep that up."

"It might help?" PK answers, because Pricey's always a lot more relaxed after he comes. His hard edges smooth out a bit and part of his collected demeanor drops away.

"I don't like getting fucked after I've come," Pricey explains, and PK nods. He keeps fingering him, twisting two inside of him, and Pricey squirms a bit, rubbing back and forth on them. PK mouths at Pricey's balls for a bit until Pricey pushes him away from doing that too. "Another," he says, biting his lip.

He still feels a bit too tight around PK's fingers, and PK's about to mention this when Pricey rocks himself down. "Do it, PK, C'mon." Pricey's dick is still hard, leaking precome onto his belly, so PK does what he's told. Pricey's thighs shake when PK slides a third lube-slick finger inside of him. He's watching the muscles in Pricey's thighs twitch almost as much as he's watching his fingers sliding into Pricey's body. He leans in, traces his tongue over Pricey's inner thigh, and Pricey nearly shudders.

"Yeah?" he asks, and Pricey's still biting his lip, but he's obviously into it. PK bites Pricey there, listening to him try not to moan, all while he works Pricey open. He doesn't start sucking on purpose; it just sort of happens, and before he realizes, Pricey's groaning and there's a blotchy red and purple mark in the shape of PK's mouth on his inner thigh.

"Fuck, PK, I'm ready. C'mon." Pricey's breathing hard and pulling on the back of PK's neck, trying to haul him up. PK pulls away for a minute to grab a condom and slick his cock, and Pricey groans. "Jesus, fucking fuck me already," Pricey says when PK's finished. PK grins down at him and does what he asks.

Pricey's got his thighs spread and his hips tilted up while PK guides himself into him. Pricey's so tight around his dick, and he's biting his lip so hard that PK stops, keeps his hips still despite wanting to thrust forward. "Pricey?" he asks, reaching down to rub his thumb over Pricey's hip. Pricey's still biting his lip, and now PK's nervous.

"Let's just do something else, Pricey.” He starts pulling out, but Pricey reaches out, grabbing PK's thigh so hard it hurts. "Carey?" PK asks, confused.

"Keep going," Carey says. "I wasn't... it’s different than I was expecting, is all, keep going. I like it." Carey's got that stubborn set to his jaw, but he really does seem to mean it.

PK tries to go slow, let Carey get used to it, but Carey's not having it. "Deeper," he says, arching his hips some more. Carey's still gripping tight to PK's thigh, hard enough that PK's pretty certain there's going to be a bruise, and basically making it impossible for PK to do anything but exactly what Carey's asking for. He flexes his hips, fucking deep, and Carey moans for him.

"C'mon," Carey says, and shifts his leg up higher on PK's hip. It keeps him spread open so PK doesn't have to worry about too much friction or getting the angle wrong. It looks like it should be awkward for Carey, though, until PK remembers how stupidly flexible Carey is. Fucking goalies. PK gives it to him as deep as he's asking for, and when Carey asks for it harder, he does that too.

It's worth it for the look on Carey's face, the way he moans and demands more. Carey starts jerking himself off not long after, finally letting go of PK so he can take care of himself, and that's hot too. "Drop your hips," Carey whispers. He's arching his hips just a bit, clearly looking for something specific.

"Next time," PK says, doing what Carey says, "next time you're just going to ride my dick so you can do all this for yourself. I'll slick on a condom and lay back, and you can use me exactly -" Carey arches his hips, coming before PK can finish. He looks down at Carey, at his come on his stomach and his dick still in his hand, and grins. It figures Carey would get off thinking about that. Fucking control freak.

"You want me to pull out?" he asks, because Carey said he didn't like this after he's come.

Carey shakes his head. "You can keep going for a bit. I'll tell you." PK goes back to fucking him for a few minutes before Carey starts shaking his head. Then he pulls out and ditches the condom so Carey can jerk him off. He comes all over Carey's stomach, almost exactly where Carey came on himself, and he can't help but reach down and run his fingers through it.

"Gross," Carey says, brushing PK's hand away. "Can I grab a shower?"

"Yeah, sure," PK says, flopping down onto his bed. He stares at the ceiling and listens to Carey in the shower. He doesn't take long; it’s not like he was all that dirty.

"I'm going to have to find a place to live, huh?" he asks Carey as soon as Carey's out of the shower. He's got his towel tied low around his hips and his hair is wet.

"Huh?" Carey asks, using another one of PK’s towels to dry his hair.

"Now that I'm actually on the team," he says. "I probably need to move out of The Crystal."

Carey drops his towel and grabs his clothes off the floor. He shrugs. "It's a lot better having your own place to come home to," he says. "Especially after a long road trip or a rough loss."

He has a point. PK shrugs. "Yeah, I know. I just suck at this sort of thing. I'll probably have to wait ‘til my mom can come up so she can help deal with it."

Carey raises his eyebrows, and PK rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Carey. I'm a busy guy! And my mom loves that stuff."

"Yeah, well," Carey says, pulling his underwear on. "If you change your mind and don't want to wait for your mommy before you get your own place, let me know. I did just get my place. I can hook you up with my realtor. He really helped with finding places that didn't cost too much in decent neighborhoods. And he was really cool about me wanting more English-speaking neighborhoods."

"Oh, yeah," PK says, because he honestly hasn't thought about having to point it out that he wants to live somewhere people speak English, or that that might not be a popular thing to say. The last thing he needs right when he's finally made the roster is to make all the papers for snubbing French neighborhoods. "Thanks, Carey."

Carey shrugs. "I could help you find a place?" he offers. "I mean, I did just do all of this for myself. And God knows you'd probably fuck it up."

"Thanks, Carey," PK says, sarcastically. He kicks out at Carey's hip, but Carey catches his foot. He just stands there for a few seconds before leaning down and in to kiss PK's knee. He's wearing his boxer-briefs and an undershirt, and PK's still naked, so it feels different and a little strange when Carey drops down over him on the bed. He kisses PK's inner thigh, then moves up to kiss his hip and then his belly, just below one of his nipples and over his neck and jaw. He stops when he gets to PK's mouth, and PK stares up at him.

Carey stares at him for a few moments before leaning and kissing him, deep and wet and awesome, just like PK likes. "I better get going before I end up having to take another shower," he says, and PK grins.

"I could take it with you," he suggests, flopping down onto his back and cupping Carey's hip.

"Some other time," Carey says, and kisses him one last time before getting up off the bed and getting dressed.

"So basically, I was wondering if you could help out, find him a place kind of like mine," Carey's telling his realtor, Jim. Jim's nodding and smiling, like PK would expect, and he's hoping this doesn't take too long.

"I actually have a really full client list,” Jim says with a small frown, and PK barely holds back a groan. "But my colleague Karen can definitely help you out."

Carey shrugs, and PK nods. "I was hoping, hmm, well, I'd expect, that is -" He stumbles over what he's trying to say, because he honestly can't fathom how to say I want to live where people speak English, and I don't want the media hearing that I didn't even want to look anywhere else because that would be a PR nightmare for me and the team in a nice way.

"The places I look at, the stuff I ask for? I don't want that getting out?" he says, and Jim nods.

"As with all of our clients, we'll be very discreet, Mr. Subban."

Carey snorts at that, and PK can admit that it's weird to be called Mister, but he reaches out to smack him anyway.

Karen is great: she listens patiently to PK's rambling list of stuff he'd like and is really understanding about wanting to be able to understand what people are saying around him. PK feels really bad about it. He feels like he's letting down his French teacher and French fans just by asking to be in English districts, but Carey assures him it's okay, so he tries to be okay with it.

"So where's your place?" PK asks when he's looking at a map of the primarily English-speaking neighborhoods. Carey smiles and points toward Old Montreal, and PK focuses on the listings Karen showed him nearby.

"These two are the closest to Mr. Price, have the amenities you wanted and are mostly within your price range," Karen says, and PK grins.

"So let's go see them," he says, and then turns to Carey. "You coming?"

Carey rolls his eyes. "I guess I'm a step up from your mommy tagging along to help you make grown up decisions."

PK decides on the apartment closest to Carey's and tries not to think about having to buy furniture and stuff now. "Big screen, right there," he tells Carey, holding out his hands. "Something huge that we can play video games on, not like the tiny one you have. I swear you're like someone's grandmother."

"He needs to sign stuff, right?" Carey asks with a put-upon sigh. PK flips him off but comes to sign the papers Karen has for him anyway. He has an apartment now, in Montreal... it feels like a huge step, like suddenly he's really doing this. "Hey, Denzel!" Carey snaps his fingers in front of his face, and PK snaps his attention back to Carey and the papers he's supposed to be signing. "Forget how to spell your own name?"

"You're a funny guy, Carey," PK says, sticking his tongue out at him, but goes back to signing his name where Karen points.

A couple days later, PK’s sitting on the new couch he had to buy when his phone rings. “Do you think phone sex counts as cheating?” Johnny asks, when PK answers it. It’s kind of late at night, and PK wishes he’d let it go to voicemail.

“I think the better question is if your girlfriend does,” PK replies, because he remembers that Johnny’s seeing some girl in New York and it seems pretty serious.

“Probably,” Johnny says and sighs. “What’s new with you?”

“Got an apartment here in Montreal,” PK tells him.

“Holy shit, for real, Subby?” Johnny asks. He sounds surprised.

“I can get an apartment,” PK replies, defensively.

“But your mom wasn’t in town or anything!” Johnny’s laughing when he says it and PK wishes he were there to punch.

“This coming from the guy that had to have Doug Weight choose his house for him?” PK asks.

“Hey now,” Johnny says. “Dougie just knows more about Long Island, you know?” PK just laughs.

“So tell me more about what Dougie knows about Long Island or whatever,” PK says and sits back while Johnny goes on and on about his teammates, his place in Long Island and way more than PK assumes anyone could say about Doug Weight. He listens and laughs at how lame Johnny is now, glad the NHL hasn’t changed him very much.


The season starts for real, and it's against the Leafs. That's good, starting with their rivalry against the Leafs and being able to shake the last game against them at the same time. He repeats that to himself a couple hundred times on game day, trying to psych himself up without psyching himself out.

"Nervous, rookie?" Gio asks before the game and taps him on the shins with his stick.

"Nah," PK says, shaking his head. "I'm good." He feels like he might puke, but he gets a grip on it. He's played hockey games before. He's played NHL games, for fuck's sake.

He's gripping his stick a little hard that night, and the Air Canada Centre is going nuts for the home team. PK can't say he doesn't make mistakes, and he's pissed at himself when they end up losing the game. They do better the next night, against the Pens, but PK just wants to get back to Montreal and redeem himself in the home opener.

Gio's French is lousy and he trips all over the pronunciation, but no one really seems to give a damn. The fans shout and scream for everyone, and PK's more than a little surprised at how fucking loud they get for him. Only Pricey gets a louder ovation, and PK feels guilty for a second, because he hasn't done anything yet. He waves to the crowd and they don't know, but he promises them he'll earn this.

They lose the home opener to Tampa fucking Bay, and it’s Boucher leading them, coaching them, and PK tries not to pay attention to that, just tries to play his game, but Hal is still in his face between shifts.

"Head out of your ass, PK," he says, and PK nods and tries to do better next shift. Gorgey grabs Carey after the game and talks loudly about getting a night off from the children, grown-ups only, which means PK's definitely not getting lucky with Carey tonight. That's cool, though, because Larsy, Patch and Weber all invite him out for a drink.

"Counter against the old-folks home social!" Patch shouts, loud enough for Gorgey and Gomer to hear it across the locker room. The media's gone, so Gomer flips them off.

Patch is even funnier when he's had a few, and as soon as Larsy's started drinking, he forgets to be over-nice and his accent slips hilariously. PK feels bad for Carey, getting roped into the old-folks dinner with all the old guys on the team.

"Old dudes suck," he says, possibly out loud. He's a little drunk so he can't be sure.

"Definitely!" Patch agrees, which means he definitely said it out loud. Or Patches gets super powers when he's been drinking.

"To young blood!" Larsy says, raising his beer. Patch, Webs and PK all clink beer bottles and keep the party going.

PK isn't exactly hungover in practice, but he's not nearly as sharp in two-on-ones, and Martin calls him out for it. He has a point, even if he is still better than a lot of the other d-men at skating.

"Rough night?" Carey asks with a grin, and PK smirks.

"If you'd come with us instead of the old men, you'd know," he says. He stretches a bit, trying to loosen up his legs. "Who knows how much worse my skating would be if you had? Honestly, though, Patch is a beast. Don't let the quiet exterior fool you.”

Carey frowns at him, but PK just grins and gets back to practice, concentrating on working hard enough that Gio and Hal won’t call him out for being hungover. He tries not to cheer when they start in on shooting drills.

It's stupid, really, PK’s just looking to give Carey hell and tries to one-time it over Carey's glove side. He winds up for his shot and lets go. It's fucking sailing toward Carey and is honestly going way too hard for practice, but Carey doesn't even flinch. Carey elevates his glove and catches it effortlessly out of the air, to the cheers and whistles of the rest of the team.

"Nice one, Pricey," he says with a smile, and Carey shrugs, so PK skates toward him. He lifts his hand for a high-five, and Carey puts his glove out down low, smirking. They do it Carey's way and PK low-fives him, only he puts some flair on it and does it three times. The team cheers at that too, and when PK looks over, Gomer's laughing.

Their next win, it just seems like a thing to do. He goes up to Carey and holds his hand down low. Carey laughs, but he does it with him, three low-fives while the crowd roars and cheers. He does it again, and it just becomes a thing, him and Carey triple low-fiving after every victory.


There's more than a few wins throughout October, but there's a lot of losses too. It's frustrating, and PK tries to play harder to make up for it and ends up taking dumb penalties that cost the team, which then makes him try even harder, and it’s some sort of vicious cycle.

The media talks about his uneven play, his need for seasoning and discipline, all while talking up more ice-time for Webs. PK likes Webs, he thinks he's a great defenseman -- but he's not about to just give up on top minutes. He knows he has something to offer here.

Then they play the Flyers, and Mike Richards starts in on how he's disrespectful and hasn't earned anything. It’s some serious bullshit. PK respects hockey and he respects the NHL, how could he not? This is all he’s wanted to do since he was a little kid. He didn’t stay out until two in the morning as a child, practicing, because he disrespected the league.

As usual, the Montreal media eat it up. They’re there with microphones and cell phone cameras to capture the whole thing and send it back to Montreal in two languages. And suddenly reporters are questioning if he’s honestly earned his place on this roster. If he truly respects what hockey is supposed to be about.

He's in his hotel room, watching everyone talk about it on NHL On The Fly, when Carey comes in. He just sort of barges in, like he has a keycard or something.

"What the fuck?" he asks, and Carey shrugs and heads over to PK's suitcase. "Ever hear of knocking? I could have been jerking off or changing or something."

Carey looks up and stares at him for a second, and PK starts to feel like someone's pearl-clutching grandma. "Yeah, seeing you naked would be terrible. It’s not like I see you naked all the time." Carey shakes his head, and PK crosses his arms.

"Why are you going through my stuff? Nothing I own is going to fit you." Carey's a big motherfucker, and PK's not small, but Carey would look like he grew after dressing if he wore anything of PK's.

"We're going out," Carey tells him, and PK frowns.

"I don't want a night out with the guys," he says, because it’s not like he gives a fuck what Mike Richards thinks of him, but... he kind of does. He wants to be alone, possibly break into the mini-bar and sulk.

Carey shakes his head. "Just us, PK," he says, and when PK looks up, he shrugs. "Whatever. Bad enough I have to watch you cry into your beer, I'm hardly subjecting someone else to it." He shoves PK in the shoulder, and PK shoves back, and that's it, they're going out.

PK does end up doing more than some light bitching between drinks, and Carey laughs at PK's terrible Mike Richards impression, nudging his side, which makes PK feel a lot better. On their way out, PK sort of steers Carey toward the side of the bar, away from the street, and Carey lets him. They both have road roommates waiting for them back at the hotel; if they're going to do something, here will have to do.

PK wants to hit his knees, suck Carey off while Carey's pressed up against the alley wall. Carey pulls him in, though, tilting PK's face up to kiss him and using his other hand to grip tight to PK's hip. Carey tastes like beer and Jack and he's holding onto him so tightly, kissing deep. It's not what PK was expecting, but he's more than happy to go with it. He rests his hands on Carey's hips and lets Carey do his thing, kissing back and opening his mouth when Carey's tongue slides against the seam of his lips. Carey's an amazing kisser, and he feels so good against him, warm and broad, and even under the scent of cheap beer, he smells so great.

PK's eyes are closed and both of Carey's hands are on his face, keeping it tilted up and running his thumbs over PK's jaw, when there's a commotion at the mouth of the alley. They both pull away, and PK's stomach drops when he looks out toward the street. It’s just a bunch of kids stumbling around, and PK can breathe, but Jesus, that was close.

"We should go," Carey says, and PK doesn't know if he brushes their hands against each other on purpose or not, but he likes it. They grab a cab to head back to the hotel and keep their hands to themselves, because this is officially no longer the time for fucking around.

"Thanks," PK says, once they're at the hotel. Carey's room is at the other end of the hall, so it’s time to split up. "For... for everything. Thanks." Carey smiles, the soft one PK doesn't get to see near enough of. "You're a great friend, Carey." Carey looks at him a little funny for that, frowning weirdly but he doesn’t say anything so PK heads back to his room, feeling so much lighter than he did before.

It was actually kind of incredibly stupid to try and make out with Carey in public, and PK knows that, but it was also kind of hot, too. The way Carey was the one manhandling PK despite being pushed against a wall, how aggressive he was about it, just keeping PK’s face tilted just so and not letting it go any further than kissing.

He sneaks back into his room and strips down, trying not to wake his roommate, who’s already asleep. He thinks about Carey’s mouth against his, Carey’s tongue and the heat of his body along PK’s, and wraps his hand around his dick. He gets off like that, thinking about the way Carey stroked his cheeks and how hot it would have been if Carey had let him suck him off right there.

Martin pulls him into his office the first night they're back to talk about the 'Mike Richards Incident,' as the Montreal media are calling it. PK fucking hates feeling guilty for doing his job. He played hockey in Philly, and sure, maybe he went a little far, but it's not like he's suddenly Avery. Martin suggests he cool it a little, calm his game down and concentrate more on his own end than his opponents’. "You're young and talented, PK," Martin tells him. "And this is Montreal. Of course everyone's paying attention to you. We have faith in you, though. We wouldn't have you here if we didn't."

PK feels kind of dumb for how much better that makes him feel. Stupid and so, so young, like Carey always ribs him for being. PK knows he's new in the NHL, but he's been playing hockey professionally since he was 16. He knows a team like the Habs wouldn't take a chance on him if they didn't think he brought something.

He focuses during practice, psyching himself up for the next game. He concentrates on making sure his passes are crisp and his skating is perfect. Hal comes up to him while they're practicing two-on-ones and gives him some suggestions for following the play as it develops.

It actually feels like Hal's there a lot, offering him suggestions, instructions and generally telling him what to do. PK would be annoyed at being coddled, he's gotten a talking-to by coaches before, he knows how to handle himself, but Hal's got some good advice. He's funny and kind of a dick with his advice, but his area of expertise is exactly what PK needs help with: his own zone.

"Hey," Carey says, when Auldy is in net, taking shots. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight? I'm thinking about barbecuing."

PK grins at the idea of Carey in front of a grill, wondering if his barbecue would be as delicious as his bannock. "Sorry, Pricey," he says, though. "I've got plans."

Carey frowns, and PK nudges him. "Sorry, man. Five minutes earlier and I'd be there, but Hal got here first."

"Hal?" Carey sounds a little like he's choking. "Hal Gill?"

"Yeah, Hal," PK says, confused. "A billion feet tall, American, wears an 'A'?"

"But he's married!" Carey hisses.

"It's not like it’s catching, Carey," he says, because Carey just had a night out with all the old, married dudes on the team. He's got no room to be judging PK getting a drink with Hal.

"Whatever," Carey says, shaking his head. "None of my business. Have fun out with Hal, I guess." Carey skates away before PK can ask him why he wouldn't have fun with Hal. PK is a fun guy, and Hal may be old and married and the type to go to bed early, but he's sort of fun too.

He does actually have a good time. Hal is apparently buying, and he tells him hilarious stories about his time with the Bruins, and some less funny stories about his time playing college hockey. They’re kind of obviously meant to make PK feel better about his own mistakes, but they’re honestly too specific to really work.

"I wasn't in serious trouble, because that's bad, and you should make absolutely certain to never get into any sort of serious trouble, PK, but sometimes, my coach or the school paper would get on me. I say the school paper when I really mean a particular writer for the sports section of the school paper. He really hated me, said I stole his girlfriend. I wasn't even dating her, he was just a terrible boyfriend. But the point is, there have been times where everyone was down on me and I just had to get through it."

PK smiles and flags down the waiter. "He'll have another drink," he tells him, gesturing at Hal with his head. "One for me too." It’s a good night out with Skillsy, even his ‘life lessons’ are pretty funny and PK’s glad to be clicking this much with one of the team’s vets.

PK is used to a grinding hockey schedule, and he knows how quickly the first dozen or so games can pass right by. He knows this, and yet he's still shocked to look at the calendar and see that it's already nearly December. Sure, Montreal is reminding him constantly that winter is here, but it's still a surprise.

"Time flies, huh?" Carey asks when PK mentions it. Carey's grinning like an asshole when he says it, because PK was waiting outside his condo when he got home and is shivering -- it isn't snowing yet, but it's close. PK knows he has only himself to blame, he's the one who insisted on getting laid even though Carey was hanging out with Gorgey tonight, but still. He hovers behind Carey while he unlocks the door to his building, and once they're inside, PK never wants to leave this building again.

"You said 11," PK tells him once they're in the elevator. He has his arms wrapped around himself and still feels like he's freezing. "I didn't even get here until nearly 11:30. Hunching around in my coat against your building? I'm amazed no one called the cops."

Carey looks at him from across the elevator car, frowning. "Wow, you were really waiting that long? Because it's after midnight."

"Believe me, I know," he shoots back, rubbing his own arms.

They get to Carey's floor and Carey unlocks the door to his place, and as soon as PK's inside and the door's closed, Carey puts his arms around him from behind. He leans in, presses his mouth against PK's neck, just behind his ear. "Jesus, your skin is freezing!" Carey says, pulling away.

PK rolls his eyes and turns around. Carey's wearing a plaid shirt and faded jeans under that big leather coat of his, and he doesn't look cold at all. He does look sorry, though, so PK just leans in again. "What do you think I've been trying to say?" he asks. Carey's mouth is warm against his when he leans up for a kiss, but Carey doesn't pull away this time.

"C'mon," Carey says, reaching out to grab the lapels of PK's coat. "Let's warm you up."

"And you say I have lame pick-up lines," PK replies, but goes with him -- he waited around in the cold for over half an hour to get laid, he's not leaving without it.

"This is the problem with you Southern boys," Carey says once they're both naked and Carey's on top of him. Carey can't seem to decide between rubbing his hands up and down PK's arms and legs to warm him up or just covering PK's body with as much of his own as possible while he kisses the taste out of PK's mouth, so he keeps switching off between both. PK can't say he minds; Carey's skin is so warm it feels like he's on fire, but in the best way possible.

"What's that?" he asks, a bit too late. Carey looks up from kissing PK's neck with a little smile.

"None of you boys from down south can take the cold," he says, and then leans in to fit his mouth against PK's before PK can defend himself or Toronto.

Carey fucks him like that, on his back with his legs spread wide, angling just right inside of him. PK rocks down and is more than a little surprised when Carey lets him. He doesn't try to hold down his hips or control the angle at all, just lets PK do what he wants to get the angle how he wants it.

There's a lot of kissing, though. Carey holds his mouth against PK's skin wherever he can. He buries his face against PK's neck, biting and sucking at his throat. PK reaches down, jerking himself furiously because this is so hot and he needs to come.

"Carey, fuck," he whimpers brokenly, and Carey bites down hard on his neck. PK comes moments later, eyes closed and his entire body shaking with it. He feels Carey pull back, but he doesn’t stop fucking him, so PK can't complain. When he opens his eyes, Carey's watching him, hips moving slower, and PK feels a little self-conscious, even though they've established that his face is stupid when he comes.

"C'mon," he says, squeezing either side of Carey's hips with his knees and rocking down hard. It feels fucking amazing. Intense and overwhelming, and it's not like PK's never been fucked after coming before, but it's like Carey takes it as permission and drops back over him, putting his full weight into his thrusts, and PK can't believe how amazing it feels. He feels like swearing but can't manage anything more than low moaning, every time Carey rubs up just right inside of him. It's not long before Carey's hips are stuttering, and then he freezes, coming inside of him.

Carey has tissues next to his bed, and PK uses them to clean up while Carey ditches the condom. His entire body feels loose, and he aches in exactly the right way. It's kind of the best feeling, and he stretches out in Carey's bed and closes his eyes to enjoy it. He opens them again once he feels the mattress dip next to him, and Carey's on his side, watching him. "Sorry," Carey says, reaching out to run his hand over PK's stomach. "Gorgey wanted to grab one last game of darts, and I didn't know you were waiting around, and it's not like I really could have ducked out if I did."

PK shrugs. "I think you more than made it up to me," he says, smiling. "And if you were up in game wins, it's not like Gorgey would have ever let that go. Man's relentless."

Carey laughs and PK can feel it, through the bed and the hand Carey still has on his stomach. "Carey, man. I'm really sorry but I'm about to pass out," he says. "You mind if I crash here?" Carey looks surprised, so PK nudges him with his foot. "C'mon, don't send me back out in the cold," he says, and Carey just nods. "Sweet. Thanks."

"Whatever," Carey says, and he might say something else, but PK's falling asleep fast and doesn't hear a word of it.

They play the Oilers, and PK makes some seriously awful fucking mistakes. He turns over the puck in his own zone and practically gift-wraps the win for them. He's furious at himself, and even Hal asking him out for another drink can't calm him down.

"Everyone's going to have bad nights, PK," Larsy tells him, but PK doesn't feel like being comforted or told it'll be fine, so he just leaves. He'll be better next time, he has to be.

His phone rings when he’s lying around feeling sorry for himself. It’s Johnny’s number, and PK almost doesn’t answer it because he just doesn’t feel up to being cheered up. “So, TSN tells me you had a rough game against Edmonton, eh?” Johnny asks.

“Ugh,” PK says, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in a pillow.

“Cheer up, PK,” Johnny says. “I think you suck every game. So if you think about it, TSN is really complimenting you for all the games you sucked and they didn’t bother to say anything about it.”

“You’re all heart, Johnny,” PK tells him, but it makes him laugh, so he is actually sort of grateful.

“Well, I’d give you a pity phone-fuck but… you know,” Johnny replies.

“And how are things with Miranda?” PK asks.

“Melissa,” Johnny corrects. “And they’re good, you know? Like… really good.”

“You sound like an idiot just talking about her,” PK tells him.

“I… I think I love her,” Johnny says, and he half-whispers it, like it’s a secret. “I’m… Dougie and his wife are coming over to have dinner with us next week.”

“Introducing her to the object of your daddy-kink affections, eh?” PK says. “Must be serious.”

“I don’t… Dougie is like my new stepdad or uncle or something,” Johnny argues.

“I’ve totally seen that porno.” PK laughs.

“It’s not like that!” It wouldn’t be believable in general, because PK’s met Johnny and heard him talk about Doug Weight more than once, but Johnny’s voices goes up at the end, making him sound like he did when he used to deny his massive boner for Steve Yzerman.

“Sure it isn’t,” PK says and makes certain he doesn’t sound like he believes it at all.

“You’re crap in the sack as well as at defense,” Johnny shoots back. “I mean it. Also you’ve got a pencil dick.”

“Never got any complaints,” PK replies. He missed doing this with Johnny. He should call him more often. When he hangs up his phone, after Johnny’s insulted him a little bit longer, he feels a lot better.


He's still feeling a bit raw during practice, and he knows that's the only reason he lets Pleky's jabs about his lateness get to him. He isn't late; he just doesn’t see the point in being an hour early for everything, either.

"Have a better attitude," Pleky adds. "Be more serious." PK rolls his eyes. He takes his game plenty serious, he doesn't have to be as dry as Pleky to be good.

"Your mom should be more serious," he chirps back instead, and it’s really lame, but fuck Pleky. Pleky looks like he's going to try and make something of it, but Martin whistles for their board battle drill to start up.

He gets to the rink on game-day against the Devils and finds out he's being scratched that night. Martin says all the right things about how much he believes in PK's talent, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. It's nothing compared to how he feels when the team wins it. He wants the team to win, wins mean points, and everything they're doing is building up toward the postseason. But he wants to help the team win, he wants to be a part of all of that, and he's never felt further away than watching the team celebrate on the ice without him.

He's scratched again against the Sharks, and PK knows Martin hates to mess with winning line-ups, but he can't help but be broken up about it. He sees the boys off onto the ice, and Hal smacks the back of PK's calf when he passes by, so PK assumes he must look pretty upset.

They win again, finally breaking the awful pattern they've been in of win-one, lose-one, and PK's so happy for the team, happy they're winning, but he'd give anything to be a part of it. He waits around downstairs in the players’ garage, until everyone's left but Carey. The press loves keeping him late, talking about his game and improvements as though they hadn't written columns demonizing him over the summer.

Carey comes out in his suit, hair still wet from the shower, and PK's leaning against his truck with a hard grin. "Hey, PK," Carey says, pulling at his tie to loosen it.

"Hey," PK answers, pushing up from Carey's truck. "I was hoping I could grab a ride?" He can see how clumsy an excuse it is from the way Carey smirks, but he comes along the passenger side and unlocks it. He holds open PK's door, gesturing him inside, and it’s so dickish and so Carey that PK actually feels a little better. He climbs in, and Carey closes the door for him and comes around the other side.

"You okay?" Carey asks once he gets into the truck with him, and PK glances around the garage for a second before leaning in, grabbing Carey's tie to haul him closer and kissing him. Carey lets him, kissing back for a minute before pulling away. "PK, what," he starts, and PK cuts him off by reaching for Carey's fly. He unzips him and reaches into his underwear, pulling him out.

"Keep an eye out, Carey," he says and then leans forward, bending over the center console, and closes his mouth around him.

"Fuck," Carey says, and PK feels his hands settle on the back of his head. PK closes his eyes and hums in the back of his throat, letting his tongue slide over the underside of Carey's dick. When PK takes him in a bit deeper, Carey groans and arches his hips, and between that and the way Carey's holding his head, it forces him even deeper than PK intended to take him.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Carey apologizes, forcing his hips still and sort of petting the back of PK's neck. PK shakes his head, reaching up to push Carey's hands against the back of his head, because that actually sounds great. The way PK's feeling, this hurt, raw feeling in his chest, letting Carey drive and getting his mouth fucked sounds like a perfect idea.

He keeps his hands pressed against Carey's on his head and goes down deep again, willing Carey to understand how much he really, really wants this. "You sure?" Carey whispers, and PK nods and opens his mouth wide.

PK doesn't really have long enough hair for Carey to grab hold of it and pull, so instead he just holds the back of his neck, fingers tight against PK's skin. Carey isn't tentative, rocking his hips up, pushing his cock into PK's open mouth, and PK takes it. He opens his mouth wide, keeping his teeth pulled back and closing his eyes, letting Carey do whatever he wants.

Carey does exactly what he asks for, he rocks up and up, pushing himself deeper and fucking PK's mouth. All PK can smell and taste is Carey, and he's not hard, but he honestly thinks he could get there without too much encouragement. It's hot and somehow, it’s honestly making him feel better.

"PK," Carey groans, tapping the top of his head. PK doesn't bother to pull off, though, and when Carey comes a few seconds later, he surprises himself by swallowing.

He pulls off and sits up, glancing over at Carey, who's got his eyes closed. "A lot of good you are as a lookout," PK teases, voice raspy and raw. Carey holds up his middle finger. "Later, Pricey. Jesus, you're like a machine." It doesn't exactly hurt to talk, except for how it kind of does. His throat hurts, and he could use a glass of water, both for the raw feeling and to wash the taste of Carey's come out of his mouth.

It tastes weird, not bad, but not great either, and PK's amazed by how not terrible it is. He doesn't really swallow. Ever. And he's sucked a lot of dick. It just seemed like the thing to do and isn't really a big deal.

"You sound terrible," Carey tells him and reaches into his back seat and comes back with an unopened bottle of water. PK's so, so grateful to see it. He grabs for it, twisting the top off.

"I could kiss you," PK says before opening his mouth and pouring some into his mouth. He doesn't even bother trying to drink it, just swishes it around in his mouth for a second before opening his door and spitting it out next to Carey's truck. His mouth tastes a little better now, at least. He closes his door and leans back with the bottle, taking sips. Carey starts up the car and they head out together, Carey driving them toward his place without really asking.

"You could, you know," Carey tells him when they're halfway there. He glances over for a second before staring straight forward at the road again.

"Huh?" PK asks, stupidly. This seems kind of important.

Carey isn't blushing, and PK doubts he ever did, but he stares straight forward and won't look at him. "Kiss me," he clarifies. "After you... I like it." PK nods, because whatever.

"Fine by me," he says, and Carey smiles and switches gears before taking the exit toward his neighborhood.

Carey invites him over after a late afternoon practice. It's probably going to be one of their last chances to hang out before their crazy Christmas schedule, and PK's glad they've got the chance. "Hurry up," he tells Carey, while Carey's unlocking the door to his building. It's freezing balls out and PK left his gloves and scarf back at the rink.

"Baby," Carey says, and deliberately turns the lock even more slowly. PK crashes into the lobby behind him and stabs at the elevator button up to Carey's floor.

"Dick," he shouts at Carey with a grin, once they're inside his apartment. He peels off his jacket, and Carey flips him off while heading for his computer.

"I'm ordering in, chicken cool with you?" he asks, and PK nods.

"Get yourself some mashed potatoes so I can eat some off your plate," he says, kicking his shoes off by the door. The trainers are giving him a lot more shit lately about eating right, and considering the dogfight he's in with Webs for minutes,he’s been trying harder to stick to the diet they gave him. But it doesn't count if Carey's the one who's ordering potatoes.

"No," Carey shouts back, clicking on something on his computer. "It seriously isn't sticking to your diet unless you actually don't eat what the trainers tell you not to." PK sticks his tongue out at the back of his head and throws himself down on Carey's couch. "Don't break my couch being an asshole," Carey adds.

"Whatever, Carey," he says, and reaches for the remote. He starts channel surfing, noting out of the corner of his eye when Carey gets up from his computer and heads back toward his bedroom. He didn't say anything about PK joining him, though, so PK doesn't take it as an invite.

There is nothing worth watching. He's passing some rerun of what might be the rodeo when Carey walks back in. "Go back to that," he says, nodding at the television. He's wearing sweat pants and an old t-shirt that reads Nimpo to Anahim Lake - Annual Canoe Race 1999 in faded lettering. When he sits down next to PK on the couch and reaches across to take the remote out of PK's hand, his sleeve slides against the skin of PK's arm, and he's surprised by how soft Carey's shirt feels.

It's distracting, and that's why PK doesn't put up a fight for the remote until it's already out of his hand. "Wait, what?" he asks, and reaches for it back. "No, come on, Carey. You've probably already watched this a million times!"

"There's no way there's something better on right now," Carey tells him, setting the remote down on his other side. He has a point, a good one, considering PK just channel surfed to find that out for himself, so he just gives in and leans back against the couch. He doesn't really care what's on the TV anyway. They're at the point in the season where he has to stop pretending he can actually follow TV shows regularly. Rodeo really isn't interesting, though, more repetitive and boring, and even the couch being comfortable and warm can't make up for that.

He opens his eyes because the couch is getting up. Except that makes no sense. He blinks a few times before realizing that 1) it's Carey getting up which 2) woke him up from where he'd apparently 3) fallen asleep on Carey's shoulder. Carey's padding barefoot across the room to the door, stretching out his arm like it was asleep too. He answers the door with his wallet, and it’s just Carey paying the delivery guy, nothing important or interesting at all, so PK turns away and tries to shake the sleep-fog in his head.

He's still feeling extra sleep-stupid, but since Carey's grabbing dinner, he figures he can at least grab plates, forks and all of that stuff, so he does. He's more than a little impressed with how well he knows Carey's kitchen and pats himself on the back for remembering to grab water out of the fridge.

"Thanks," Carey says when he hands him the plates. They set back up on the coffee table, resuming their spots from before, only this time with food. The fucking rodeo is still on, but it’s a little easier to follow now that he's eating.

"So that guy on the right, that's what you do?" PK asks Carey before stuffing some spinach into his mouth.

"Yeah," Carey says, before swallowing and nodding. "See, the Heeler ropes the hind legs."

"This one any good?" PK asks, because he can't tell. Obviously he gets the rope loop around the cow's back legs and stuff, but PK has no idea if that's all they have to do.

"Yeah, see the way he swung the rope there?" Carey points, and PK nods because he does, sort of. "Right, so that saves time but is still a good throw, so it's good."

"So... best time wins?" PK asks.

Carey nods. "Yup, best time wins, so cooperation is key. It's like in hockey, you don't do it all by yourself, you've got a D-partner and the forwards have their linemates. Coordination is how you win." PK watches a couple more teams do their thing while he finishes eating. Carey chimes in occasionally with criticism or praise.

"Way to jump the barrier, dick," Carey says to the TV, rolling his eyes when something happens and they have to restart. PK can admit to being curious about whatever it is that Carey's saying, but not curious enough to ask. He just finishes his water and listens to Carey, not even bothering to pay attention to the rodeo onscreen.

Carey doesn't move around or yell or any of the things that PK does when he watches sports he likes, but that's not exactly a surprise. Carey's sort of generally not the type to let himself get worked up about anything, especially not visibly. He's got the best poker face because he never bothers to let it drop. "Quit staring at me," Carey finally says, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Just admiring your beauty," PK replies. Carey rolls his eyes. It's not like it isn't sort of true. Carey's good looking, PK wouldn't spend so much time fucking around with him if he wasn't.

"Seriously, quit it." Carey throws his napkin at PK, and PK laughs because nothing is less likely to make him stop. Instead, he throws it back, and Carey turns to say something; his mouth is open to make words, but PK leans in and kisses him. He thinks it surprises Carey because he sort of freezes for a second, and PK opens his eyes to look at him, wondering if for some reason this isn't okay. Carey stares at him for a second from too close to really see anything but each other's eyes, and then he closes his eyes and pulls PK closer, kissing him deep.

Carey ends up pushing PK back so he's lying on top of PK on the couch, and they make out like that for a while. Carey's hands are on PK's hips, and PK's are on the back of Carey's neck, and it's really good and weirdly easy. PK doesn't particularly feel the need to push for anything else right now, content to run his fingers though Carey's hair while Carey licks into his mouth.

"You asshole," Carey says, and PK jerks awake again to Carey frowning down at him.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asks, stupidly, because yes, waking up means he fell asleep.

"Yeah, with my tongue in your mouth, dick." Carey punches him in the side, and PK would fight back, but everything feels really warm with Carey pressing him into the couch like this. Carey rolls his eyes. "C'mon, PK," he says, and gets up off the couch. He's surprised when Carey helps him up and leads him toward his bedroom instead of the front door.

"You're really useless," Carey tells him, once PK's in nothing but his boxers and lying next to him in Carey's big bed.

"You love it," PK replies, and watches Carey smiling back at him while he falls asleep.

As if it's not bad enough losing to the Islanders, both because he doesn't hear the end of it from John for over a week and because they're the fucking Islanders, Gorgey goes down in the game and it looks kind of serious. He doesn't play against the Caps or in the game after that, and PK's grateful for the minutes, but he's really starting to worry.

They hear the same day the press does. Knee surgery: he'll be out the rest of the season. Gorgey doesn't talk to any of them, just takes his things and leaves. Carey looks lost for a second, staring at Gorgey's empty stall, but then it's gone. His shoulders straighten and he goes back to dressing for practice. PK's honestly surprised to have noticed, especially when he looks around and discovers he might have been the only one.

PK goes to bed early that night. He knows this means his minutes are about to go up even more. With Markov and Gorgey out of the line-up, shit just got even more real. He's woken up by his phone going off, and a quick look at the number tells him it’s his apartment buzzer. He answers it, sleepily shouting, "What?"

"Buzz me in," Carey shouts back, and PK kind of doesn't want to because he's fucking tired, but it’s late, and Carey clearly wants something. He buzzes him in and gets up to unlock his door.

When Carey gets up to his place, he doesn't look upset or anything, he just looks cold. His cheeks, nose and ears are bright red from being outside, and his face is completely blank.

"You okay?" PK asks, stepping aside so Carey can come inside.

"Fine," Carey says, walking right past him and shrugging out of his coat and scarf. He turns to give PK a once-over, taking in his bare chest and low-slung sweats, and PK rolls his eyes.

"Really?" PK asks. Carey nods. "Because you showed up at my apartment at one in the morning when we have practice tomorrow."

Carey doesn't bother to answer, just steps into PK's space and leans in to kiss him. PK isn't surprised by the kiss, but he gasps at the shock of Carey's cold mouth and skin against him. Carey takes it as permission to deepen the kiss and starts pulling him toward PK's bedroom.

"C'mon," he whispers against PK's mouth, and PK shivers and does as he asks, following him. Carey strips out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap at the foot of PK's bed, and pulls PK down onto the bed with him. It's a little strange, the way Carey's touching him, fingers spread out against PK's skin, spanning across his lower back and between his shoulders. His fingers are still cold and so are his face and neck. PK kisses him there, trying to warm him up even if Carey hasn't asked for it.

Carey's the one that reaches between them, takes PK's dick and presses it against his own, wrapping his fingers around both of them. Carey's fingers are still a little chilly and his cock is so hot, PK doesn't know what to concentrate on. He arches into Carey's grip and Carey nods, lifting his hips as well, and PK can see what he wants in that little roll of his hips. PK rocks down, into Carey's fist and against his dick, and Carey doesn't moan or anything, but he tips his head back against the pillow and spreads his legs, lets PK have more leverage to thrust down. He's fucking Carey's fist, and he can feel his orgasm building at the scent of Carey's hair, the press of skin, his moans mixing with PK's. It's hot and he's so, so glad he answered the door for Carey now.

"Carey," PK groans, rocking down, and then Carey moans and comes, spilling into his own fist and against PK's dick. It's fucking hot and makes Carey's grip around him slicker. PK thrusts down into it a few more times before he's coming too. His whole body freezes when he does it, and he lets his head drop against Carey's shoulder. He stays like that, panting softly, and he's surprised when Carey's free hand smooths down his back.

It's weirdly comfortable, and he could stay here for a long time, so he figures he should move before he starts crushing Carey or sticks to him. He rolls off of Carey and onto his back next to him. He's breathing a little hard still, and Carey is too. It's comfortable, and PK closes his eyes, because clearly Carey just wanted to get laid and is enough of an asshole to wake him up for it.

They're both quiet and still, and even though PK knows he's going to regret not wiping the come off his dick, he doesn't bother. Carey and his bed are way too warm for him to leave now. "Gorgey went back to BC," Carey finally says, just as PK's drifting off. He opens his eyes and glances Carey's way. He's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"For surgery?" PK asks. Carey nods.

"And rehab. Not all of it, but at first, when he's not super steady on his feet. His parents and family are there, so they'll help him out." Carey relays it all the same way he reminds PK not to pinch in too much at practice or not to order fries. His voice is flat, and for anyone else, PK would assume they were just talking to talk, making conversation. But it's late, and Carey came here for some reason. His jaw is tight and he won't stop staring at the ceiling.

"I'm really gonna miss having Gorgey around," PK says finally, and Carey lets out a deep breath.

"Me too," Carey says, and then he turns onto his side, so his back is facing PK. "Night, PK."

"Night, Carey," PK says, and closes his eyes.


It's nice not having to compete with Webs for minutes, but Gorgey and Markov out means Jacques leans on him even more. They switch his D partner up less frequently, and more often than not, Hal is the guy he's paired with. It's nice; Hal's dependable on the blue line, and PK knows that if he joins the rush, Hal will be there, watching his back.

It means he spends more time around Hal, and that Hal gives him shit for being a rookie all the time. PK likes to think they're friends, even if Hal does treat him like a particularly stupid cocker spaniel sometimes, repeating things over and over with increasing specificity until PK can recite it back to him. PK doesn't mind. Sure, it's a little annoying, and he wants to snap at Hal that he did go to school and managed to master basic concepts like counting and following directions, but Hal honestly has a point most of the time.

PK knows when he messes up, knows he needs to make fewer mistakes, but when Hal is there, practically drilling it into his head, it helps him slow down a bit. Not his game, obviously; he's fast as ever there. But with Hal's instructions echoing in his head, it feels like he can see the play a little better, slow it down in his head so he reacts better to it in the game.

They play the Flames and it's a tough game. He and Hal are the defensive match-up against Iginla, and it's a lot harder than PK thought it would be. They get ahead early, picking up a 4-0 lead, and then everything goes to shit. Stupid turnovers and defensive fuckups, and then Tanguay scores at the beginning of the 3rd period, and before PK knows what's happening, they're going to OT.

They're not going to lose this fucking game. They've already given Calgary a point and blown a four goal lead, no way are they going to lose this one. PK doesn't do anything fancy to get the pass, but at about a minute in, the puck comes to him, and he winds up and throws a slapper at the net. Kipper lets it through, and that's it. They've won. He's spent his whole life dreaming about scoring a game-winner in OT, and this is it.

He doesn't really think about it, just goes streaking down the ice, determined to celebrate. He drops to one knee, mimes shooting an arrow and can't stop grinning. The guys slap him on the back when he’s done. And when he stands, they all hug a bit before going to the opposite end of the ice to thank Carey for coming in and saving their collective asses.

PK taps his helmet against Carey's, and Carey smirks up at him. "Showoff," he says. PK can't stop grinning. They triple low-five and then head into the locker room for showers and the media. PK knows he's going to have to answer for the defensive breakdowns and that stupid too many men penalty, but he thinks it'll go better now that he also potted the game winner.

"Is there a reason you celebrated like that?" one of the reporters asks him after PK's had a chance to shower.

"For scoring?" PK asks, because he doesn't understand the question. Everyone celebrates when they score, and they especially celebrate when it's the game winner in OT.

"You don't think it was a little much?" someone else asks.

"I don't know," he answers truthfully. "I was just so happy that we won. We're getting toward the part of the season where we need to build up points. We're fighting for top spot in the Northeast, and this is the sort of game we couldn't lose if we're gonna do that."

"So how is being paired with Hal Gill affecting your game?" another reporter asks him, and PK goes on to answer the standard post-game questions. Questions about Hal are easy: PK can feel himself getting better with Hal next to him. He tells the reporters as much, and also thanks Carey for keeping them in the game so they could score in OT. It's good, and the media only brings up him jumping on the ice too soon once, which is a lot better than he was expecting.

"Congratulations to the hero," Hal says sarcastically, throwing an undershirt at PK once the reporters have cleared out. PK smiles, pleased with the praise from Hal, even if it is wrapped up in sarcasm. "Yeah, maybe next time you'll remember how to count and score goals."

"That's what I have you around for!" PK says. "To do my counting for me!"

"I'm serious," Hal tells him quietly, and PK nods.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Hal shakes his head.

"Sorry doesn't mow the lawn," Hal says, slapping him on the back. PK nods, and Hal moves on.

"So Hal's in charge of keeping you humble?" Carey asks. "Remembering the little people?"

"You know Gio and Cammy can probably hear you, right?" PK asks, and Carey flips him off.

"You up for coming over?" Carey asks, glancing around briefly to see if anyone's watching.

PK grins. "You can ask for my autograph in front of company," he says. He has to duck the punch Carey aims his way, but it's worth it for Carey's answering smile. "I drove here, so I'll meet you there?"

Carey nods and then heads off, and PK has to work at not punching the air or skipping out to the parking lot. A win, potting the game winner in overtime and now he's going to get laid too. This is possibly his best night this season.

When he gets to Carey's, there's already a beer open and sweating on the coffee table for him. He grabs it and sits next to Carey, glad he's still way too full of adrenaline from the game to possibly fall asleep like last time. "You're gonna want to watch TSN for the highlights of your goal, aren't you?" Carey asks him, as soon as he sits down.

"I certainly wouldn't mind," PK answers. Casey rolls his eyes but he's already changing the channel. "I'm sure you want to see how much they talk about those saves you made, too." Carey makes a face, and PK wonders why. Sure, it wasn't his start and he wasn't supposed to even play tonight, but a saved game is a saved game, and it's a W for Carey, even if it’s not the type he wants.

He gets what he asked for: he makes the highlight reel of the night, and then everyone starts talking about it. Only instead of mentions of how great Hal's set up was or how great Larsy worked down low to get him the chance or even how great of a shot it was that PK made, they're talking about his goal celebration. They're calling him a showboat and selfish and fucking cocky, once again, and PK doesn't get it. He sits on the couch, more than a little stunned, and when Darren Pang says he doesn’t do things the 'white way,' it feels like he's been sucker-punched.

Carey turns it off, and PK's still just sitting there. "C'mon," Carey says, standing up and tugging on the sleeve of PK's hoodie.

"I'm not done with my beer," PK says, but Carey's tugging hard on his hoodie, so he gets up. They walk silently to Carey's room, and PK stops in the doorway. "Carey -" he starts, because he doesn't know if he feels up for this in any sense of the word, but Carey cuts him off by leaning in and kissing him, pinning him against the wall for a second before tugging him inside.

Carey pushes him down to the bed and climbs on top of him, holding him against the bed and kissing him deep. PK opens his mouth, one arm around Carey's waist and the other around his back so he can run his hand through Carey's hair. He's wearing it a little longer these days, and it's easy and soothing to be able to run his fingers through it. "You can't do this," Carey tells him, whispering against his mouth like it's a secret.

"Do what?" he asks, because he doesn't understand what Carey's talking about. It was his idea to come and fuck right now.

"Care so much what they think," Carey tells him. "It can't ever go anywhere good." Carey's still kissing him, but his mouth is brushing against his jaw and neck now. He's still whispering, though, voice so low PK can barely hear it. "Sometimes they'll love you and sometimes they'll hate you. They'll build you up and tear you down. You can't take it to heart, PK."

Carey's never said anything about this. They don't talk about the way Montreal wanted his head last year and even over the summer.

"Carey, I don't -" he says, but Carey cuts him off again by kissing him.

"I mean it, PK. It's the best feeling in the world when they're all chanting your name and comparing you to Chelios, and it's going to gut you when they won't stop booing if you don't. It's... promise me, PK."

PK nods because he doesn't trust himself to speak. He tries not to think too hard about what it feels like to be Carey, tries to ignore how often he's still compared to Dryden and Roy, as though that's anything but setting him up for failure. PK nods, and Carey pushes PK flat and leans down to kiss him again, deep and with lots of tongue. PK rocks up against Carey. He wants to be hard, as soon as possible. He wants to be focusing on something easy, like making Carey come, not on the way Montreal might turn on him like they turned on Carey.

"C'mon," he says, "I wanna... let's go." Carey shakes his head but keeps kissing him, one hand on PK's chest and the other holding his arm against the bed. This is more like it. Carey's mouth is warm and open against his own and his hips are moving against PK's with exactly the right rhythm.

Which of course is the exact moment Carey pulls away. He's fumbling around in the drawer he keeps the lube and rubbers in, though, so PK can forgive him. Carey sits back and hands him the lube. "Go on," he says, and his face and voice aren't giving anything away, so PK just keeps staring.

"Seriously?" he asks, looking from the lube and back up to Carey. "C'mon, Carey. This is the worst day ever. You do the work." He gives him his most hopeful look because he's really not in the mood to be slicking himself up. He can finger himself at home. He can’t get Carey's dick afterward at home, but his point stands.

Carey looks surprised, and PK knows he's usually pretty accommodating to whatever Carey wants, but it’s not like he's the type to never say no. Carey bites his lip, though, and grabs the lube. He looks really uncertain while uncapping it and pouring it onto his fingers, and it's not until Carey shifts up and reaches behind himself that PK figures out why.

"Oh!" he says, and Carey looks up at him, glaring a little. "Carey, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't know... I figured you were gonna fuck me. Of course I'll... gimme the lube."

Carey lets out a deep breath, like he was nervous or something, before turning over onto his stomach. "You cool?" PK asks, leaning in and kissing the top of Carey's spine. He runs his hand down Carey's back, keeping his touch light so whatever it is that's got Carey being so weird isn't made worse.

"I'm good," Carey says, and spreads his legs. PK pours lube onto his fingers and traces them over Carey's hole. He's so hot here, and when PK presses one finger inside him, Carey lets out a deep breath that PK didn't realize he was holding. It's not easy; Carey's still tight as hell, and PK has to go slow and use lots of lube. He's finally worked his way up to three fingers inside of him, twisting just so and kissing up and down Carey's back, when Carey pulls forward.

"Okay," he says, and nods. PK reaches for his rubbers, opens one and slicks it on. He's ready to go, figuring Carey wants it from behind this time, but Carey's moving around. He reaches for PK and shoves him down against the bed.

"What are you -" PK asks, but Carey straddles him and leans in to kiss him.

"Shut up, PK," he says, and then reaches behind himself to line PK's dick up against his hole. He's so fucking tight and even just this much, just the tip of PK's cock inside him has PK biting his lower lip.

"Fuck, Carey," he says, holding himself still because if he doesn't he'll try and thrust way, way before Carey's ready for it. Carey closes his eyes, breathing slowly, in and out, and keeps sinking down. It's slow, and PK can see the muscles in Carey's thighs trembling a little, even though he could probably hold himself up like this all day. Fucking goalies. Finally, PK feels the curve of Carey's ass line up against his lap. Carey pauses there for a second and then shifts.

He shifts forward and then back, and both of them groan at the way that makes PK move inside him. "What do want?" PK asks him, looking up at him. "What do you need, Carey? I'll do it for you. Whatever it is." PK's babbling a bit, but it's cool because Carey just shakes his head.

"Just stay," he says, leaning forward and bracing both his arms on PK's shoulders. It doesn't actually feel good, because Carey's fucking heavy, but PK kind of likes the solid weight of him holding him down. "Stay right there, PK." Then Carey sort of rocks down and then slides forward, and it kind of helps that Carey's holding him down, because PK's hips arch up into him.

"Carey -" he says, and he's going to say more, probably a lot more but Carey leans down and kisses him. It's wet and Carey uses a lot of tongue, and he rocks his hips again while he does it. It's probably the best kiss of PK's entire life. PK thrusts up, and Carey groans low and scrapes his short, blunt fingernails over PK's shoulders.

It's good, so fucking good, and PK meets every arch and rock of Carey's hips. Carey's jerking himself off now, fingers curled around his own dick while he rides PK. It's better than last time because Carey doesn't have to ask or demand anything, he can just take it. PK doesn't want to come, he really doesn't want to come yet, but he's not really sure he can hold back.

"Jesus fucking -" Carey says, working himself down and down and down, and PK has to pull him forward. Carey leans in, all of his weight pressing down on PK's chest, and PK reaches up to curl his fingers in Carey's hair, pulling him into a kiss. Carey didn't put product in his hair after the game, and it's so soft, but his mouth is even softer.

"Carey," PK whispers against his mouth, hips stuttering, and PK's shocked when Carey's the one to come first. He doesn't moan or anything, just silently spills into his fist and between his and PK's stomach. It's a huge relief, and PK lets himself come too, mouth still pressed against Carey's. So he kisses him through it.

Carey rolls off of him afterward and lies on his side, not moving, so PK goes to grab him something to clean off with. He's been here often enough to know where Carey keeps his washcloths. He brings a wet one to Carey, and Carey makes a face but cleans himself off.

PK laughs at the look on Carey's face, like he's new to this or something. "And you say I make dumb faces," he says.

"That's because you do make dumb faces," Carey shoots back. They lie there for a few minutes, PK on his back and Carey on his side. PK doesn't know why he turns his head toward Carey, but when he does, Carey's staring at him. PK smiles at him, and Carey leans in, pressing a kiss against his mouth. It's soft, sweeter than Carey usually likes to kiss, but PK likes it anyway.

He makes a small, pleased noise, and then Carey's pulling back. He has a weird look on his face, like he forgot something or suddenly figured something out. "Carey?" PK asks. Carey keeps looking weird for a few minutes, eyes going just a bit wide. "Carey, man, you're weirding me out."

That seems to get to him, but instead of shaking his head or laughing it off, Carey's face just sort of stops. He's seen it happen during rough games, Carey's face going blank like he’s shutting something off. He's never seen it outside of his mask before, though. "I'm fine," he says, and for the first time in a long time, PK can't get anything from Carey's flat voice.

"Okay," PK says, turning onto his side. He smiles, trying to get Carey to loosen back up, and leans in to kiss him again. Carey doesn't exactly push him away or anything; he lets PK kiss him, but he doesn't really push back the way he usually does. He shrugs; if Carey wants to be weird, there's nothing he can really do to stop it, and he's way too relaxed still from coming to get worked up about it. PK reaches down for the sheets and blanket, pulling them up to his waist, and Carey reaches out.

His hand lands on PK's belly, and PK grins and looks over at him again, but Carey doesn't look like he's up for another round or anything. He just looks closed off still. "I think... you can't sleep over tonight," Carey tells him, and PK just blinks at him.

"What?" he asks, because he can't have heard him right.

"You have to go." And nothing about the way Carey says it makes PK think he's just messing around.

"C'mon, Carey," he says, reaching down to tangle their fingers together. "It's late. I'm tired. I totally still smell like your spunk. Don't make me drag ass out in the cold right now."

Carey pulls his hand away and shakes his head. "No, I... I'm doing something in the morning, early, and you can't be here for it." PK stares at him for a second, wondering what the hell Carey could be doing early in the morning that he wouldn't want PK there for and coming up empty. When he hits the gym, PK likes to tag along. If his parents were coming to town, PK would know about it already and would have been giving him shit about it for weeks. "I'm serious, PK. You've gotta go. She's not expecting me to have company so... I can't have any."

PK's already getting up and grabbing his dirty clothes before Carey finishes, because Carey clearly fucking means it. He stops when Carey mentions a she, though, and turns to look at him. He's lying back in his bed, chin lifted like he's defying PK to say something, and PK's sort of shocked, but he manages to shake it off. "Okay, man. That's cool." He puts on his underwear and socks and then starts pulling on his jeans. "I'll see you at practice tomorrow, eh?"

Once he's dressed, there's a sort of awkward moment where he's not sure what to do. Usually PK kisses Carey good-bye, but usually it's morning and Carey's made them both coffee and bitched about PK's awful taste in breakfast cereal while PK drinks the pink milk leftover from the Lucky Charms Carey keeps for him at his place. It's funnier then, to kiss Carey with milk and coffee breath while Carey complains.

He stands at the foot of the bed for a second, uncertain, and when Carey doesn't do anything to move toward him, he turns to go. "Later, Carey," he says, tossing a wave back to him. Carey waves back, and in general, the whole thing feels really weird.

On the drive back home, he tries to get his head around Carey kicking him out for some sort of date he has in the morning. It makes sense, in a lot of ways. Not someone having a date in the morning, because that's just stupid, and PK doesn't understand waking up that early for things that aren't working out or practice. But Carey needing PK to leave or not come over because he has plans like a date makes total sense. Sure, PK hasn't actually had sex with anyone who wasn't Carey for a while, but that's because it's his first season, and games and practices are hard, and he's already getting laid three or four times a week. He's not a machine and he likes down time between sometimes.

Apparently Carey doesn't, and that's good for him. PK will just have to make sure and keep in mind that Carey might have other plans with other people the next time he invites himself over to Carey's. PK hopes she's hot, whoever she is, and tries to ignore it the rest of the way home. When he can't, he stops at Tim Horton's for a 10 pack of Timbits.

He’s eating them in his car when his phone goes off. It’s Johnny’s ringtone, and PK’s not entirely sure if he wants to answer it. He doesn’t want to worry him, though, so he hits the button that makes his car answer his phone. “Hey,” he says, and it only sounds a little muffled by the donut in his mouth.

“Damn,” Johnny says. “It’s so bad you’re drowning your sorrows in Tim Horton’s?”

“Huh?” PK says, because he’s not upset about anything. He just wanted a fucking ten pack.

“Did you somehow not see the Darren Pang interview?” Johnny asks, and he sounds tentative.

“Oh, no, of course I already saw that,” PK says. “Hasn’t everyone?”

There’s a pause, and PK can just see Johnny trying to figure out what the fuck to say. “And... you’re okay?” Johnny asks.

“Yeah, I’m... it’s not ideal,” he says. “But I’m trying not to, you know?”

“Where are you?” Johnny asks. “You sound like I’m on speaker phone.”

“I’m in my car,” PK tells him, because he is.

“Kinda late,” Johnny says. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Which means you’re not pissed because you were getting laid. Nice work, PK. I’d be way too pissed to swing getting it wet.”

“It wasn’t like that,” PK says, because he really wasn’t thinking about fucking, it just happened, and... it had sort of made him feel better, really.

“Sure it wasn’t, PK,” Johnny says. “Keep your head up.” His voice is lower this time, softer and PK’s kind of grateful when he hangs up, even if he does appreciate it.


He keeps his promise to himself and goes all out in practice the next day. He works hard for the puck and nails all of the skating drills. He catches up with Carey about halfway through, and it’s weird, but Carey doesn't actually look all that happy. PK would probably be over the moon if he got laid twice in the last fifteen hours. He pokes Carey with his stick blade a few times until Carey gets annoyed and reaches out to grab it.

"So?" PK asks, grinning.

"So what?" Carey asks back.

"So is she hot? Was it good?" PK doesn't jump or anything, but he wants to hear about her. John got weird at first after he got a girl, wouldn't talk to PK about her or anything. PK kind of doubts whoever this girl was is about to become Carey's new girlfriend, though, so PK figures he's its safe.

"She?” Carey asks, blinking a few times, and then it’s like he finally remembers he got laid this morning or something, and PK can see comprehension dawning on his face. "Oh, right, umm, it was fine."

"Couldn't have been that great if you forgot about it," PK teases, and Carey lifts his chin.

"Not everyone puts out on the first date like you, PK," he says.

PK laughs. "Everyone else's loss." Coach whistles for them to start up again, and PK heads up to do a passing drill with Hal.

"Hey, Hal. You doing anything tonight?" he asks, and Hal gives him a once-over.

"Define doing, PK," he asks, and PK grins.

"We should go out, have a beer and some dinner, maybe play a game of darts!" He's really smart. This way he can do some D-partner bonding and Carey can do his thing.

After practice, he follows Hal out of Broussard and waves goodbye to Carey before climbing into Hal's SUV. At the restaurant, Hal makes him follow his diet, going so far as to change his order for him when PK tries to order a hamburger.

"So tell me about your new place," he asks, and PK grins because when Hal puts it that way, it makes him feel really mature. He has his own place, and he can ask Hal for tips on home improvement or something. "You need any help with childproofing anything?" Hal grins when he says it and PK sticks his tongue out at him.

"It's great, thank you," PK says, rolling his eyes. "Carey helped me find a really great place in his neighborhood, and I'm thinking about maybe doing something cool with my guest bathroom. Carey says I shouldn't, though, because anything I do will probably end up looking kind of dumb. I don't think I should take decorating tips from someone that worships George Straight and thinks cow horns are quality decorating."

"Bull," Hal says, and PK looks up in surprise because he's being serious. "Cows don't have horns, PK. If the animal has horns, it's probably a bull. Unless it's a Long Horn, though you're not very likely to see one of those in Montreal." He looks thoughtful for a second. "Though you're probably more likely to see Long Horn horns in Carey's decorating than around Montreal in general."

"You've got a point," PK says, because he kind of does.

"So, Carey, huh?" Hal didn't actually ask him a question, but it sounds like one anyway.

"Carey what?" PK asks, and Hal just shakes his head.

"Nothing, PK. Absolutely nothing, and I'd like to keep it that way." He gives PK a firm look, and PK has no idea what he's saying in a completely different way than usual.

It's weird, trying to find stuff to do without Carey. It's not like they spend all their time together or anything, but PK had sort of gotten used to being able to just head over to his place after practice or on a day off. Weirdly, he misses hanging out on Carey's couch or driving with Carey and having to put up with his awful music nearly as much as he misses getting laid all the time. He could probably go out and pick up, but after a hard practice, it feels like way too much effort. So he does his own thing and hangs out with Hal and Hal's kids a lot and kind of misses Carey.


“How come you’re over to play dress up more often now?” Sophie asks him. He hadn’t meant to to crash the lunch date between Hal and his two daughters, but he’d been in the same restaurant and they’d called him over. He was one hundred percent not to blame for this.

“No reason,” PK says, shrugging. “I’m just used to the schedule more and your Dad’s been inviting me more often.”

“We told him to invite you before!” Isabelle says. “We knew you’d look best in the green boa!”

“Maybe your dad was just jealous of my style,” PK says, grinning at her. “I’m way more stylish than he is.”

“I don’t look nearly as good in a green feather boa, you’ve got me there, PK,” Hal says and rolls his eyes.

“Some guys just don’t have the eyes, girls,” PK says.

“Daddy said you were busy with Carey,” Isabelle says. PK just looks at her, surprised.

“Well… I’m not now,” PK says, and then points at the menu. “So what’s good here? Your French is better than mine.” The girls show him what to order, pointing at things and describing them, because this is where they go out for lunch with Hal every week and they have an opinion on everything. It’s pretty awesome, and PK doesn’t miss hanging with Carey even once.


It's not long before they're heading out for the All-Star game. PK knows he's only there because the club suggested him, and it’s not nearly as big an honor as Carey making it because of his stupid-good save percentage, but he's excited anyway. It's an NHL All-Star game, and he's going with Carey! How could he not be excited?

"It's pretty sweet we're rooming together, right?" he asks, knocking his leg against Carey's. They're sitting in uncomfortable airport seats, waiting for their flight to start boarding. Carey looks over at him and rolls his eyes. Of course he's not excited. He's done this before, when Montreal hosted the All-Star game. "Fine, be a bigshot. I'm gonna enjoy myself."

Carey sleeps on the flight. He puts his headphones in and closes his eyes as soon as he's allowed. PK tries to sleep too, but he had a coffee at the Tim Horton's in the airport and there's just no way. He doesn't realize he's jiggling his knee until Carey's hand lands on his upper thigh, catching him in a vice-grip.

"Stop it," Carey tells him firmly.

"Sorry, Carey," he says, and Carey sighs.

"Can't you grab some sleep?" he asks. PK shrugs, and Carey sighs again. "I'd offers to blow you or something, but there's a lot of people." Carey looks surprised at himself after he says it, like he didn't mean to.

PK liked it. He's been trying to give Carey his space and stuff, but he was beginning to think that they weren't going to do that anymore "I've got my jacket. We could probably get away with you jerking me off," he says, hopefully.

"I could probably get away with punching you most of the time. I manage to hold back from that." Carey smiles when he says it, though, and PK laughs, low and right up against Carey. Carey gets a weird look on his face and pulls away. "Try and get some sleep, PK," he says, and puts his headphones back on.

It’s hard. His thoughts won’t slow down, and he can't stop feeling Carey pressed up against his side. When he finally does manage to close his eyes, they're halfway to Raleigh, and Carey's breathing evenly next to him. He never moves his hand from PK's thigh.


The crowds in Raleigh are actually really great. PK's a little surprised because sure, he's played here before to sell-out crowds, but he doesn't exactly expect people to show up in droves for a bunch of players they don't know to walk a red carpet for a game that doesn't really matter to anyone but the people involved.

It's gorgeous and warm out, like it hasn't been in Montreal in months, and the crowd cheers for him and Carey even though they're technically the enemy. All in all, it's nice, and it's even nicer when the draft is over and everyone heads for a local bar. He's excited about being on Carey's team, even if, on the outside, it looks like Team Lidstrom is probably going to crush Team Staal under their boot heels.

Carey's been really normal so far, hanging out with him on the red carpet and the bus, but when they get to the bar he ends up at a table with Flower and Cam Ward. PK wants no part of their weird goalie-thing, so he goes looking for someone else to keep him entertained. His first mistake is thinking that drinking with Ovie is a good plan. It isn't, and he maintains that that's the reason he doesn't get what the Carolina rookie is looking for right away.

He's talking to someone about getting Lidstrom's autograph before he leaves. It might be Ovie, it might be Mike Green. They're turned away from him, not listening, so all he can see is dark hair cut in the douchiest way possible so he has no clue. The point is, when Skinner sits down and orders another drink for PK and one for himself with one of the worst fake IDs that PK's ever seen, PK should be able to figure it out.

It takes several drinks and Skinner leaning against him, flushed and grinning that ridiculous smile of his that no one will in Raleigh will shut up about, while smelling like beer and vodka, for him to even figure out Skinner wants something. PK says something, a throwaway comment about how their team is probably going to get smoked, and Skinner laughs like it's the funniest thing anyone has ever said. PK grins back and orders a drink for Skinner this time.

The kid keeps shooting glances at Eric Staal between drinks. Staal's leaning against the bar, talking to Lidström and Lidström's hot wife and generally having less fun than everyone else in the room. Such are the demands of hosting a shindig like this, PK guesses. Skinner's just drunk enough and frowning just often enough that PK can sort of put together that something is off with him.

He offers him another drink, and Skinner grins at him before tossing it back. PK does the same with his own, and once he's done, he looks up and Skinner is much, much closer. PK can honestly say he's surprised by Skinner leaning in to kiss him, both because they're at a table full of people and because PK hadn’t picked up on what he can now see were pretty obvious cues that Skinner was trying to pick him up. He really doesn't see how he didn't catch it earlier. Still, PK knows well enough to take this somewhere else.

PK sort of turns his head so it looks like Skinner's whispering to him and then leans in to whisper in his ear, "What are you, new? People can see us."

Clearly, Skinner's a little drunker than PK thought because he blushes and answers, "Actually, yes," before explaining about being kind of a virgin, and by kind of, he means totally. "I was hanging with Cam and he was teasing me about it, and Carey Price mentioned that you might be interested in, you know, helping me with that?"

It's a weird request, especially considering Carey was the one who suggested him. PK can pick up his own jailbait rookies, thank you. Jeff's hot, though, cute, with a great smile and what looks to PK like a killer body underneath his Draft Day suit. PK is smart enough not to turn down awesome requests like this,, so he grins at Skinner and sort of cocks his head towards the bathroom.

He leaves their table and sees Skinner leave after him out of the corner of his eye. The thing is, even out of the corner of his eye, he can see how completely unsubtle Skinner is about it. Cam Ward actually gives him a thumbs up when he passes him, he's so unsubtle, and he sees Carey turn away, downing his drink in one swallow before picking up another.

PK ignores that because he's not the sort to really care about everyone knowing who he's about to fuck, not even Carey. Hell, Carey had basically set him up with Jeff. He goes to the bathroom and thank God, the handicapped stall is empty. He grabs it, and when Skinner sort of half stumbles into the bathroom, PK opens it just enough to coax him inside.

They've got plenty of room, but Skinner still grabs him and presses close. They're both already a little sweaty from drinking and the crowded bar, but they play hockey for a living, so it's not exactly unpleasant. Skinner's tipping his face up and again, PK's not stupid, so he leans in to kiss him, cupping his face with one hand and wrapping his other arm around him.

Skinner's not a terrible kisser. He's a little overly enthusiastic, and he's clearly more than a little lost with what he should be doing with his hands, but he's not overly sloppy or trying to shove his tongue down PK's throat, which he's grateful for. It feels different, though, and it takes a second for PK to realize that he's out of practice with kissing people who aren't Carey. He pushes it aside, though, and runs his hand down Skinner's back, rubbing slowly and trying to get him to calm down. He preses a few kisses across Skinner's jaw and over his neck and ear, and Skinner's breath actually hitches, and he reaches out to grab hold of PK's back. Nice.

"Has anyone ever sucked you off before?" he asks, voice hot against Skinner's ear. Skinner shakes his head, and PK can feel his entire body going tense in his arms. PK smiles. "I'd like to change that," he says.

"Umm, that, yes?" Skinner replies, and when PK laughs, he leans in sort of desperately to press his mouth to PK's. He's better with the kissing this time, or at least it feels that way; maybe PK's just comparing him to Carey less. He's holding on to PK's shoulders so hard and keeping him pressed tight up against him, rocking against his hip.

"Please?" he whispers, and PK is only human, there's no way he could ever say no to that.

He pulls away and tips Skinner's head back, baring his throat so PK can kiss his way down it, dragging his teeth over Skinner's Adam's apple and smiling at the little groan it gets out of him. Skinner's still holding onto his shoulders so tightly it might bruise when PK steps back enough to drop to his knees.

Skinner's breathing kind of hard when PK shoves his shirt up, and he's tentative about resting his hands back on PK's shoulders. Then PK presses his mouth to Skinner's skin, and his stomach muscles jump, his hands squeezing tight to PK's shoulders. PK grins up at him, and Skinner blushes and stops, pressing just his palms to PK's shoulders, just waiting.

PK knows an invitation when it's offered to him, and he reaches down to fumble open Skinner's jeans. He presses his cheek over the bulge so clearly outlined by Skinner's open suit pants, and above him, Skinner shudders. PK takes a second to be glad that he isn't old enough for his enjoyment of just how new Skinner obviously is to this to be weird. He peels Skinner's pants and boxer-briefs down his thighs and leans in, just mouthing at Skinner's balls and half-hard dick. PK can feel him getting harder; Skinner's cock is just as on board with this as Skinner is.

He opens his mouth, runs his tongue up the underside of Skinner's cock, and Skinner groans. "Oh God," he says, way too loud. PK pulls back and holds one finger against his mouth.

"Sshhhh," he says, and Skinner nods and closes his mouth tight. "Good," he adds, rubbing his thumb over Skinner's hip. He leans in again, dipping his head down to drag his tongue over Skinner's balls. Skinner lets out a strangled sound above him, and when PK looks up, he's biting his lips to keep himself quiet, like PK told him to.

That sort of proactive approach to keeping quiet deserves a reward, so PK leans in and closes his mouth over Skinner's cock. He feels thicker on his tongue than PK thought he would, but just as hot as he expected. PK closes his eyes and bobs forward, taking him in deeper and running his tongue over the underside. This too is different. Skinner tastes and smells so completely different from Carey, and for a second, PK forgets what he's doing and half-chokes on Skinner's dick.

"Are you?" Skinner asks, voice mostly breath. PK nods and bobs his head, opening his mouth wider and taking Skinner in deeper. He makes a strangled noise above him, and that's more along the lines of what PK wants to do to Skinner. He keeps it up, doing his best to deep throat, showing off like he hasn't bothered with in months. Skinner's clearly trying to hold back, but he can't seem to help flexing his hips, pushing just that tiny bit deeper. PK looks up at him and tugs on his hips, encouraging him. He can take it, and when Skinner rocks his hips forward, fucking PK's mouth, PK lets out a groan that's muffled on Skinner's dick.

Skinner doesn't last long after that. PK rolls his balls in his hand, pressing his thumb back behind them, and just that quickly, Skinner's coming in his mouth. PK pulls off pretty soon after, grabbing toilet paper to spit into because he'd kind of forgotten that he doesn't usually swallow. Skinner doesn't seem to mind. He's leaned back against the wall, all flushed cheeks and stupid grin.

"Did you want me to?" he begins and cuts himself off, gesturing down at him. PK shakes his head and stands up; he's hard and he definitely wants to do something about that, but he'd hate for Skinner to think of it like he has to. He leans into Skinner, kissing him and enjoying Skinner's shocked little gasp when he tastes himself in PK's mouth. They kiss for a few moments, PK absently rocking against Skinner's hip and enjoying being taller for once.

"Are you sure you don't want?" Skinner asks, letting his hand drop to the front of PK's pants. "Because I could, I mean, I want to." That's basically what he was hoping to hear, and PK undoes the button and fly on his pants and then takes hold of Skinner's hand. He pulls it against the outline of his dick under his underwear, turns it so it's palm down and rocks his hips against it. Skinner's staring, mouth slightly open while he watches his hand in PK's, touching him. PK slides Skinner's hand up to his waistband.

"Go on," he says, moving his thumb against the back of Skinner's hand. "Reach inside, take me out." Skinner does what he asks, pushing down PK's underwear, and then he stops and stares for a second.

"You're, umm," he says, blushing.

"Yeah." PK nods. He'd forgotten how surprising it was for most people, especially good little Ontario boys like Skinner. Carey had never made a big thing out of it. He pulls Skinner's hand down against his cock, and Skinner runs his finger over his foreskin, fascinated for a second, before he tries to wrap his hand around him.

"Not so fast," PK says. He pulls Skinner's hand up to his own mouth and licks it. Skinner lets out a nervous giggle, and PK laughs too, but he keeps licking Skinner's palm, getting it wet. He pulls Skinner's hand back down, wraps it around his cock and starts up a rhythm.

Skinner follows along, adjusting his grip around PK and biting his lip in concentration. "It's not a play you've got to memorize and drill to get right, Skinner," PK tells him. Skinner looks up, and PK leans in to kiss him. He keeps it light, fun, but also keeps jerking himself with Skinner's hand. "Just have fun with it," he whispers against Skinner's mouth. "Sex should always be fun, Skinner. Never forget that."

"Jeff," Skinner answers back, tilting his face up to kiss PK again. "Call me Jeff." They make out for a few minutes, PK's hand still wrapped around Jeff's around his dick, before Jeff pulls away. "Can I... I want to do this on my own." He flexes his hand under PK's, clearly indicating he wants PK to let go, so he does.

PK looks away from Jeff's face, from the way his face is flushed and his pupils are blown wide, and looks down. He wants to see what Jeff does on his own. Jeff traces his thumb up the underside of PK's cock and over the tip, smearing precome over the head, and PK shudders. "Jeff," he says, reaching out to take hold of Jeff's side and bracing his other hand against the wall of the stall behind Jeff. He arches his hips, just a little, and Jeff nods, tightening his grip around PK's dick.

"Yeah," Jeff says, licking his lips. "Go ahead. You can -" PK cuts him off with a kiss, licking into his mouth and thrusting forward, into Jeff's grip. There's no rhythm between Jeff jerking him off and PK fucking his fist, but it doesn't really matter. PK's exactly turned on enough that rhythm doesn't matter anymore. He bites Jeff's lower lip when he comes, holding his hips away so he doesn't come on what looks like Jeff's only suit.

PK pulls back and smiles at Jeff. Jeff smiles back and then licks his lower lip. "Oww," he says, but he's grinning, so PK figures he doesn't mean it.

"Toughen up, rookie," PK tells him, still grinning. "I didn't even break the skin." Jeff laughs at that and PK has to admit, it's a great laugh. He kisses him again, pushing him up against the wall, and Jeff kisses back, still flushed and accommodating and so damn open, PK really doesn't want to stop. They have to, though, because they're in a bathroom, surrounded by nearly everyone they work with, and Jeff's still got a palm-full of PK's come in his hand. When he pulls away, he reaches down for some toilet paper, and Jeff smiles and takes it, clearly grateful.

While Jeff's wiping his hand off, PK puts their pants and belts back into place, making sure they didn't spill anything on themselves. He feels ridiculous for how much both he and Jeff won't stop grinning at each other, but he also can't stop. "Thanks," Jeff says, when PK reaches out to open the stall door. "For, you know."

"Believe me when I say it was my pleasure, Jeff," PK answers, and because Jeff's still leaning against the wall, looking disheveled, uncertain and so young, he goes back to kiss him one last time. Jeff cups the side of his neck, swipes his thumb over the pulse there, and PK slides his tongue against Jeff's, warm and pleased.

They wash their hands afterward and won't stop looking at each other in the mirror over the sink, grinning. PK shoves Jeff out the door in front of him, and they're both giggling, so of course they run directly into Eric Staal. He frowns down at both of them, and PK has to work really, really hard at not cracking up. "Jeff?" Staal asks, and PK briefly wonders if they still smell like come. He leans in to sniff at Jeff's shoulder, and Jeff bats his face away.

"Hey, Eric!" Jeff says, and there's a surprising amount of nervousness in his voice. PK wonders if this is how rookies typically sound when talking to their captains, because he'd never sound this nervous while talking to Gio. Staal and Jeff had seemed friendly before, though, so it's kind of weird. "Having fun? I saw you talking to Lidström... PK mentioned wanting his autograph. Do you think you could make that happen? Oh! Have you met PK Subban? He plays for the Habs, which you know, because we've played them a lot but... he's on our team?"

PK turns and stares at Jeff, blinking slowly, because he knows Jeff isn't drunk enough to ramble like that. "I remember PK," Eric Staal says, still frowning at both of them. "Take it easy for the rest of the night, Jeff. You don't... you don't want to make any bad decisions."

Jeff nods, eyes wide and the expression on his face generally overly-earnest. Eric Staal nods and turns to head away, and PK laughs, pressing up behind Jeff. "It's a little late for that," he says, trying to whisper in Jeff's ear. Jeff laughs, and apparently it wasn't nearly as quiet as PK thought it was, because Eric Staal glares at PK over his shoulder. He looks pissed. "We'll hang later, eh?" he adds, pulling away, and Jeff nods, laughing when PK winks at him.

PK makes his way back to the tables. He passes Carey along the way, and when he smiles and waves, happy, drunk and well-laid, Carey looks like he's been punched in the gut. "You okay?" he asks, leaning on the table so he can lean into Carey's space.

Carey pulls back, nodding. "Yeah," he says, swallowing hard. "I'm fine. I've gotta... I've gotta go. Sleep it off. You know how it is." PK watches him get up and leave and vaguely wishes that he and Carey were still sleeping together so he could go with him. He doesn't particularly feel the need to get laid, but he really, really wants to fall asleep next to Carey again. He shakes it off though and goes to do some more shots with Matt Duchene and Patrick Kane. He can keep giving Carey his space.

Super Skills is the only actual thing PK has to do this weekend, and even then, he's only doing the Breakaway, so he wants to make a good showing. Ovie's kicking ass and taking names at it, charming the crowd effortlessly, and PK knows he's not going to win this without help. He skates over to the bench and leans in to Jeff.

"Hey, take your clothes off," he says, and Jeff pulls back, a shocked look on his face. "No, I'm serious, gimme your jersey." Jeff keeps staring, so PK starts pulling his jersey off too. Maybe it’s the shock or maybe he gets what PK's trying to do, but he strips off his jersey and hands it to PK. "Thanks, Jeff," he says and tosses him his own jersey. "Hold that for me, okay?"

They call his name, and he heads out to center ice, and the crowd goes a little nuts. PK knows Jeff's a big deal in Raleigh, but he's honestly a bit surprised by how hard they're cheering. He grins up at them all and then goes to take his shots against Flower.

Jeff's still laughing when PK comes back to him on the bench, and PK laughs back, reaching up to ruffle his hair. "Sorry you didn't score," Jeff says, while PK strips out of Jeff's jersey.

"I looked good while doing it, though," PK says, and then he winks at him. "Besides, there's still time." Jeff blushes at that, and then Eric Staal bumps him from behind, knocking him away from Jeff's spot on the bench. PK tosses him a little wave and skates backwards toward the other end of the bench, pulling his jersey on.

"Having fun?" Carey asks once PK kneels down on the ice next to him. It's sarcastic and clearly rhetorical, but PK thinks he might have a shot at winning, so he just grins.

"Definitely," he says, and grins wider when Carey's sarcastic expression softens while looking at him.

Carey looks away, shaking his head. "Show off," he says, and PK laughs. The All Star game is great. He hopes he gets to come back here next year, and even if he's being a grump, he hopes Carey's with him.

"Shouldn't you be in a better mood, though?" PK asks him. Carey just looks at him. "I always thought wake and bake was a recipe for a good mood."

"What makes you think I'm high?" Carey asks. PK rolls his eyes.

"Right, because I couldn't see or smell the contents of your bag," he says.

"I bought it last night," Carey says, shaking his head. "I haven't really had a chance."

"How do you have a guy in Raleigh?" PK asks, and Carey smiles.

"I have people everywhere, PK," he says. PK laughs.

"We should smoke up later," PK says, because he's in a good enough mood to honestly forget that he's supposed to be giving Carey his space.

"Do you invite yourself to someone else's bud often?" Carey asks, and PK shakes his head.

"You're just special, Carey," he says, and bats his eyelashes at him.


Team Staal wins the Super Skills, much to everyone's surprise, and Staal himself buys the first round at the bar. PK does his level best not to overindulge, which is hard, considering Ovie tries to buy him shots again. "Ready to head out?" Carey asks after they've both had a few. He's smiling softly, only one corner of his mouth turned up. He looks softer than he usually lets himself look in public, and PK wants to reach out and touch him.

"Yeah," PK says, nodding. "Let's go." They're headed for the exit when they literally run into Skinner. "Jeff!" PK says, reaching out to keep him upright.

"Jeff?" Carey asks, and PK nods.

"Skinner? Rookie forward for the Canes? Loaned me his jersey?" PK asks.

"I know who he is, PK," Carey says, and there's nothing soft about him now.

"Are you guys leaving?" Jeff asks. His cheeks are flushed and he's grinning up at them, looking first at PK and then at Carey.

"Yeah. Moving the party to our room," PK says, waggling his eyebrows. "Carey's holding and there's no time like the present.”

“Holding?” Jeff asks. PK mimes smoking a joint.

“Oh! Really?” Jeff asks, and PK laughs.

PK nods, and he’s surprised when Carey cuts in. “I’m willing to share, if you’re up for it,” he says, and PK turns to look at him, eyes wide. He’d started to get the feeling that Carey didn’t much like Jeff, honestly.

“I don’t know if I should… Eric’s kind of -“ Jeff begins, and Carey cuts him off.

“It’s fine, kid. Me and PK are perfectly capable of partying on our own,” Carey says, and Jeff gets this weird, stubborn set to his jaw.

“No, you know, I think I will come with you.” Jeff sounds hilariously indignant when he says it, and Carey just glares at him for a second before nodding.

“Sounds great, kid,” he says, and pushes past him to get to the door. PK shrugs in Jeff’s direction before following him out. He has no clue why Carey’s suddenly so pissy, but he really hopes smoking up will help.

When they get back to their hotel room, PK opens the window while Carey goes to his bag and gets them set up. “How did you get that through customs?” Jeff asks, staring at Carey’s hands on the rolling papers.

Carey rolls his eyes. “I didn’t,” he says.

“Carey somehow found somebody local,” PK explains, since Carey’s being a dick.

“You bought that in Raleigh?” Jeff genuinely sounds surprised, and Carey rolls his eyes again.

“It is a city… mostly,” Carey says, and PK kicks him in the shin.

“Don’t be such a dick, Carey,” he tells him before turning to Jeff. “I swear he isn’t like this usually. I can’t wait for him to get high so he’ll stop being such an asshole.”

Carey actually looks contrite at that, mouth quirking to the side, and he shrugs. “I’m in a great mood, PK,” Carey says, smiling at him briefly before licking the paper closed. Carey takes the first hit himself, but then he offers it to Jeff. “Here,” he says, and PK hopes for a second that they might actually be able to get along.

Predictably, Jeff tries to take too much and ends up coughing, hard. PK laughs, throwing his arm around Jeff’s shoulder. “Looks like there’s something you aren’t good at, Jeff,” he says.

“That’s terrible,” Jeff says, once he can speak again without coughing.

“More like you’re just terrible at it,” Carey says, but he doesn’t sound nearly as pissed or bitchy, so PK doesn’t feel bad for laughing.

“Shotgun him, Carey,” PK suggests, because his first time, someone had to do that for him, and Carey’s the one with the joint in his hand.

Carey rolls his eyes, but he does it. He inhales shallowly until the end goes cherry red and holds it in his mouth. He motions Jeff forward, but Jeff clearly doesn’t know what to do, so PK has to sort of pull him forward with the arm still around Jeff’s shoulder.

Carey reaches out and tips Jeff’s face up, leaning into him. PK still hasn’t let go of Jeff, and he’s up close to both of their faces. “Breathe in when he breathes out,” PK instructs softly, and Jeff licks his lips briefly and nods. Carey breathes out and Jeff breathes in and the air feels electric and heavy.

It’s hot, watching the two of them so close, and PK’s starting to wonder if part of letting Carey have space includes not asking him for a threesome. He thinks Jeff would be down, possibly even eager for it. Carey pulls back, away from Jeff, and catches PK’s eye briefly before handing him the joint. PK can’t read his expression, so he figures it’s a no on the threesome.

They keep passing it around, PK and Carey taking turns shotgunning for Jeff, and it isn’t until all of them are loose-limbed and smiling that Carey swallows and reaches out to nudge Jeff’s side. “So,” Carey says, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. He only looks like that when he’s high or right after fucking. PK really likes that look on him. “You want to fuck?” he finishes, and PK winces.

Jeff’s staring at Carey with wide eyes, and then his gaze cuts to PK, clearly wanting to ask a question, and PK just squeezes Jeff’s shoulder. “Carey’s always like this when he’s high,” he says, and Jeff frowns.

“Slutty?” Jeff asks, and Carey and PK both laugh.

“No… well, yes, but more specifically, blunt and to the point,” PK says, because Carey doesn’t smoke up much this year, but whenever he does, he tends to start rubbing himself against PK while whispering ”take your clothes off, I want to put my dick in you” in PK’s ear.

Jeff looks uncertain, and Carey rolls his neck. “PK’s invited too,” Carey says, and Jeff’s eyes widen. “I’d hate to put him out of our room, considering this was his idea.”

“Really?” Jeff asks, turning to PK.

PK shrugs. “I didn’t know Carey had picked up on it, but yeah,” he says, honestly. It’s been on his mind basically since he noticed Jeff was hitting on him. “I’ve been thinking about it. It would be hot, don’t you think?”

“I… umm, I don’t know,” Jeff says, but he keeps looking between them as though he’s unsure. “It won’t be a problem? Between the two of you?”

PK laughs. “Why would it be?” he asks, and Carey stares at him for a second, completely blank-faced, before sort of pushing himself forward. He leans in, kissing PK hard, and PK doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t want to push him away, because Carey’s mouth is harsh and demanding against his own, lips chapped but so warm and soft, but Jeff’s here and he’s clearly not sure about this. PK doesn’t want to be the dick that pushes him away or pressures him into this.

He pulls his mouth away from Carey’s and turns to Jeff, meaning to reassure him that it’s cool if he doesn’t want to join in, but Carey takes his turned head as an invitation to start sucking kisses against his neck. PK moans, reaching down to grab hold of Carey’s hair, hold him in place against his throat.

“Jesus,” Jeff says, and when PK opens his eyes, he’s watching them, one hand resting on his stomach. It’s resting there, barely brushing the top button of his pants, but PK can admit he likes the way it looks on him.

Carey looks over briefly when Jeff speaks, looking for all the world like he desperately wants to say something. He doesn’t, though, just pulls away and tugs his shirt up roughly over his head and off. “Strip off, PK,” he says, nodding at PK’s entire body. He goes to work unbuttoning and unzipping his suit pants. “You too, kid,” he adds. “You know, if you’re sticking around.”

PK does as Carey asks, pulling his shirt off, and he looks hopefully over at Jeff. “No pressure, man,” he says with a soft smile. Jeff’s blushing when he smiles back, cheeks a bright red, but he nods.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, after swallowing a few times. “If you want to, I… I’d really like to.”

PK pulls his pants off and kicks them away before sort of rolling toward Jeff. “Here,” he says, leaning in to kiss Jeff. “I’ll help you.” Jeff just smiles back, nodding, and lets PK undress him. Carey joins in at some point, when PK is pressing kisses along Jeff’s shoulder while helping to unbutton his pants. He helps yank them off and tosses them aside, and PK sits back for a second, enjoying just watching them. Carey’s hands are so wide and broad against Jeff’s stomach and then down over his dick when he grinds the palm of his hand down against him through his underwear.

When they’re all finally naked, PK leans in to kiss Jeff and wraps his hand around his dick. He isn’t really jerking him off, it’s too dry and half-assed for that, but Jeff seems to like it because he arches his whole body up against PK. “Yeah,” he says, and PK laughs softly, kissing Jeff hard.

He hasn’t forgotten Carey, but he’s a bit surprised when Carey sort of drapes himself against PK’s back. He’s pressed up against him, cock rubbing against the small of PK’s back, and PK’s starting to wonder whether he could talk both of them into Eiffel Towering him. It’s been a while since he did that last, and Carey and Jeff both feel like they’d be up to it.

He rocks back against Carey, arching his ass up, and starts nipping softly at Jeff’s neck. He starts small and when Jeff groans, he picks it up, biting a little harder each time and working his way down Jeff’s chest. The kid is seriously ripped, and PK enjoys the hell out of scraping his teeth over Jeff’s pecs and down his abs.

“PK.” Jeff’s voice is breathy when he says it, and he reaches down to touch PK’s neck. Jeff’s hard, PK can feel his dick bobbing against his chin, and he dips his head, running his lips over it. It’s a tease, and a funny one at that, because Jeff just groans and arches his hips. “C’mon, PK,” he says. PK does as he asks, opening his mouth and taking Jeff in as deep as he can.

"Lube in your bag?" Carey asks, and PK startles because he'd almost forgotten he was there. He nods, and then Carey's rolling off the bed. PK hears him across the room but tries to focus on Jeff's dick instead. He's trying to switch it up between licking over the underside and taking him deep, and it sounds like Jeff's a fan. He's cupping the back of PK's head, squeezing every once in a while and moaning like crazy. It makes PK feel smug as hell, but that only lasts until Carey's back.

He presses up against PK's back, and he must be in a hurry, because he's not gentle at all. He pushes a finger into PK and doesn't wait for him to get used to it before he's twisting it inside him. PK groans around Jeff's cock, spreading his legs wider and trying to give Carey some room to work. He wants it, wants Carey to fuck him because it feels like it's been forever, but he's going to have to walk tomorrow and play the day after.

"Is he...?" Jeff asks, arching under PK at the exact same time Carey pushes a second finger into him. It's a lot, a lot of pressure and a lot of stimulation, and PK loves it and hates it all at once. He wants to push into it and pull away from it, but he can't because forward is Jeff and backward is Carey. He's fucking surrounded, and it has him so hard he can barely think. He rocks back onto Carey's fingers and licks over the head of Jeff's dick. So good, so fucking good.

"You good?" Carey asks, twisting his fingers almost viciously, and PK moans. He can't say anything with his mouth around Jeff, but he nods and rolls his hips back. It's not like Carey's hung like a porn star or something. He can take it a little rough, wants it, and Carey clearly does too. "Thank fuck," Carey whispers, and then he's pulling away. PK doesn't mean to let out the little whine he does when Carey pulls out, it’s a little slutty even for him, but Carey just laughs and smacks his hip.

He can hear Carey gloving up and slicking his cock, but he feels kind of rude for paying attention to it when he's got Jeff's dick in his mouth. He's supposed to be showing the kid a good time, and just because it feels like forever since PK last got fucked doesn't mean he should be slacking; he blames the weed. PK closes his eyes and hollows his cheeks, sucking Jeff's dick like it's the main event and not like it's some prelude to getting Carey inside him. Luckily, Jeff doesn't seem to have noticed. He just keeps squeezing the back of PK's neck and moaning brokenly.

"PK," Jeff half-whispers, and PK opens his eyes and looks up Jeff's body to catch Jeff staring at him, lips parted and eyes wide. He fucking loves that he made him look like that. He loves the half-shocked, half-debauched look in his eyes. Carey takes that moment to get behind him again, reaching down to shift PK's hips up and press up against him from behind.

He arches back and feels Carey's dick, gloved and slicked up, slide against the crease of his thigh. He wants, fuck, he wants all of it, and lucky for him, Carey doesn't make him wait. "PK, fuck," Carey says, pressing inside. He doesn't hold back, doesn't wait, and PK's honestly glad. It hurts, but it hurts in the best way possible, friction and burn, and PK can't do anything but take it. He wants to keep sucking off Jeff, but he just doesn't have the coordination. PK tugs on Jeff's hips, encourages him to just fuck his mouth. He can handle that, he knows he can.

"You're so fucking tight," Carey's voice is lower than it usually is, rougher, and he's got a tight grip on PK's hips, pulling him back onto his dick on every thrust. PK wants to tell him it’s because it’s been a while, that he hasn't been doing this with anyone else, but his mouth is full, so he just groans and goes with it. He's still just taking it, thighs and mouth open wide. When he opens his eyes, Jeff's staring down at him.

"You... It feels good?" he asks, cupping the side of PK's face with one hand. PK doesn't shudder at the reminder that Jeff's basically cherry, he doesn't. Carey just happens to rock his hips just right, that's why he shudders. He nods to Jeff and pulls back, licking over the head of Jeff's dick.

"Fucking amazing," he tells Jeff before dragging his tongue in a circle over the head of Jeff's dick. Jeff smiles down at him, running his thumb in a circle against PK's jaw. It's sweet, like Jeff, and PK wants to surge up, kiss him and maybe make out for a while. Carey tightens his grip on PK's hips, rocking forward hard enough to shove PK face-first into Jeff's lap. "Jesus, easy, Carey," PK shouts, looking back over his shoulder at him.

"Toughen up," Carey says, but he leans in when he says it, mouthing at the back of PK's neck. He doesn't thrust this time, just rolls his hips in a little circle inside of him, in the exact way that drives PK crazy.

"Carey," PK says, arching back into it.

"Yeah, PK," Carey replies, and does it again. "Just like that, c'mon." PK reaches down to jerk himself off, but Carey gets there first. It's all just way too much, and PK knows he's not going to last. Carey's dick is rubbing just right inside of him, pressing up behind him and jerking him, it’s too fucking much.

He opens his mouth, looking to lean forward again, keep blowing Jeff, but Carey surges forward and kisses him. It's awkward, more tongues and lips than an actual kiss, but it feels like it's been forever since he and Carey have kissed, and PK comes with a shout. Carey follows him right after and then sort of collapses on him, flat against his back. Carey's forehead is sweaty, pressed between PK's shoulder blades, and all PK wants to do is collapse forward and maybe nap.

Jeff's still waiting, though, and it was dickish enough to completely ignore him while he and Carey got off. He reaches for Jeff's cock, jerking it, and leans forward to close his mouth around it. The wait didn't hurt Jeff at all: he's still hard, and he feels even closer than he was before Carey started monopolizing PK’s mouth. "That was, fuck, that was really, oh God," Jeff's saying, and PK grins around him and keeps going, trying his best to make up for earlier.

"PK, I'm gonna -" Jeff says, and normally this is PK's cue to stop and finish him off with his hand, but he still feels guilty, so he doesn't. He keeps sucking, and Jeff’s hips are arching up and into his mouth, stuttering a few times before Jeff’s coming.

PK pulls off and reaches for the glass of water he keeps on his bedside. He spits into it, because no amount of guilt is going to encourage him to swallow for someone he barely knows. Carey shifts away, and suddenly PK's entire back is cold from the loss. He makes a face and looks over at him. He's stripping off the condom, tying it in the trashcan and generally not looking at either of them.

PK sort of wants to make sure he's not pissed or anything, but Jeff's still with them, and there's no way the ice water in Carey's veins goes away while there's a stranger around. "You cool?" he asks Jeff, smacking his hip. Jeff smiles back, grin wide and pleased. His hair is a mess, and he generally looks fucked out in a way that makes PK wish Carey had left him in any condition to ride the kid's dick.

"Great," Jeff says. "That was... wow." He's not slurring or anything, but PK's mostly thinking that's because there weren't enough slurrable words. He’s clearly crashing hard. Jeff blinks a little slowly at him, still grinning, and PK laughs.

"Damn, you look stupid right now," he says. Jeff shakes his head.

"No, he's right," Carey says, and when PK looks over, he's standing by the bathroom door with a glass of water in his hand. "Rare enough, but for once PK's right. You sound really, really stupid, kid."

Jeff frowns, possibly at what Carey said and possibly at how he said it. Carey telling him he sounded stupid lacked PK's fondness, though that's possibly because he says it in the same flat way he says most things. "I'm... shit, I'm tired. What time is it?"

"Way past your bed time," PK says, and reaches forward to ruffle his hair. "You want to crash here? I can bunk in with Carey."

Carey narrows his eyes at PK, and PK shrugs back. He’ll make Carey share if Carey’s not feeling in the mood for it. If Carey’s over his need for space enough to put his dick in PK’s ass again, he’d better be ready to give him a place to sleep if he’s desperate. That’s just buddies.

“No,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I’ve got to get back. Eric... he’ll worry.”

“Rooming with your captain?” PK asks. He sits up and stretches a bit, trying to get past how he’s already a little sore. “That’s fucking rough.”

“He as much of a dork off the ice as he is on it?” Carey steps toward the bed while he asks and hands the cup of water to PK. He takes it, smiling gratefully up at Carey because his mouth really does taste sort of a lot like jizz. That’s not a problem when it’s just him and Carey, rolling around on Carey’s bed and dicking around before falling asleep, but it really is when he’s gonna have to help Jeff back to his room.

“Eric is awesome,” Jeff says, frowning. “I mean, not actually, but he really is.”

He drinks his water and gets up. “C’mon, kid. Get dressed. I’ll help you back to your room.”

“I’m fine,” Jeff says. “Really.” He sits up and then immediately falls back down onto the bed. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, you’re great, Jeff,” PK says, laughing. He helps him up, and Jeff smiles into PK’s shoulder. “Get dressed and I’ll help you, okay?”

“Probably a good idea,” Jeff says, nodding. He doesn’t move away right away, though, and over Jeff’s shoulder, PK sees Carey roll his eyes.

“Clothes, kid,” Carey says, and Jeff laughs but pushes off of PK to go grab his things. PK manages to get his pants and a t-shirt on, but it means Jeff has to lean against Carey to get himself dressed. Carey stares straight ahead while he does, face completely blank in that he way he does that’s off-putting in its blankness. PK rolls his eyes at him.

“Hand him over,” PK says. “I’ve got it from here.” Carey looks down at him, meets his eyes and just stares for a second before shaking his head.

“No,” he says, sighing. “The kid weighs too much.” He sighs again. “I’ll help you bring him up to his fucking room.”

PK grins. “Thanks, Carey,” he says. It’s slowish going, even with Carey helping him, because Jeff’s trying to help, but he’s clearly just completely out of gas. “Don’t go blaming me if you’re shit tomorrow, eh?” he tells Jeff once they’ve dragged him into the elevator. Jeff sort of giggles in his ear, and PK laughs back, smiling up at Carey, but Carey’s having none of it. He rolls his eyes and watches the floors tick by.

When they get to Jeff’s floor, they half-carry him to his door, and then PK has to go searching through Jeff’s pockets for his room key. It’s not in the left or the right, and he’s sort of leaning Jeff against Carey’s chest while searching in his back pockets when the door opens behind them.

“What the hell?” Eric Staal’s voice sounds really different now that they’re not either on the ice or hanging out downstairs in the bar. Carey’s gone rigid behind Jeff, and PK turns around to smile at him.

“Hey!” he says. “We were just helping Jeff back to his room. Couldn’t find his key, glad you’re here to open the door for him!”

“Hey, Eric!” Jeff says, and PK wishes he could stop looking so much like he got drunk and then high and then got his dick sucked. Eric narrows his eyes and looks between PK and Carey and then back to Jeff.

Eric frowns and then glares at PK, and it’s a real shame that PK doesn’t really have any sort of defense for completely debauching Eric’s rookie, but the last thing he needs is to get undressed by Eric Staal in the middle of a hotel hallway. “You want us to haul him into your room or just leave him here?” Carey pipes up from behind them. “Because Jeff figured you’d worry if he wasn’t back. So we brought him, even if he is a little worse for wear.”

He stares at Eric then, and Eric shakes his head. “I think I’ve got it from here, boys,” he says and reaches out to grab Jeff’s shoulders. He hauls him closer, and PK steps out of the way. That turns out to be a good thing, because Eric closes the door behind him and Jeff without so much as a ‘thank you’ thrown his and Carey’s way.

“You’re such a dick,” PK tells Carey while they’re on their way back to their floor. “Anyone ever tell you that? Because you can be such a complete -” He’s cut off by Carey shoving him back against the wall of the elevator and kissing him. It’s a really, really good kiss. Carey’s mouth is really firm against his, and he seems to be using more teeth than usual, but it feels like it’s been way too long since they’ve been close like this.

"Carey-" PK gasps, reaching up for him. Carey grabs his hands and shoves them against the elevator wall.

"Just shut up, PK," he says, and kisses him again. They don't usually do this kind of thing. It's not that PK isn't into it, he just wouldn't have thought Carey would be. Carey bites at his lower lip, rocks his hips against PK's, and all the while keeps holding PK against the wall. They get to their floor a lot sooner than PK thought they would. He lets out a disappointed little noise in his throat when Carey pulls away.

"C'mon, PK," Carey says, tugging on his arm. They shuffle toward their hotel room, hands brushing several times along the way, and then Carey opens the door for them. He isn't surprised when Carey crowds him into one of the beds after they're both stripped down, but he is surprised when it's the clean bed. Carey’s been on his ‘space’ kick for so long, PK didn’t think he’d be invited to dirty it up again.

They don't, though. Carey pins him against the bed, making out with him, and rocks against him lazily, but that's all. They fall asleep like that, with Carey on top of him, a warm weight against his chest.

He wakes up when Carey gets out of bed. It’s early, he can tell by the light filtering in through the window. Carey's not in the room; he can hear him taking a piss and then washing his hands in the bathroom. When Carey opens the door, he's backlit by the bathroom lights, and PK blinks at how hot he looks. His hair is a mess and his face is still soft from sleep. He looks relaxed, like whatever's been bugging him these past weeks is over. PK's happy about that. The last thing he wants is for Carey to be unhappy. He puts too much pressure on himself as it is, the last thing he needs is some mystery problem.

PK smiles sleepily up at him. "Good luck today," he says, not caring when it comes out sleep-hoarse.

Carey just stands there for a second, mouth open, before shaking his head. "Get your lazy ass out of bed some time before five, and you can see how lucky I am in person."

PK grins. "Of course I'm gonna come see you, Carey. But in case you're doing some weird goalie stuff later, I wanted to wish you luck."

Carey smiles back, sitting down on the bed next to PK. "Thanks," he says softly.

"Looking forward to getting shelled?" PK asks, because he honestly doesn't know how Carey's planning to deal with a complete lack of defense in front of him. It feels weird to be sending Carey out alone. It's not even like when he was benched, because Hal, Gorgey and Spatcho aren't there to watch his back -- well, front.

"It's the All-Star game. Worst comes to worst, I'll just blame Fleury.”

"Or Cam Ward!" PK says, and Carey laughs.

"Yeah, ‘cause getting booed out of Carolina for the rest of the season is exactly what I was looking forward to," Carey tells him. He punches his side. "Wake up for real at some point and drag your lazy ass down to the rink, eh?"

"Anything you say, Carey," PK says. He couldn't explain what makes him sit up, lean in and kiss Carey. Sure, Carey apparently wants to fuck him again, but PK's not sure where else Carey needs space. Carey kisses him back, though, grabs hold of his shoulders and pulls him in. Carey's mouth tastes clean and minty, and PK knows his own tastes gross from sleep, but Carey holds on, tips his face up a bit.

"You got some time?" PK asks, once Carey finally lets go and pulls back. His skin feels hot, and there's a knot of heat in his belly. He'd give anything for Carey to fuck him again.

Carey shakes his head, but he looks really sorry about it. "I'm probably gonna be late as it is. Later, eh?"

"Maybe," PK says, flopping back onto the bed and shoving the sheets down. He stretches a bit, showing off, and trails his hand down his stomach and toward his dick.

"That's not hot," Carey says, standing. He keeps looking at him, though, so PK grins and arches a bit.

"I think I'm going to finger myself and jerk off before I come watch the game," he says, while Carey grabs his suit jacket and bag.

"Go fuck yourself," Carey says, heading for the door.

"I just said I intend to!" PK shouts as he leaves. It feels good, being able to joke with Carey like this again. He'd missed it when Carey was keeping his distance because fucking aside, Carey's his friend.

He doesn't end up doing anything, not even jerking off. He gets dressed and grabs breakfast, and then he spends the rest of the day with the other rookies, half-heartedly trash-talking for whichever team they were arbitrarily assigned. His team loses, which sucks, but Carey did okay, so it's pretty much a wash.

"You wanna?" Carey asks afterward, when they're laughing with everyone else at the hotel bar. PK nods, and they head for the elevators.

"I can't -" PK begins, once they're in their hotel room. "I mean, I gotta play tomorrow, so..." Carey can't fuck him again, is what he's trying to get at, but Carey just rolls his eyes and pulls him in close.

"Somehow I'll live without getting a piece of your ass," Carey says, and PK laughs into his mouth. Carey ends up blowing him, scraping his teeth down PK's abs, before closing his mouth around him and sucking hard. Afterwards, when PK's feeling more than a little blurry from the force of his orgasm, Carey jerks off on him. He rubs his dick against PK's stomach, rocks against his hip and then takes himself in hand, coming on PK's stomach and chest. He rubs it in afterwards, doesn't bother grabbing a towel for PK, and PK laughs.

"Great," he says, flopping back onto the bed. "Now I'm going to smell."

"So take a shower in the morning," Carey replies, rolling off him. They fall asleep like that, with PK on his back and Carey on his side facing him.

Carey doesn't wake him up early enough the next morning, and PK has to brush his teeth in the cab on the way to the airport. A shower is completely out, and he's not going to get one until he's at the rink.

"You're an asshole, Carey," PK says around a mouth full of foam.

Carey shrugs. "Figured you could work an alarm clock. Don't blame me."

Waiting at the airport for their plane, PK hopes he doesn't smell too bad. Carey reaches out, though, swipes his thumb across PK's lower lip, and PK looks up, startled. "You had toothpaste," Carey says, and leans back in his chair again. "Also, quit squirming around so much, it's annoying." After that, PK doesn't worry about smelling because he's too busy shifting around just enough to piss Carey off.


It's not like they get back from the All-Star Game and suddenly Carey's acting like he always did. He's still a little weird, but it's serious now, and the games mean more than ever, so PK can understand it. It helps that Carey's weirdness doesn't include not sleeping with PK or hanging out with him, just acting twitchy pretty often.

"Countdown to Heritage, eh?" PK asks one night. They're at Carey's, which means Carey can't get up and leave like he does sometimes at PK's. Carey doesn't tend to kick him out of bed, so he's settled in. He's on his side, drawing aimless patterns against the soft skin of Carey's back.

"Huh?" Carey asks, and PK laughs.

"The Classic, Carey!" he says. "You're all focused lately. Working yourself up for the Calgary game, right?"

Carey stares for a second before shrugging. "Should be good, eh?"

"We're gonna kick their asses!" he says, and taps against Carey's back. "What did you end up putting on your goalie mask?"

"It's a surprise," Carey answers, so PK pokes him.

"C'mon, Carey. Spill. I'll get to see it eventually," he says.

"Exactly," Carey says. "You'll see it eventually, so you don't need to know now."

PK keeps poking at him. Carey isn't ticklish, unfortunately, but if PK pokes at him enough - "Quit it," Carey says, arching his back, like that can knock PK's hand away.

"Tell me," PK say,s and keeps poking. Carey turns over and reaches out for PK's hands. He traps them against the bed, leaning in.

"Quit," he says, mouth in a line. He's so close, close enough to kiss. PK leans in as much as he can with his hands trapped between them and licks Carey's nose. "Ugh! PK!" Carey rolls away, and PK just laughs.


PK's laughing, hanging off of Carey. He's grinning wide and bouncing on his skates. It's dark in the hallway, waiting to take the ice, and eventually Carey shoves him away and closes his eyes, getting himself Zen or whatever. PK moves on, bouncing around and then mock-humping Larsy up against the wall. Hal's just off to his side, and he's expecting Skillsy to be glaring at him, but he's frowning in Carey's direction.

PK looks to make sure Carey's okay, and Carey's eyes aren't closed anymore. He's watching PK, and he looks surprised when PK catches him. PK just grins, though, and then they're announcing them and it's time to go, so PK throws himself at the ice.

They win, which just continues their weird 'win one, lose one, win one, lose one' pattern. PK convinces Carey to come out with the guys, and Carey spends the whole time laughing with Cammy and Gio, because he's secretly an old man.

PK rolls his eyes and goes to grab another pitcher of beer, Budweiser, because it's Carey's favorite. "PK." Hal's hand drops onto his, and when PK turns around, he has a sort of pained look on his face.

"Hey, Skillsy," he says, and grins. "You okay?"

"That's nice," Hal says, and lets out a breath. "Look, what are you doing with Carey?"

"Nothing at the moment," PK answers, because this feels like a trick question. "Well... I got the beer he likes, does that count?"

"I meant in general," Hal says, and he looks like he'd rather be talking about anything else.

"Well, in general... we're having a lot of sex?" he says. "I bottom mostly, because Carey's -"

"Stop," Hal says, holding up a hand. "Please. Never do that again."

"Do what?" PK asks.

"Put those words together and say them in my direction," Hal says. "And are you sure that's all you're doing? You two seem..."

"Yeah!" PK says. "Carey's awesome. We're -" PK pauses, trying to come up with anything to compare how great he and Carey have it. "It's just like when me and Tavares were younger. Like, World Juniors and everything all over again. Except Carey can cook... sort of."

"He cooks for you?" Hal asks. He looks a little horrified.

"Well, he did once. Johnny couldn't make grilled cheese without burning the place down," PK explains. The bartender comes by with his pitcher, and PK pays and tips her.

"Okay," Hal says, shaking his head. "If you're sure, PK."

"Good looking out, Skillsy," PK tells him, slapping him on the back. Hal returns the gesture, only it hurts, because Hal's huge.

He brings the beer back to the table, and everyone gives him hell for buying such shit beer, but Carey likes it, so PK doesn't really care.


Calgary is fucking freezing. PK knows he's been colder in his life, it's just hard to believe when he's walking from the bus into the locker room. He isn't wearing many layers, because he wants to feel out the weather. Obviously it's cold, but he won't really know what's like until he's out there in a game situation. He doesn't want to go and over-heat himself.

"So what's your plan for keeping warm out there?" a reporter asks him, and PK grins.

"I'm just gonna wait and see," he says. "My mommy didn't send me toe-warmers like Patch, so I gotta just figure it out for myself."

"Anything you know you'll do for sure?" he asks, and PK thinks for a second.

"I'm wearing a toque for the skate for sure. I might double up on under-armor too."

"Weak!" Carey shouts from across the room, and PK laughs.

"Oh yeah, not complain about the weather to Carey," he tells the reporter. "I can't wait for him to get on about how all us boys from down south don't know from cold."

"Does he make fun of you for that a lot?" the reporter asks.

"What, Carey? Of course. Isn't that right, Carey?" He shouts the last, and Carey comes over to him, frowning.

"Ontario boys like PK, they're just not tough enough," he says. PK laughs. "Seriously. It's gonna be hard for him to defend when he's crying from the cold."

"The way Carey tells it, he learned to never cry because in the frozen wilds of BC, your tears freeze to your face, and also everyone's just too manly to feel the cold," PK explains.

"Everyone?" the reporter asks, and PK knows an opening when he hears it.

"Oh yeah, everyone. Carey, his mom, his super hot sister -" He has to run away then, and maybe it'll look bad on the interview, but this is the first time Carey's laughed like this in what feels like forever. Who cares if he's chasing PK down, probably to punch him for calling his sister hot or his mom manly, while doing it?


"Oh my god," PK says, when he finally sees Carey in his mask. It is, simply put, the most horrifying thing ever. Gomer and Gio cross themselves just looking at it.

"Awesome, right?" Carey asks. He's smiling. The weirdo.

"Did you skin someone and put their face on that mask?" PK asks. Carey rolls his eyes.

"Oh god, those are your ears, aren't they?" Cammy asks in a kind of horrified fascination.

"Yeah!" Carey sounds way too chipper about his body parts painted onto the mask. "It's my ears and hair and Jacques Plante's face."

"Yeah, no. It's even creepier when you've explained it," Gio says. Then, in his best captain's voice, he shouts, "Okay, enough gawking at what a freak our goalie is, let's get to skating."

Carey's still smiling while everyone skates away. He's got the anti-glare paint on his cheeks, and when he lifts his mask up to grab a drink of water, even the creepy face on his head can't take away from how hot he looks. "It's not terrible, I guess," PK says.

"You give a guy a swelled head, PK," Carey says, and PK laughs and goes to skate with everyone else. They end up skating near each other; then Carey hipchecks him, and PK has to compensate so he doesn't go flying into the boards. It's a lot of fun. PK thinks his balls might have permanent frostbite, but he missed skating outside.


It's a brutal fucking loss. Carey gets lit up, and PK doesn't mind getting beaten to the puck by Iggy (okay, he does mind it, but he sort of gets it. Iggy's... Iggy, after all) but Olli Jokinen getting quality scoring chances on Carey while he's out there is just embarrassing. Carey's pissed. The guys say they've seen him angrier, but he can't really imagine where.

He sticks close to him, wanting to help him out, cheer him up. Carey's the type to always blame losses on himself, no matter how much PK and Spatcho blew coverage out there. "I was thinking we could hang out at the hotel, eh?" he asks with a smile. He knows Carey had been hoping to get out, have a beer and generally wander around in his cowboy boots in a place where that isn't considered weird.

Carey just shrugs and walks out the door, toward the team bus. PK sits down next to him, scrunched in, and Carey rolls his eyes and looks out the window. It's a short trip to the hotel, but PK loses Carey in the shuffle between being in the bus and being at the hotel. He has to shrug off Patch's arm when he throws it around his shoulders and beg off going out with the team.

He honestly doesn't know if Carey's going to let him in, but he knocks anyway, shifting from foot to foot while he waits. Carey cracks the door open and shakes his head.

"I'm not gonna be good company tonight, PK," he says.

PK smiles. "How's that supposed to be news?" he asks, and shoves the door open the rest of the way.

Inside, Carey's only got one light on. The television is set to TSN with the sound turned completely off. Carey's laptop is on his bed, and there's country music coming out of it, low and slow and soft. "What's this?" he asks, sitting down on the bed.

Carey shrugs, but his cheeks redden a bit. "No one," he says, casually. It's too casual, PK knows that much.

"Uh huh," PK says, and rolls on the bed so he can see Carey's iTunes.

"Hey!" Carey reaches out, but it's too late.

"Patsy Cline, eh, Carey?" PK asks, grinning because it's part of a playlist called 'pissed and sad'. "Man... what is this playlist? What's ‘Hurt’ by Johnny Cash, and why is it after ‘I Fall To Pieces’?"

"Fuck off," Carey says and lunges forward to grab his laptop, moving to the table. He doesn't turn it off, though, and Patsy Cline keeps crooning about her feelings or something.

Carey drops onto the bed next to him with a sigh. He's probably rolling his eyes. He does that a lot when PK's around. "It's not like I don't know you've got shit taste in music, Carey," PK says, turning onto his side to poke his stomach.

Carey flips him off, and PK crawls closer, so he's leaning over him "What's that?" he asks. Carey opens one eye, and now he is rolling his eyes. PK leans down, cups Carey's face and kisses him. It's soft and slow and Carey relaxes into it, tilting his face up and putting his hand around the back of PK's neck.

"Can't even defend your terrible taste," PK says between slow kisses. He leans against Carey, settling in for a nice, long make-out session to get Carey to relax. "Johnny was the same. He -" PK doesn't get a chance to finish; Carey's pushing him away and then punching him, right in the mouth. He blinks, disoriented for a second, but Carey's trying to push him onto his back, and he's been playing hockey professionally for way too long to just let someone toss him down like that.

He struggles with Carey, flipping him onto his back for a second, but Carey gets his hand free and lands another punch. It fucking hurts, and PK can feel his lip split, so he hits back. It's not a very good showing, body blows mostly, but Carey's not wearing his pads, so it does way more damage than it would if they were on the ice. Carey grunts, but then he's throwing PK back. It means PK falls off the bed, but Carey follows him down.

Carey lands on top of him with a grunt, and PK reaches up to push him off, but Carey pins his hands to his sides. PK notices that Carey's hard at almost the exact same time he realizes Carey's not the only one. "Umm -" PK says, and Carey leans in.

He doesn't kiss him. Carey's mouth against his is too savage to be called a kiss. He bites at PK's mouth, and when it catches his split lip and PK gasps in pain, he does it again. "Carey," PK whispers, and Carey lets go, reaches for PK's fly and pulls his pants down. He jerks them off together, hard and fast and almost painful.

PK moans into Carey's mouth and lets him do whatever he wants, even when PK comes before Carey does and Carey doesn't stop jerking him off. He doesn't know how he feels about Carey's come-slick fist jerking them both off when PK's oversensitive from orgasm, but it doesn't last long enough for PK to find out. He thinks he kind of liked the way it made his whole body shake, though, probably.

Afterward, Carey climbs off him and goes to wash his hands. "You should probably -" Carey says, and PK looks up at him expectantly. He thinks Carey wants to tell him to leave, but PK wants to stay.

"Let's hang out and you can teach me about Patsy Cline," PK says, smiling hopefully. Carey stares for a second before looking down and nodding.

"All right, PK," he says, like he's too tired to argue. PK stays as late as he can, and while he's trying to line dance like Carey tells him, Carey finally smiles again.


Playing the best team in the league is never easy, but PK can't imagine how hard it is for Carey when they have to play Vancouver. PK's got his head screwed on straight, he knows to focus on the game at hand and not their record or anything like that. Carey doesn't get that luxury because it's their only game a year in his home province.

Gomer laughs when he tells him there aren't nearly as many people in the crowd for Carey as there have been. Forty people still sounds like a lot, though. Gomer shrugs. "It's not 1,500 First Nations kids, so it's downsizing for Carey."

"He seriously invited that many people once?" PK asks, a little stunned.

Gomer shrugs again. "It might have been his mom? I dunno. There were a bunch of kids and Carey lost really badly," he says.

"So long as he doesn't punch out another wall," Cammy says, coming up to them.

"You doubt Carey's skills?" Gomer asks.

"Never." Cammy laughs, and then Gio comes over to break the three of them up before Jacques or Perry start shouting at them in French.

Before the game, Carey's getting focused a little earlier than usual. PK doesn't want to interrupt, but he really wants to wish him luck. "Hey, Carey!" he half-shouts, and Carey looks up. He's got the beginnings of a fond smile on his face before he sees PK, and then it's a full one.

"What now, PK?" Carey asks, and PK grins and gives Carey a thumbs-up.

"Good luck, man!" he says, and Carey rolls his eyes. He goes back to preparing, getting ready and focusing, but now he's smiling while he does it.

They don't kill Vancouver or anything. It's not a blowout or an easy victory, but they win. They win, and Carey actually takes the game-puck this time around. He looks stunned, like he can't believe it, and PK piles on with the rest of the team to congratulate him.

Carey takes the congratulations, smiles with all of them and even jokes with the media a bit. It's not until the cameras are off that Carey sinks down in front of his locker, face in his hands. Everything about him, from the curve of his neck to the set of his shoulders, makes him look vulnerable and open. If he were looking up, if PK could see whatever was in his eyes, PK knows it would be raw and honest.

"Heads up, Carey," PK says, but when Carey looks up, his expression is guarded, Carey's familiar bland expression.

"What, I win the game and still have to put up with you?" Carey asks, smiling just enough that PK can see the outline of his dimple.

"You had help!" PK says, and then kicks the bench next to him. "But no, your mom and dad are outside."

Carey's outside, talking to his parents about dinner or something, when Carey's sister grabs his arm. "PK, you can come, right?" she asks.

PK smiles at her and nods. He doesn't know what he's agreeing to, but Kayla's hot, and PK learned long ago it's in his best interest to go along with what hot people tell him to do.

"Definitely," he says. "Wouldn't miss it!" Kayla smiles at him, and her dimples are just like Carey's; it's kind of weird.

"Cool. Carey, give PK a ride, eh?" Kayla says to her brother, and Carey's making a face, but he nods. They pile onto the bus and PK shoves in next to Carey, trying to make as big a deal about this as he figures Gorgey would have. The others join in, and once they're at the hotel and they've got their stuff squared away, PK's meeting him to go.

"So did your parents rent a car for you, or -" PK trails off when a cab pulls up. Carey rolls his eyes and pushes him toward it. "Where's everyone else?"

"What do you mean?" Carey asks.

"The rest of the team?" PK clarifies.

"Oh, I dunno," Carey says. "I mean... they're invited and stuff."

"They can get their own ride," PK says. "Me, I only ride in style, with the man of the hour." He throws his arm around Carey, pulling him in against his side. "Victory in Vancouver!" He shouts it, and Carey and the driver wince, but Carey's grinning, so PK's really not sorry.

At the restaurant, Carey's family and some of his old friends are waiting, with full smiles and fuller pitchers of beer. PK doesn't keep track of how much beer he's had, but they don't have practice or a game tomorrow, so he doesn't have to.

Carey gets fries with his meal and tosses PK a soft smile when he turns his plate so PK can steal them off his plate more easily. PK does, leaning in against Carey's shoulder because he's been trying to be so, so good with his diet and it's been ages since he last ate fries.

Their teammates roll in a little late, shoving into other tables, and it's Carey's kind of place, so when Kayla goes to ask them to turn up the George Straight song that's come on, they do. "There's a dance floor!" Kayla says, and Carey gives her a skeptical look. "Okay, we can make there be one!"

It's not PK's idea to hit the dance floor. Kayla grabs his arm and pulls him out where she's cleared a space to dance on. He doesn't know the song, other than that Carey says it's not 'real' country, but he figures showing Kayla how to dougie would still be funny. She follows him, laughing, and when PK looks up to see if Carey's watching, his stomach drops when he sees he is.

Carey isn't laughing at them. He isn't even smiling. Instead, his jaw is tight, and he's clearly trying hard not to frown. When he catches PK watching, he turns back to his beer. That's not... this is Carey's night. He shouldn't be looking like that.

He leans forward, whispers into Kayla's ear. "Gotta tap out," he says. "I need water, bad."

"Weak, PK!" she shouts back, and PK laughs at how much like Carey it sounds.

"One of us just skated over twenty-six minutes tonight," he says, and heads back for the table. She swats him on the ass on the way, and PK's pretty sure he likes Carey's sister.

"Hey!" he says, dropping down next to Carey at the table. Carey doesn't say anything, so PK leans in and steals some cold fries off his plate. He doesn't bother moving away afterward, keeps pressing up against Carey's side. He finished his beer before, so he reaches for Carey's. It's not like Carey should mind, he knows where PK's mouth has been.

Across the table, some of Carey's buddies from up north around Anahim Lake are watching them with smiles. PK ignores them, focusing instead on Carey. "What's up, Carey? Not gonna dance? I know you've got two left feet, but I could show you some moves." He mimics a few moves, though he doesn't bother to move away. Carey just looks at him, so PK stares back.

"Your boyfriend clearly wants some attention, Carey!" one of Carey's friends says, laughing.

"Yeah," another one says. "Dance with him."

PK opens his mouth, ready to laugh it off, but Carey's hand clamps down on PK's thigh under the table. It hurts, a lot, so PK shuts his mouth. "He's not my boyfriend," Carey says, and then stands. "I have to talk to you." He's talking to PK now, so PK stands up and follows Carey back toward... the bathroom.

PK knows it's probably a bad idea, they're surrounded by people, but it's Carey's night, and if he wants a blowjob in the bathroom, PK's down. He smiles when Carey shoves him up against the door. "Don't fuck my sister," Carey says, and PK blinks, because this is really, really not what he thought Carey would say to him.

"Huh?" he asks, confused. Carey scowls and crowds up against him.

"My sister," he says, slowly. "You can't have sex with her. Don't do that, PK."

PK wouldn't. He'd never. Carey's his friend, and they're... PK wouldn't fuck the sister of someone he was sleeping with. Other than All Star Weekend, it's been months since he had sex with anyone but Carey. "I don't... I thought we'd be fucking. Celebrating victory and stuff?" he asks, because he's sort of stunned.

"Ever, PK," Carey says, and when PK stares at him blankly, Carey licks his lips. "You can't ever fuck my sister," he says.

PK nods, because why would he? He just wants to fuck Carey, not other people. "Yeah, no. I'll never have sex with your sister," he says, and Carey slumps against him.

"Good," Carey says, and PK smiles up at him.

"What about your mom?" he asks, teasing. "She's still pretty hot. There's definitely a lot of miles left on those tires. I'd just have to -" He's cut off by Carey's mouth against his. He groans into Carey's mouth, and Carey rocks his entire body up against him.

"PK?" Carey says, once he pulls away. He's mostly saying it against his throat.

"Yeah?" PK asks. Suddenly Carey punches him in the chest, really hard.

"Never talk about my mom like that, asshole," Carey says. PK's ready to double over, make a big deal over how hurt he is, but Carey pulls him into another kiss, and that's more important.

They get a lot of shit from Carey's friends when they come back from the bathroom and PK's mouth is kind of puffy, but after Carey won't stop glaring, it dies down.

After Carey's parents head out, the party starts to die down. Kayla leaves, and so do some of their teammates. PK raises an eyebrow at Carey, asking if he wants to fuck when they get back to the hotel, and Carey rolls his eyes. He grabs Webs, though, and PK can't see what they're saying, but they exchange keys.

"My room, eh?" he says to Carey when he comes back. Carey flips him off and goes to play pool with his friends. PK keeps drinking at the table, describing one of the awesome saves he'd seen Carey make to someone who might be Carey's grandmother. Eventually, Carey comes back, and one of his friends has a stack of bills in his hand.

"You must be really bad at pool, Carey," PK says, grinning. Carey's flushed and smiling, happy like PK feels like he doesn't get to see him very often.

"I let him win," Carey says, and PK laughs, leaning into him. "Really. I've done enough winning for one night. I'm a giver." PK laughs again, and Carey punches him in the side. "Asshole."

"Tell me more about how secretly good at pool you are, Carey!" PK says and rests his head on Carey's shoulder.

"Lightweight," Carey says, but he sounds fond. "Okay, I'm on roomie duty with this asshole. Looks like I'm tapping out." Carey moves, high-fives his friends and takes a few more congratulations, and then he comes back. "Look alive, PK," he says, hauling him up.

They take a cab back to the hotel, and PK takes advantage of how drunk he is to lean against Carey. He rests his head on his shoulder and lets his hands wander over Carey's chest, pushing under thick flannel and cotton until he's touching skin. Carey stops him when he starts tracing his fingers over the inside seam of his jeans, high up on his thigh. His hand is like iron around PK's wrist, and when PK grins up at him, Carey scowls and shakes his head.

"Fucking tease," Carey says, when they get in their room. He's got PK shoved up against the wall and leans in to kiss him.

"I was planning on putting out!" PK argues. "It's not being a tease if I'm gonna put out, Carey."

Carey keeps him there, kisses him hard until PK's breathless and his mouth hurts; then he drops to his knees. He pulls at PK's zipper and the button on his fly, and PK gasps, rocking his hips forward. Carey's mouth around his cock is fucking amazing, and PK just wants it to last forever, but this is Carey's night.

"Hey, c'mon, Carey," he says. "Don't you want to fuck me?"

Carey looks up, scowling, and then pulls off. "I want you to come first. Shut up and enjoy the blowjob." He does as Carey says, shuts up and enjoys the blowjob. It's good, Carey's mouth warm and wet around him, his hands on PK's hips, holding him down. There's something familiar about it, and it's so much of a surprise to PK that they've done this often enough to be familiar that it doesn't take him long at all to come.

Once he's recovered enough to remember that the point is to get Carey laid, PK kicks his jeans off the rest of the way and spreads his legs. "C'mon, Carey," he says ,and Carey looks up at him and then back down between his parted thighs. He runs his thumb down the underside of PK's cock, and PK shudders because he's oversensitive still from coming.

Carey keeps going, though, down over PK's balls and back, tracing dryly over the rim. He isn't pushing for more, just sort of touching him there, tracing lightly and staring at him. PK stares back, wishing he knew what Carey wanted him to do. Eventually, he has to move and break the silence, do something.

"Seriously, Carey," PK says, arching his hips.

"Whatever, PK," Carey says, and goes to get the lube.


"Why is Carey ignoring you?" Hal asks at their next practice. PK looks toward the net and tries to think about whether Carey's been ignoring him. He came over to PK's last night, and Carey jerked him off and then came on PK's chest. It was really good, and it was even better when Carey went to leave afterward and PK could make fun of him for having to go out in the cold. His bed was less warm afterward, though, which sucks.

"Is he?" PK asks. Hal rolls his eyes.

"He hasn't said anything to you at any of our practices," Hal says. "Usually, Gio's got to break you two up, or at least remind you that this isn't a social call."

"Oh, umm, we're just trying to keep it serious, you know," PK says, and it sounds made up even to his ears.

"Right," Hal says, and PK ducks his head and skates away. He skates up to Carey, thinking that he can joke around with him or at least tease him into hipchecking him.

Carey ignores him. It's kind of shitty, and PK doesn't like the way it feels.

After practice, PK leans against Carey's stall. "Hey! Patch and Larsy want to go head out for dinner," he says, and at Carey's uncertain look, he rushes to continue. "All nutritionist-approved. You in?"

Carey shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "I'm good." PK frowns.

"You sure?" he asks. "We're probably gonna talk Larsy into ordering something he's going to hate. It should be pretty fun."

Carey smiles at him, but it's the completely fake, tense, tight smile he gives when the last thing he wants to do is smile for anyone. "I'm good, PK." PK stands there while he walks away and feels like he's missing something. It just doesn't make sense. He goes to dinner, and they get Larsy to order cretons on toast, but it doesn't feel the same.

"Did you talk to him?" Hal asks while they're running two-on-ones the next day. They've got a game tonight, and PK badly wants to get out of their team yo-yo-ing slump.

"Not really," PK says, because he doesn't really know what to say.

"Well, do it anyway, PK," Hal tells him. "Just man up and talk to him. I have to do it with my wife all the time because she's more stubborn. There's no way that Carey's going to break first. He's a goalie." PK doesn't know what his face is doing, but it must be reflecting at least some of his confusion, because Hal sighs. "Not that you'd want Carey to break. By 'break,' I meant be the person to stop ignoring the other and have an adult conversation. In the absence of any adults besides Carey, you've gotta do it, PK. Just pretend."

"I'm very adult!" PK says, not realizing it was more of a shout until several people, including the AC, Perry, turn to stare at him. He waves and goes back to paying attention to the drill.

They beat Carolina, and the room's happy. The boys are smiling, Gio's giving those interviews where he tries desperately to speak a little French and the media is in a good enough mood to laugh about it. PK wishes it were like this always.

"Let's grab some dinner," he says to Carey. He can see that Carey's got his mouth open to turn him down, so he hipchecks him. "Just you and me. I'll even pay!" Carey rolls his eyes, but there's a couple people watching right now, and he just nods and goes back to getting dressed.

They head out, in separate cars, to PK's favorite sushi place. It's not Carey's favorite, but he orders a ton anyway because he's a dick, trying to run up the bill. PK flips him off and orders for himself.

"This is good, right?" PK asks, when neither of them are done eating. Carey just nods, mouth full of yellowtail, and PK grins. "See? And Skillsy's worried we're not friends any more!" He makes a dismissive noise, but Carey's stopped eating.

"What?" he asks, staring.

"Skillsy, Hal, he keeps asking me if I fucked up and if you're mad at me," PK tells him. "Like we can't just be all business at practice a couple times. Hal noticed we weren't talking at practice and asked what I'd done wrong. He said I should apologize." PK shrugs, because he honestly doesn't know what Carey could be pissed about.

Carey looks pissed. "Okay," he says and nods. "I'll be, whatever, in practice again. No sweat."

"It wasn't like it was on purpose or anything, right?" he asks. "Just trying to be more business, eh?"

"Yeah, sure," Carey says. The rest of dinner is mostly quiet. They make fun of Gomer's dumb dog for a while, and then PK invites himself back to Carey's.

"Maybe I don't want to fuck you right now," Carey says, standing in his living room.

PK looks around. "Really?" he asks, and takes his shirt off. Carey rolls his eyes, but drags him back to his bedroom. He fucks PK's mouth, holding the back of his neck still and rocking his hips forward. It leaves PK's lips and mouth feeling sore and used, but he doesn't turn Carey down when he kisses him while jerking him off.

Carey sits next to him on the plane the next day. He hangs with him at the pre-game skate and laughs at the jokes PK tells after the game, too. Hal seems happy. He slaps PK on the back and congratulates him for patching things up. PK wants to think that's the end of it, but he's starting to feel like there's something else wrong.


“So you’re gonna be in my backyard,” Johnny says when he calls the next day.

"Well, not actually," PK answers. "For one, I hope you didn't buy a place that overlooks that shithole of an arena."

"Leave off The Mausoleum, PK," Johnny tells him.

PK laughs and adds, "For another, I'm not playing in the suburbs."

"Did you wanna hang out or not?" Johnny asks, sighing.

"I might be hanging with my teammates, you know," PK tells him.

"So bring them along," Johnny says, and PK can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Fine, Johnny," PK tells him. "Pick a restaurant, make it happen."


Losing to the Rangers is just another disappointment in a terrible pattern of disappointing games. Carey's playing like a maniac, trying to push them toward the post season, but everything else just isn't clicking. PK hates it, but he doesn't know how they can even hope to fix it.

"Hey, Carey!" he calls out, afterward. "Wanna grab dinner?" Carey shrugs, but once he's dressed, he follows PK out to the bus. When they get to their hotel, Johnny's waiting outside for them with a cab.

"Full service, even for a loser like you," Johnny says, and PK laughs.

"Who're you calling a loser, Mr. Plays-for-the-Islanders?" PK asks.

"You didn't say dinner with Tavares," Carey says, frowning. At Johnny's raised eyebrow, Carey adds, "I wouldn't want to intrude on your evening."

"Well -" Johnny starts, but PK reaches out and grabs Carey’s wrist. He tugs him toward the cab.

"C'mon, Carey," PK says, smiling. "It'll be fun!" Carey rolls his eyes but follows along behind him. It's a tight squeeze with three of them in the backseat, but it’s kind of nice too. Johnny's one of PK's oldest friends; he wants him and Carey to get along.

The restaurant Johnny picked out is some steakhouse. "When you said it was my choice, I seriously thought about taking you to Avery and Lundqvist's place," Johnny says. He's grinning, and PK makes a face at having to eat at Lundqvist's place after losing. "Exactly. And I definitely would have changed plans with Carey coming. It's one thing to pull that on a good friend and another to do it to a stranger."

"Carey's strange, but he's no stranger," PK says. He looks over at Carey, and Carey rolls his eyes.

"Thanks," he says, and looks out the window. He's mostly silent on the way over, but it's cool because it means PK can catch up with Johnny. He's even got a girl now, so it's not entirely PK making fun of how terrible the Islanders are.

"Is it true your captain runs the power play?" PK asks with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Like, actually runs it, as in Weight pulls out a white board and has you execute a play he comes up with? Because that's -"

"Fuck off talking about my captain before I'm mean about Gio and you start crying," Johnny says. He elbows PK, and PK elbows him back. It turns into a shoving match in the back seat, with Johnny trying to hold him away and PK doing his best to bodycheck him against the door.

"Are we almost there?" Carey's voice cuts into the two of them laughing. The driver nods, and Carey throws himself back against the seat.

"If you wanted in, you should have said, Carey," PK says, nudging Carey's shoulder. "I think I could take you."

"You wish," Carey says.

"I could totally bodycheck you." He's grinning now, poking Carey in the knee. "Don't you think so, Johnny?"

Johnny's got this amused look on his face when he shakes his head. "He's got inches and pounds on you," Johnny says.

"I could take him!" PK insists, and Johnny snorts.

"Yeah, to the movies," he says.

Any brilliant retort PK was about to come up with is cut off by the driver pulling up to a restaurant and turning back to them. Johnny pays the fare, grumbling, "Such an expensive date," while they all pile out of the cab.

"But worth every penny," PK says, hipchecking him. "C'mon, Carey. Let's go make fun of Johnny's taste in restaurants." He holds the door open for Carey, and Carey just scowls at him. PK isn't surprised that Carey's in no mood to joke around. It’s how he always is after a loss. PK's job is to get his mind off it. Usually he'd do that with blowjobs, but with Johnny around, he'll have to find other ways.

Every time he hangs with Johnny, they end up talking about old times. Old games they played, and Johnny mocking him for all the bad habits their coach had wanted to beat out of him. "Seriously," Johnny's telling Carey. He isn't slurring, but he's had more than a few and he's slumped against PK's side. "Coach was just constantly on his ass. It was... okay, it was hilarious, but also weird. He wasn't good, obviously, PK sucks, but he wasn't the worst or anything."

"Nothing but compliments," PK says, and Johnny shrugs.

"Sounds great," Carey says and goes back to eating the chicken he ordered. PK pokes him with his foot and then steals a few green beans off his plate.

"Hey, Carey," PK says. "Hey!"

"Quit it," Carey snaps, and moves his foot away so PK can't poke it anymore.

"Awwww, c'mon, Carey. Don't be so down!" PK tells him. "It could be worse. You know, Johnny's team doesn't even have a goalie!" Johnny punches him in the side for that, but then he slumps against PK's side, frowning.

"I love the Isles," he says. "They're like a family."

"You mean dysfunctional?" PK teases, pinching Johnny's side, and Johnny laughs but elbows him.

"Fuck off, we're awesome," he says. PK gets it. He understands wanting to defend his team no matter what, because even with all their faults, they're still your team, and your team is like your family. Doesn't mean he won't give Johnny hell, though.

"They're really not, Johnny," PK says, laughing. Johnny's head is on his shoulder, so PK ruffles his stupid hair. It smells good. "Oh man, Carey, you wanna share a dessert with me?"

"I gotta go," Carey says, and stands up. He throws a couple twenties on the table and heads for the exit, coat in hand.

"What? Carey!" PK says. He tries to get up, but Johnny's heavy, and he has to push him off him.

"Hey!" he says when he gets outside. Carey's waiting at the taxi stand.

"I'm grabbing a cab, PK," he says. "Do... whatever, with John. I'm not good company right now." His hands are shaking, balled up into fists at his side.

"I'll go with you, then," he says, leaning in. "Take the edge off?"

Carey steps back and turns away. "No," he says. "I don't... I'm not in the mood, at all." A cab pulls up, and Carey steps up to it. "Go back inside," he says. "Go finish your night out with John."

PK stands there, watching Carey's cab pull away, feeling like he's missed something and wondering if this is just gonna be how Carey always is from now on. "Hey," Johnny says, coming up behind him. "I paid our bill." He looks around. "Where's your boyfriend?"

PK shrugs. "Carey wanted to leave," he says, frowning. "He seemed pretty pissed."

Johnny looks at him. It's kind of an intense look, and PK feels antsy beneath the scrutiny. "C'mon," he finally says and tugs on PK's wrist to drag him back to another cab.

Johnny doesn't give the driver the address to PK's hotel. Instead, they're heading for Johnny's place out on Long Island. "I really should get back to the team," PK says, because he's worried about Carey. That loss isn't on him, and he really can't be blaming himself; it's not right. Carey gives them a chance to win every night, and he's why they're doing as well as they are in the standings.

"Back to your team?" Johnny asks, skeptically.

"Yes?" PK says, because it seems obvious. Johnny just shakes his head.

When they get there, Johnny's place is dark. "Where's your girl?" PK asks, and Johnny laughs.

"At her place?" Johnny says, as though it should be obvious. "She works for a living, she sure as hell isn't staying here when I'm planning to go out with some friends."

"You said you guys were talking about moving in together," PK says, shrugging.

"We are. Maybe we will." Johnny shrugs too. "There's a lot to talk about. She's got a job and a life and stuff where she lives, so we have to talk a lot about it. Because talking is an important part of relationships."

"Okay?" PK says, because Johnny's talking about his girlfriend really intensely, and PK doesn't understand what the hell is going on.

Johnny sighs. "What's with you and Price?" he asks. PK looks up at him.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Well, obviously you're fucking," Johnny says, as though it’s not even a question. "But what else is going on?"

PK frowns. "Nothing," he says. "Me and Carey, it's like... it’s awesome. He's really cool, not actually cool, because he listens to country and wears cowboy boots, but he's cool in other ways. Like underneath his ugly camo shirts, he's got an inner coolness." PK grins. "Plus, he's a great lay."

Johnny stares at him for a second, mouth open in shock. Then he starts laughing. "Oh God," he wheezes out between laughs. "Oh, Jesus, PK. You... you never grew out of that whole ‘dumber than a bag of bricks’ thing. I never thought you'd still be like this at your age." Johnny shakes his head, sadly.

"Huh?" PK asks.

"For a while, I figured it had to be on purpose, you know?" Johnny says, and now he sounds a little bitter. "I thought you were playing dumb because you weren't interested. Except that didn’t make sense, because you didn't try to pull back it or anything. You kept trying to spend more and more time with me. I mean, people joked about us being joined at the hip for a reason, PK."

"I know," PK says, because Johnny had been his best friend at the time, and all he'd ever wanted was to hang out with him all the time.

"I was so into you," Johnny says, but it's sad, and it hurts because PK's never wanted to make Johnny sad.

"Johnny?" he asks.

"I was completely stupid in love with you and too much of a chickenshit to say anything, and you're too dumb to recognize these things." Johnny shakes his head.

"Wait, you love me?" PK asks, because he's fucking stunned. "You're in love with me?"

Johnny frowns. "It's not... I mean, I still love you, you're one of my best friends. I'm not in love still, though. I grew out of that."

"Oh, okay." PK tries not to be relieved, but he's no home-wrecker, and Johnny and his girl are really serious.

"Try and look a little less like you just escaped a death sentence," Johnny says, punching PK's side.

"No! C'mon, Johnny! I just -" PK begins, but Johnny cuts him off.

"I know, PK. It took me a while, as in just now, but I get it." He smiles and nudges PK's side. "So?"

"So what?" PK asks, and Johnny sighs.

"So what're you gonna do about Price?" he asks.

"What do you mean, do?" PK asks. "Wait, you think... Carey's not like that." Carey doesn't hide how he's feeling, except with the media, and sometimes their teammates, and a few of their coaches, but... okay, maybe Carey does hide his feelings. "Carey doesn't think of me like that. He's, you know, seeing other people and stuff."

"You mean you're not?" Johnny asks, and he sounds shocked, so PK shrugs. "No, seriously, PK. Are you not sleeping with anyone but Price?"

"Not lately, no," PK answers. At Johnny's raised eyebrow, he sighs. "I haven't really felt like it. Getting used to the NHL schedule is rough and... I've got Carey."

"You didn't complain about me calling him your boyfriend," Johnny says, and PK's got a reason for that, one that doesn't include him and Carey being... whatever Johnny's suggesting they are, but instead he shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter what I do," he says, because this thing with him and Carey is just a friends thing. It's convenient, and that's why Carey does it.

He must have said the last part, because Johnny's looking at him like he's dumb. "Yeah, Price stormed off in a jealous rage because you two are such good friends."

"Carey's not jealous," PK says. Johnny just looks at him. "No way. He's... Carey's not like that."

"He was glaring at me so hard I was wishing I could sit up straight," Johnny explains, laughing. "I thought he was about to gut me with his steak knife."

"Carey probably knows how," PK says, smiling, because Carey used to mention taking his city boy ass out hunting with him some time.

"That's reassuring," Johnny says, and punches him. "But that brings us back to 'what are you gonna do about it', doesn't it?"

"What should I do?" PK asks.

"You're into him, right?" Johnny asks, and PK nods. "You don't want to be with anyone else?"

PK shakes his head, and then ducks his head when he remembers thinking just that, when Carey had told him not to fuck his sister. At the look Johnny gives him, he shrugs. "Nothing, just... I’ve known I don’t want to be with anyone else for a while. Which is kind of a surprise."

"God, you're dumb," Johnny tells him. "Just, really, really dumb. So, you wanna be with him, he wants you... what're you still doing here?"

"Do you think I should... tonight?" PK asks.

"He'll get tired of it," Johnny says, and he looks sad. "Eventually, he'll get tired of pretending, and he'll move on. You don't want that, right?"

"I should call a cab, eh?" PK asks, and Johnny smiles and shoves him away to make his call.

He tries to sober up while he waits for the cab, drinking Johnny's coffee in his kitchen. "What you said earlier, about Carey moving on... is that what happened to you?" PK asks.

Johnny shrugs. "It was a while ago," he says, and PK leans in.

"I'm sorry, Johnny," he says, because he is. He's never wanted to hurt Johnny, and he definitely didn't want to do it because he's stupid.

"It kind of helps, knowing you're just too much of an idiot to figure out you're in love with someone," Johnny says. PK stares at him for a second and then nods, because yeah, if that's what this thing with Carey is, it was the same for him and Johnny.

"Yeah, it was my fault, Johnny. I should've... because it was, with us," PK tells him, because he really does feel like an asshole. Johnny leans in, presses a kiss to his mouth. His lips are chapped, like always, and he rests his palm on PK's cheek. It's familiar, pleasant, but it doesn't feel like it used to; not even a little.

"I've got Melissa now, and let's be honest, she's way hotter than you and a hell of a lot smarter," Johnny says, and PK laughs. "And now you've got Price. It worked out, PK."

PK doesn't know what to say to that, because he hopes that's true. A car horn honking interrupts the moment, though, luckily, and when Johnny goes to look, PK takes a few seconds to breathe.

"It’s for you," Johnny says, coming back. "Your cab."

"Good," PK says, but doesn't move. Johnny comes up to him and grabs PK by his wrist.

"Get out of here," Johnny says, laughing. PK laughs too, but it gets him moving. He gets his coat on, wraps his scarf around himself, and then he's facing Johnny again. "Thanks for... thanks," PK says. There's kind of a lot to thank him for, and he doesn't have time to say it all.

"I'm pretty great," Johnny says, nodding. He hugs PK then, and PK hugs back, squeezing him tight. He kind of wants to kiss Johnny again, goodbye or something, but he doesn't think it would be the best idea. He has to go see Carey, he shouldn't do that after kissing someone else.

It’s kind of a long cab ride. PK didn’t realize it when they went to Long Island, but now that he isn't with Carey or John, it's taking forever. He tries to think about what he should say, when he finally sees Carey. PK's never tried to tell someone he loved them before... now that he thinks about it, he feels like he might throw up.

The cabbie knocks on the dividing window, and that's when PK realizes they're at his hotel. He reaches for his wallet to pay the fare and realizes something else. He doesn't have his wallet on him. He does the only thing he can think of and calls Carey. "Hey, Carey?" he says, when Carey answers on the third ring without saying anything.

"What do you want, PK?" Carey asks.

"I'm downstairs and I have to pay the cabbie and I don't know where my wallet is."

"That was quick," Carey mutters, and then there's the sound of sheets and the comforter moving. "I'm heading down. You fucking owe me, PK."

Despite it being stupid cold outside, Carey comes down to pay the cabbie in his sleep shorts, a hoodie pulled over his head and his feet stuffed into his cowboy boots. He looks silly, but PK's not about to laugh when he's also paying his fare.

"A hundred and twenty dollars?" Carey says in the elevator. He's rubbing his face, probably because it’s fucking cold out and even tough guys like Carey get cold sometimes.

"I don't know where my wallet could be," he says. He hopes he didn’t leave it at John's.

"You do have your passport separate, right?" Carey asks. Like he isn't the one always leaving his at home and having to go back for it.

"I keep it separate," PK says. "I didn't take it out at Johnny's, or the restaurant."

"You didn’t even bring it with you, did you?" Carey asks, and PK smiles awkwardly because he thinks he didn't.

"Johnny paid at the restaurant!" PK says, smiling. "I just didn’t know!"

Carey's face goes hard and he looks away. It makes PK's stomach turn over, because that's what Johnny was saying, right? Is this what he meant by Carey being jealous? "Hey," he says, reaching out to touch the back of Carey's hand.

Carey looks up at him, and his face is blank and totally without expression. "I drew the short straw," he says, and brushes PK's hand away. "So I've gotta room with you."

"Cool!" PK answers, grinning, because this is a perfect chance to talk to Carey before he loses his nerve.

Carey looks away. "I said before," he says. "I'm not in the mood."

"I didn’t mean -" PK begins, frowning. "I just meant it would be cool to hang out and stuff."

"I'm kind of tired," Carey says, looking away. The elevator dings and they're let out on their floor. Carey's the one with the keycard, so he lets them in.

"That's cool too," PK says, following him.

"I'm surprised you didn’t take longer with Tavares," Carey says. "Didn’t feel up for more than a round or two?"

PK wouldn't catch it if he wasn't staring at Carey, watching his every move to look for an opening. Carey says it like he always talks to PK, like he's half making fun of him and half letting PK in on the joke. His hands are balled into fists against the counter over the mini-bar, though. PK can see his knuckles are white, and now that he's watching closely, Carey's posture is tense.

"I didn't... Umm, me and John didn't, you know," PK says. Carey turns to look at him, clearly confused.

"What?" he asks. He has a bottle of water in his hand, and he's frowning at PK like he's speaking a foreign language.

"I didn't get it wet tonight," PK says, and winces at saying it like that.

Carey's still frowning. "Maybe next time, eh?" he asks. PK shakes his head.

"He's been seeing this girl, right? And they're thinking about moving in together," PK answers.

Carey's mouth twists into an angry line. "I'm sure there's plenty where he came from, PK," he says. He looks so angry, and PK's a little stunned by it.

"You really are jealous," he says, mouth open in shock. "You, whoa." He grins, wide and happy, because Carey really does... John was right.

"Go fuck yourself, PK," Carey says, and shoves him.

"No!" PK says. "No, I'm -" he reaches out, tries to grab Carey's arm, and Carey just shoves him back against the wall.

PK forgets how big Carey is sometimes. He slouches all the time, and he doesn't tend to use his size much. With him pressed up against PK's front, staring down at him, it's hard to miss. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear about it," Carey tells him.

PK shakes his head. "It's not like that, Carey," he says. His heart's beating kind of fast and he doesn't know when that happened.

"Then what's it like?" Carey asks him.

"I didn't want to," PK says. "Even if John didn't have someone, I didn't want to fuck around with him." He thinks he's saying it wrong, because Carey is just staring at him like he's saying something stupid. "I haven't, in a while."

"You haven't what, PK?" Carey asks him.

"I haven't been, you know, with anyone else," he says, looking up at Carey.

"Wait, seriously?" Carey asks.

"It's just been you all year," PK replies, nodding. "Well, you and Skinner, but that was your idea, so it doesn't really count. Or at least it shouldn't."

Carey looks down. "I didn't like you being with him," he finally says. "Not even when I was right there."

"Really?" PK asks, because it's the first he's heard about that.

"No, PK. I came on you and made sure you couldn't wash it off because I was dealing with sharing you really well," Carey's voice is dripping sarcasm.

"Is that what... oh!" He thinks back over other weird stuff that Carey's done over the past year. Suddenly a lot of things make more sense.

"Jesus, you're dumb," Carey says, shaking his head.

"So that time you got bent out of shape about me going to dinner with Skillsy. You thought I was gonna... with Hal?" he asks, horrified.

Carey shrugs. "You have sex with everyone," he says. "Patch told me not to take it too seriously when you first started flirting with me."

"Patch said that?" PK asks. He and Patch only messed around a few times.

"He meant more in a 'don't lose your cool over the way your teammate is really into dick and throwing himself at you' kind of way," Carey says. "But yeah, he said you probably didn't mean much by it ‘cause you're kind of a cockhound."

"I have sex with lots of girls," PK tells him, insulted. Sure, he doesn't get much opportunity during the season, but that's because it’s easier to hit it with a buddy. He bones tons of hot women in the off-season, unless he's training.

"I'm sure he would have used 'really slutty' if he'd known the truth," Carey says, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not, though," PK reassures him. "I mean... I kind of am, but only with you! Recently."

Carey's smile is fond. "Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," PK answers, nodding. His face feels a little warm, and he thinks he might be blushing.

"That's real sweet, PK," Carey says, and he sounds mocking, but he's leaning in to kiss him.

"Fuck you," PK shoots back. "You're the one jealous of Johnny, Hal and your own damn sister because you're so into me."

Carey shoves him back against the wall and kisses him hard and aggressive, biting at PK's lower lip. It kind of hurts, but PK likes it. He tilts his head up, wanting more, but Carey takes it as an excuse to run his mouth over PK's neck. He's waiting for the bite, knows it's coming, but he isn't expecting how hard it is.

"Ow, Carey!" he says.

"Shhhh," Carey says, and runs his tongue over what has to be a mark he left behind.

"Carey -" PK begins, but Carey cuts him off with a kiss.

"No, c'mon," Carey says, and starts dragging PK back toward one of the beds.

"You said you weren't in the mood," PK says.

"I wasn't in the mood for Tavares' sloppy seconds," Carey says.

PK grins. "Man, you're really crazy about me, aren't you," PK says. Carey punches him and then pushes him down onto the bed.

“Don’t talk, you’ll just ruin it,” Carey says.

PK pulls his shirt off, watching Carey, into how possessive and hot his eyes are while watching him. "I can't believe you're really..." He trails off, unsure how to say it.

"I can't believe it either, PK," Carey tells him. He's stripping off his hoodie, toeing off his boots, and PK spreads his thighs without even thinking about it. Carey sees it and smiles smugly, dimple standing out. "Take your pants off first, dumbass." He smacks PK's thigh, and PK does as he says, skinning out of his jeans and kicking them away.

"You're really dumb, is the thing," Carey says, leaning in to press his mouth against PK's chest. He trails his tongue over PK's nipple and down, pausing at PK's stomach. Carey's breath is hot against his belly, and then he bites down, hard, and PK inhales sharply. It hurts, a little, but not in a way PK doesn't kind of like.

Carey keeps going, biting at where PK's thigh meets his leg and then down, on the inside of his thigh. He sucks hard at PK's skin there, and that hurts in a way that PK doesn't like, but Carey keeps staring at him while he does it, so PK doesn't want to stop him. He lets out a little grunt of pain when it's too much, and Carey lets go.

"You're so dumb, and you never notice anything that isn't out on the ice," Carey continues, as though he hadn't stopped to go all vampire on PK's inner thigh. "It isn't hot. I don't know why I'm into you." He's reaching for the lube, and PK grins, because that's more like it.

"Because you're clearly into this," PK says, gesturing down his body. "I don't blame you. I'm awful pretty."

"What did I say about talking?" Carey asks, pouring lube into his hand.

"That you like hearing me moan your name because you're completely sprung on me?" PK asks. He knows he's being kind of a dick, but this is all so awesome. Carey's sucking marks into PK's skin and reaching down with two lube-slick fingers, possibly to shove them both into PK, and he's doing it all because he wants PK to only sleep with him and no one else, possibly forever.

"No," Carey says, and pushes just one finger inside of him. It's not much, so PK grins up at Carey. "I said not to talk because I don't need a reminder of what awful taste I have." Carey slides a second finger in right after that, and the stretch and burn is so sudden that it cuts off anything PK might have responded with.

He inhales sharply, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opens them, Carey's staring down at him. "Want me to back off?" Carey asks, and PK shakes his head because he doesn't, it's just a lot.

He breaths deeply for a few seconds, getting used to it, and looks back at Carey. "Okay," he says, finally, still looking up at him and nodding. "I'm good now." Carey leans over him, his free hand going to his hip and the other pressing deep.

"Good," Carey says, twisting his fingers inside of him. Carey kisses him then, mouth open and a little wet against his. PK opens for it, takes it and rocks his hips gently down onto Carey's fingers.

"Glove up," he whispers against Carey's mouth. "C'mon already."

"You sure?" Carey asks, looking unsure.

"It's not like you're packing some kind of horsedick, Carey," PK tells him, and gets punched in the side for his trouble. It rocks his hips down, hard, onto Carey's fingers, and PK gasps. "Oh fuck, yeah, go." Carey has to kick off his jeans and underwear before he gloves up, and PK watches him, jerking his cock a little absently.

When he comes back, Carey pulls him down further on the bed, hooking PK's thighs over his own, and pushes inside. It's all one, smooth slide, and PK doesn't so much groan as let out a sigh, clenching around Carey briefly before pulling him down for a kiss. The angle isn't so bad from here, and Carey rocks his hips down into PK, fucking him with deep strokes.

It isn't really all that different from how they usually do it. They kiss and they fuck and it isn't all that much better or worse. PK doesn't know what he was expecting, something more intimate, maybe, but when he thinks about it... the way he and Carey fuck is usually pretty intimate. Once they've both come and PK's thinking about getting up to grab something to wipe the jizz off his belly, Carey slides down and actually licks his come off his stomach and abs.

PK thinks about saying something about it, but he's feeling way too good to get punched again right now. "You're good at that, by the way," he says instead, stretching out on his back next to Carey. "In case I never told you that."

"Yeah?" Carey asks. "Huh."

"What?" PK asks, opening his mouth in a silent yawn. He's really tired now; emotional revelation and boning really takes it out of him.

"Nothing, just... I've never really done it with a guy before. You know, before you," Carey says, and suddenly PK isn't tired at all.

"Wait, what?" he asks, because he couldn't have heard that right.

He feels the bed dip like Carey's shrugging. "You know," he says, and no, PK doesn't know. "Obviously the skill translates, mostly, from girls. So it's not really a big deal."

PK turns onto his side, so he's facing Carey. "You said!" he tells him. "You said you had sex with guys in Junior."

"I did," Carey says. "I sucked a lot of dick and gave a lot of handjobs. I never, you know."

"You said you didn't like getting fucked after you'd come," PK says, because he knows Carey told him that.

"I've had adventurous girlfriends, PK. Fuck off with the interrogation already," Carey shoves him, forces him to turn over.

"I just -" PK tries to begin, and he's cut off by Carey reaching around to cover his mouth.

"No," Carey says. "Just shut up and go to sleep. You can be a smug dick about being the first guy I fucked or whatever tomorrow." Carey lets go of his mouth, but he doesn't pull his arm back. Instead, he just sort of rests it over PK's stomach. PK lets his own hand rest over it for a second, stroking his thumb over the back of Carey's hand.

"Is it because my ass is the greatest thing in the world?" PK wonders aloud, and Carey takes his hand, shoving in close behind him.

"I just want you to know," Carey whispers, voice so soft. "I'm not above punching you in the junk. Go to sleep."

PK laughs and doesn't let go of Carey's hand. "I've never done this either," he says, finally, because he hasn't. He's done sex and he's done fuckbuddies and he's done friends, but he's never done this. In hindsight, he's pretty sure he and Carey have actually been on a few dates this year.

"I know, PK," Carey says, and kisses the back of his neck. He's quiet for a long time after that, and PK thinks he must have fallen asleep. Except then he whispers, "I'll show you what to do, if you want." And all PK can do is squeeze his hand.