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Star Spangled Men

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Tyler picks up his phone without looking at the caller ID and before he can say anything a vaguely familiar voice declares “I’m at your apartment loser, open the door.”

He freezes in his hallway, Marshall at his side, Cash on the couch, Stars sweatpants and no shirt on and wonders who the fuck would show up at his place, not call in advance but also not have a key. Everyone who would just show up would have a key. Everyone else would have manners. He blinks over at his door. “Hello?”

“Seriously, Segs, don’t leave me standing out here. Someone is going to recognize me.”

“Who is this?”

“I am hurt.”

“I have a game in like two hours.”

“It’s Chris. Come let me in. The flight from Atlanta was shit.”

Tyler knows a lot of guys named Chris. Its a common name. But only a few of them have his number and none of them would be in Atlanta.

There’s no hockey in Atlanta. Just Coke and the Walking Dead. Oh. Right. Atlanta also has people who make shit like the Walking Dead.

He ends the call and rushes to the door, and throws it open to find Chris Evans, full beard and English teacher cardigan, standing on the other side with his suitcase like he’s going to be staying with Tyler even though he didn’t actually ask. Such a douchebag. Tyler practically throws himself at the guy. He hasn’t seen him since like…last summer. It’s been too long.

“That’s better,” Chris declares, hugging him back. Damn he gives good hugs. He’s strong in that gym-sculpted movie star way that has nothing to do with actual work and Segs can kick his ass but he’s broad and solid and great for cuddling - not that thats something either of them would tweet. It’s a Bisexual Boston Secret (registered fucking trademark baby).

“What are you doing here?” Tyler demands when they pull apart.

“Finished Cap 3, which is going to blow your fucking mind by the way, and thought I’d come hide out here before I go back to LA or New York and face the paps.”

“We have paps.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Please. You have sports reporters. You know in the real world no one actually cares what you do.”

“You say that like presenting at the Oscars actually matters.”

“You’ve met Jon Stewart how many times?”

Tyler winces. “I think that one may have killed me.”

“So, where’s your room?” Chris beams at him, Hollywood white teeth. He is fucking delicious. The next however long he’s here is going to so be great.

“What, just like that you’re going to take over my room?”

“I assume you’re going to be in it,” Chris shrugs, heading to the back of the condo, the dogs on his heels. Dogs love Chris. They don’t even bark. They just follow him like he’s the freaking Pied Piper. It’s crazy.

“Well yeah.”

“Well yeah then.”

“Does this mean I get a pre-game blow job?” Tyler asks as he opens the door to his room. It’s a mess his bed is unmade. Chris drops his duffle bag and shoves Tyler onto the bed. He bounces a few times and laughs.

“If you’re good.”

Tyler must be very good because Chris totally shoves his sweats down and sucks his cock down like it’s no big. He’s really good at giving head. Tyler wonders if he blew any of his costars. It’s a hot thinking of him with Robert Downey Jr. or Jeremy Renner or Sebastian Stan but screw them. Because they don’t have Chris kneeling over them now. He does. He gets twirly tongue and hollowed out cheeks and hallelujah that is the back of his throat swallowing and “Fuck, Chris!” is really the only warning he can manage. It’s okay cause Chris likes to swallow. He remembers that.

He also remembers that Chris likes to make out after head which, yeah, is kinda gross but Tyler will do it for Chris. Chris is a special level of bro. He like leveled up to Super Saiyan levels of bro somewhere after the second time they had anal and have sorta hovered there this glorious “it’s all good all the goddamn time” space ever since.

Tyler thinks its maybe because Chris has ten years on him in actual years but the same emotional maturity. The guys in Bruins had the age but they also were like, real grown ups. Chris can be an adult when he needs to be but with Tyler he never needs to but he still brings that decade of experience to the table for extra awesome. Plus him being an all around kick ass guy is there too.

“So,” Tyler gasps when they break from kissing for air. “That was awesome. Do you-“

“Nah. You’re going to fuck me after you win tonight.”

Tyler laughs. “Okay. That sounds like a plan.”

“I’m a master planner,” Chris says, tapping the side of his nose. “Just don’t tell my publicist.”

“I won’t tell yours if you don’t tell mine.” Tyler looks around at the further wreck of the bed and sees his dogs sitting on the floor, then at Chris eying them. “You wanna play with the dogs don’t you?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Yes. Cash, Marshall, come on guys, up!”

And they kill an hour and a half with cuddling the dogs and making out. It’s one of the best pregame psych-ups Tyler’s had in ages.

“So I take it you’ve got tickets?”

“Nope. Watching it on your TV. Like I said, I wanna avoid cameras for awhile. Maybe the next one?”

Tyler pecks Chris lightly and nods. “Works for me. I won’t stay out then.”

“No. Cause of the fucking. I’m not the most patient.” He winks.

“That is insanely hot.”

“Takes one to know one,” he retorts. It sounds like an insult but it makes Tyler grin like an idiot.

“You gonna watch me get dressed?”


“Cool. Don’t get up on my account.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Chris leans over and grabs the remote off Tyler’s nightstand. “You’ve got Netflix on here? Because the pregame shit is not my thing.”

“Yeah you just hit the HDMI button twice, hit cable to get back.”

“Awesome.” Chris clicks through to Archer and puts it on mute and proceeds to ogle Tyler as he puts on his suit and gathers his shit for a game. He completely forgot about the fact that he usually goes to arena with Jamie and Jordie until they’re banging on the door.

“Shit. That’s my ride.”

“Learn to drive,” Chris chirps. Tyler grins, kisses him goodbye, because he has manners thank you, and darts out the door.

Jamie is standing on the other side. He stares at Tyler as he locks the door behind him.

Tyler prickles. “What?”

“You’ve got a bite mark,” Jamie says and taps his neck, halfway up his neck between collar and ear, “Right here.”

“Oh. Oops,” Tyler laughs.

“You wanna talk-“

“Nope.” Tyler declares. “You ready to go.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Jamie mumbles and follows him to the elevator. Jordie’s already in the truck. Tyler slides into the backseat and thumbs the hickey with a grin. He thinks it will bring him luck.