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„When do we have to leave for the airport tomorrow?“ Connor asks, flopping down on Dylan's bed. Dylan grabs his ticket, while stuffing some swimming trunks into his suitcase. “The flight leaves around eight, so we should probably be there around seven” he says. Connor groans. “So that means getting up at five, with the drive there and all, right?” Dylan grins and nods. “Yup.” He makes a plopping sound at the end of the word. Connor groans again.
The summer is almost over, and they spent most of it together. Both back in Toronto, they have easily fallen back into their summer routine of hanging at Dylan's family's house, sloshing around in the pool in the back yard and playing street hockey with Dylan's brothers and the neighbors. Mitch has been over frequently too and even Auston, who came to visit Mitch in the beginning of July and hasn't left since.
Dylan was pretty surprised that day when an audibly nervous Mitch called him up to tell him that he “Uh, sorta has a boyfriend now” and that said boyfriend was none other than Number-One-Draft-Pick-Auston-Matthews. He did not see that one coming. Mitch has always had girlfriends. Gorgeous girls with blond hair and slim bodies and unbelievable racks. They all wondered how scrawny little Mitchy did it, but Dylan always guessed that Mitch's outgoing personality had something to do with it. Nobody dislikes Mitch.
This new revelation that his old friend was in love with a dude hasn't really changed anything about their friendship. They have known each other forever, so why would it? But it did stir something lose in Dylan himself. Something he hasn't dared to look at so far. Some really inconvenient feelings about other people (namely the lanky blond guy currently curled up on his old childhood bed) that he has until now stuffed down in a very dark and dingy corner of his brain. He has for the most part steered clear of that corner. Until this summer.
“Hey, what are you brooding about over there?” Connor calls from his bed. “Being broody is my thing, weirdo!” and then a pillow comes flying at Dylan and hits him squarely in the face. “Davo, did you just-” Dylan says laughing and then he takes a running start at his bed and Connor and they end up in a squealing tangle of limbs and wrestle for a solid five minutes, before they have to stop because Connor is hiccuping from laughing so hard. Yeah, it's been a good summer so far. Confusing, but good.
--
They make their flight the next morning, but barely. When they get on the plane, a very sleepy Connor immediately decides to take a nap against Dylan's shoulder and it reminds Dylan so much of all the bus rides they used to take together, when Connor would curl up against Dylan and snore into his neck, that Dylan almost feels like he has to cry. He misses those days. When the NHL was still a dream they both shared and not something Connor now basically ruled and Dylan got sent down from – twice! When they could still fantasize about going to the same team and playing on the same line and becoming the next Crosby and Toews. Dylan sighs and decides to watch a movie and not concentrate too hard on Connor's smell and the way his blond hair tickles Dylan in the face.
Their flight to Rome is supposed to take almost nine hours and Connor sleeps through a solid four of them. When he finally wakes up, he is hungry and thirsty and devours three bags of chips and four cans of ginger ale before he is even willing to have a proper conversation. “So, what time are we gonna get there?” he finally asks with a yawn so huge that his jaw cracks a bit. Dylan grins. “Around 11 pm their time” he says as Connor slumps back against his shoulder. “Jeez Con, you are just always tired, aren't you?” he adds fondly. “Yup.” Connor says and reaches for Dylan's hand. He weaves their fingers together, like he used to do back in the bus in Erie and they watch The Hangover in silence.
It's not like they don't both know how the other one feels. Dylan knows that Connor loves him the same way he loves Connor. That they are closer than normal friends. That they definitely find each other attractive. That if they were in a different situation, they would probably be a couple. But unfortunately the situation they are in isn't different. They are hockey players and they strive to play in the best league in the world. They want their name on the Stanley Cup and whatever happens in their lives – this dream of theirs comes first.
Dylan has known that since he was fifteen and realized his enormous crush on his best friend. He has known it, since Connor grabbed his hand on the bus for the first time. Has known it when they went to their draft and Connor went to Edmonton and he went to the Coyotes. He has known it when they kissed for the first and last time that draft night, a little drunk and so excited in the elevator of their hotel. It was natural and normal that Connor would lean in and press his mouth onto Dylan's and it was so natural and normal that Dylan kissed him back. They both knew that this was a few seconds of indulgence, their reward for being brave and grown-up and going across the continent to do great things in the NHL. They knew it was a goodbye kiss of sorts. They haven't spoken about it since.
Dylan has never had a girlfriend. He has had sex with two girls – just to make sure it really wasn't for him. (It really wasn't.) And he knows that Connor has had a tall brunette in some of his Instagram pictures last season. When he asked him about her on Facetime, Connor just shrugged and said she was a friend. So Dylan doesn't really know the details about anything but he has avoided thinking about it too much. What's the point anyways? He just hopes that Connor is happy.
--
They land in Rome and Dylan – who has finally fallen asleep an hour before landing – is so groggy that Connor practically has to drag him through baggage claim. Connor is really awake now, excitedly getting their suitcases and rolling them to the exit. Mitch is already there to pick them up, bouncing on his feet and hugging Connor and Dylan with as much energy as you would expect from Mitch Marner – human puppy. “Finally, you guys” he shouts and then proceeds to tell them all about the house they are staying in for the next two weeks. “It's so awesome, it has an infinity pool and a huge barbecue and there's a place for a bonfire in the garden and a jacuzzi and-” he drones on, while Dylan tries to concentrate hard on not falling asleep where he stands.
“How many are we again?” Connor asks into Mitch's rambling. Mitch uses his fingers to count down every member of their vacation entourage. “Well, Auston and me obviously, and then there's Brownie and Morgan and Marty and Hallsy. And now you guys. You're the last two to arrive. Auston and I have been here for three days and Marty and Hallsy arrived last night.” “Hallsy?” Dylan cuts in confusedly. “As in Taylor Hall?” Mitch nods. “Connor played with him in Edmonton, Mo knows him from Team Canada and Matt and Hallsy have some friends in common. We thought it would be cool to not only have Leafs players here.” he says with a grin. “We're both not with the Leafs,” Connor says. “Yeah, but, at heart you secretly are” Mitch answers and winks at them, while he opens the rental car and helps them store their luggage in the trunk.
--
When they arrive at the house – which is located directly on the coast between two tiny villages, an hour outside of Rome – they are greeted by the sight of six guys around a large campfire in the garden. The house and the ground around it have a spectacular view of the ocean and the blinking lights of the nearest village in the distance. They exchange bro hugs and fist bumps all around and hurry to put their luggage into their room and get back down to the others. Their room has only one huge kingsize bed, but they are so used to sleeping in the same bad on road trips and during this summer at Dylan's house, that they don't even comment on it. They just pull some sweaters out of their backpacks and hurry back to the bonfire. Mo has gotten them some beer and leftover pizza from the kitchen and they plonk down to eat and drink and catch up with everyone. It's almost four in the morning when they all blearily shout their Good Nights and stumble into their beds. Dylan is already drifting off, when he feels Connor reach for his hand. They weave their fingers together and fall asleep.
Dylan can't remember ever having a better summer, a better vacation, a better time in his life. They spend the next few days in the huge infinity pool or at the beach nearby, splashing around in the waves and playing soccer on the hot white sand. Brownie cooks for them one evening and Mo – who is adamant about wanting to “help” - almost sets the kitchen on fire. (Brownie swears he did it while simply trying to boil water, and Mo has to pay for the pizza they get from a restaurant in the village.) Marty and Hallsy get into a competition about who is better at chopping wood for their campfires and they end up with so much lumber, they could probably build a bonfire bigger than their house.
They go on little trips to the next village, where nobody knows who they are and Auston and Mitch can hold hands in public and nobody cares. Connor falls asleep in the sun one afternoon and they have to go to the next pharmacy and explain to the friendly lady behind the desk that they need aloe. Only that she doesn't speak a word of English and apparently aloe isn't a thing in Italy. Only when Mitch helpfully pulls up Connor's shirt, points at the red and blistering skin on his stomach and says “Ouchy ouchy” does she get the point and returns with some ointment and a pitiful smile on her face. (They end up saying “ouchy ouchy” a lot that evening, all sitting around the fire, drinking beer and smoking a blunt that Brownie has somehow acquired from some local youths and laughing their heads off.) Dylan never wants it to end.
--
“So,” Hallsy asks one lazy morning as they all lie around the pool. “You ever thought about making this thing with the two of you public?” The question is directed at Auston and Mitch, who are sharing a sun lounger. (Actually it was Auston's sun lounger until a very cold and wet Mitch came out of the pool and climbed on top of Auston. Auston cursed like a sailor, but apparently he loves Mitch enough to not shove him off or kill him, which is what he would have done, Dylan thinks to himself.) Auston and Mitch look at each other and smile a little. “Yeah, actually” Auston says. “Wait, what, really?” Connor intercepts. “Are you serious?” Mitch shrugs with a little smile. “It's not that big a deal. We talked to management at the end of last season and they know. Coach knows, obviously, and they have all been really cool about it. They actually want us to come out as soon as possible. Apparently we would be good PR.” Mitch grins. “Because we are adorable.” he adds and Auston laughs.
Hallsy grins too but thinks for a few seconds before he says “But aren't you scared that you would only be known for being gay from then on? Like, you would be the spokespeople for every gay athlete everywhere.” Now it's Auston's turn to shrug. “Sure, it would probably be super annoying for a while. But management figures if we make the first step, other athletes will come out.” “Actually,” Mitch giggles, “Will and Kappy are itching for us to do it, because the faster we make it public, the faster they can.” Hallsy's eyes almost pop out of his skull. “Nylander and Kapanen too?” he asks incredulously.
Martin snorts from his sun lounger. “Tell me about it. All these young puppies – who have been killing it last season, by the way – seem to fall in love with each other. I swear, I'm like this close to giving sucking dick a try. If it makes me a better player – I'm sure as fuck down for it!” They all laugh and Mitch starts to tease Martin for being “almost offensively straight”. Then Martin gets up to grab a protesting Mitch and throw him into the pool, which of course ends with both of them in the water. It's fun and stupid and Dylan finds himself looking over to Connor, who is in turn looking at Dylan. Could it be this easy, Dylan thinks. Could it actually be this fucking easy?
--
He gets the call after their first week in Italy. Some of the guys went down to the beach but he and Brownie and Connor have opted for a nap by the pool. Connor never strays too far away from Dylan and Dylan finds himself going all warm and tingly at this realization. Maybe? Maybe?
His agent's voice is warm and happy when he asks how Dylan's summer is going. “Really well so far,” Dylan says and looks outside the kitchen window, where he went to get himself a can of diet coke from the fridge. “So, I have some news for you,” his agent says after their opening chit-chat. “Shoot,” Dylan replies before taking a sip of Coke. “The Oilers want to trade for you,” his agent says with a little laugh and Dylan chokes on his drink. He has to put the phone down for a second, leaning over the kitchen sink, while cold and fuzzy diet coke is coming out of his nose. He coughs and wipes his face on his already filthy shirt before putting the phone back to his ear. “You alright?” his bemused agent wants to know. “Yeah, um, just, my drink went down the wrong pipe,” Dylan wheezes. He swallows.
“Are you serious?” he asks quietly. “Serious as a heart attack,” his agent replies cheerily. “Only more joyous, probably.” Dylan swallows again. It's like a thousand thoughts have crushed his brain into submission right now. Like a website crashing when too many people click on it at the same time. “The Oilers want me” he keeps thinking. “I could go to Edmonton. I could go to where Connor is. We could-” and then his brain crashes again. “Obviously, it's a lot to consider,” his agent's voice comes through the static that is buzzing in Dylan's ears. “But they want to have you for their team, re-ignite the old McDavid-Strome-linemate-magic. And I mean, who can blame them?” he adds with a little laugh.
Dylan is still swallowing. There seems to be a lot of saliva in his mouth right now. Conversely his throat feels very dry when he says “I need to talk to Davo about this.” He hesitates. “But if he is okay with it, I want to go. Make it happen. I don't care about the contract or how much they will pay me.” He can hear his agent chuckle. “Got it. Just text me when you have gotten in touch with McDavid.” Dylan doesn't tell him that Connor is less than 50 meters away from him right now and ends the call after they both say goodbye.
--
He talks Connor into taking a walk on the beach that evening. The other's have started a very animated game of poker and nobody seems to lift so much as an eyebrow when Dylan and Connor leave for the beach. Only Auston looks at them a little longer than necessary and gives Dylan a small and crooked smile when they wave goodbye.
The beach is empty when they get there, some clouds splattered across the darkening sky. They take off their shoes and walk through the shallow water lapping at the sand. Connor's feet are prettier than other people's feet, Dylan thinks while they walk and he reaches out and takes Connor's hand. Connor lets him and intertwines their fingers. They sit down on the dry sand a little higher up the beach after a while and stare at the ocean. Connor – who has chatted animatedly about this and that in the beginning, has now gone quiet. Some seagulls are screeching overhead and a chilly breeze is ruffling their hair and creeping in under their hoodies. Connor is wearing one of Dylan's old Otter hoodies, Dylan realizes. The print is a little faded from having been washed often. It makes Dylan smile.
“What's up, Stromer?” Connor asks after a while. He turns his head to look at Dylan and there's a smile on his face, but also a little fear in his voice. Fear about what Dylan has to say. Dylan swallows hard. “Um, so, I got a call from my agent today,” he finally squeezes out. Connor doesn't say anything. “And, um, so, he told me that another team wants me. To play in the NHL.” Now Connor is smiling. “That's great Dyl,” he says. “You deserve to play with the big boys, for fuck's sake!” Dylan smiles a little shakily. “Um, well,” he keeps stuttering before taking a deep breath. “It's the Oilers. The Oilers want to trade for me.”
Connor's face goes slack. He just stares at Dylan for a few seconds. Dylan has to look away. He looks at the ocean, at the waves and the sky with the clouds and the seagulls picking at stuff in the sand. “I needed to talk to you first.” he says after a while. “I want to make sure, that you're alr-” he doesn't get further than that. Because now Connor is scrambling into his lap and grabbing his face with both hands and pushing his lips onto Dylan's mouth. And Dylan reaches up to fist his hands into the front of Connor's hoodie and pull him closer, closer.
Connor tastes like beer and salt and the pasta they had for dinner. And his lips are so soft and he makes the breathiest noise when Dylan opens his mouth and slowly slides his tongue into Connor's mouth. Something rights itself in Dylan's mind when that happens. Something falls into place. And Dylan opens his mouth some more and pulls Connor even closer.
--
They come back late from the beach, with swollen lips and enough sand in their clothes to fill a bathtub with it. Connor takes it upon himself to tell the others that they are wiped out and going straight to bed, because Dylan can't talk. All he can do is stare at this blond boy, who he has known forever and who has just recently started to look like a grown-up adult man, and think “This is happening. This is really happening” over and over again.
He sends his agent a text while they hurry upstairs. “Go make it happen.” His agent immediately sends back an emoji with a party hat and a thumbs up. Connor giggles at that and pulls Dylan into their room, before locking the door behind them and practically jumping Dylan as soon as the key has turned in the lock. They stumble on the bed, kissing like they are suffocating and the only way to get air into their lungs is to go look for oxygen in each other's mouths.
Connor's hands find their way under Dylan's shirt and his cold fingertips send electric shocks down Dylan's spine. Connor tugs impatiently at the fabric of Dylan's clothes and Dylan hurries to pull his shirt and hoodie up over his head. They kiss again, frantic, as if they have to make up for lost time. And they do, Dylan realizes. They really do. He pulls Connor's shirt off too and it lands on the floor next to his own. Now they are skin to skin, hands roaming everywhere and their mouths are still firmly locked onto each other.
Connor crawls on top of him, massive and bulky, having gotten much sturdier during the past season. When they were 17, he was all limbs but now his broad shoulders hover over Dylan and there is a strong arm on either side of his head. Connor shifts a little and Dylan can feel Connor's hard dick on his hip. He groans a little and grabs Connor's hips to pull him closer while pushing up his own hips and grind into his friend. They both moan into each other's mouths. Connor kisses a line from Dylan's mouth, over his jaw, down to his chest and when Dylan sighs happily, he goes even lower. Dylan is so hard now, he feels like he is going to go off like a rocket at any second.
Connor hooks his fingers into the waistband of Dylan's shorts and starts pulling them down gently. Dylan lifts his hips to help him and speed the process along. When he is naked, Connor just looks down at him for a second. “Dyl” he says and there is so much emotion, so much raw and unfiltered stuff in his voice, that Dylan has to close his eyes and simply nod. Connor understands him anyways.
He puts his hands on Dylan's thighs and strokes them lightly up and down. Every hair on Dylan's body is standing up, his nerve ends are on fire. Connor bows down and kisses a small trail from Dylan's bellybutton to the base of his cock. Then he wraps one of his big strong hands around it and Dylan sees stars. When Connor finally closes his mouth around the already leaking tip and gives a little suck, Dylan has to fist the sheets and count down from a hundred to not come right away. This is So. Fucking. Good. It's like winning the Stanley Cup and Olympic Gold at the same time, Dylan thinks. He threads his fingers through Connor's hair and tries to keep his moans to a barely audible level.
Connor is using his tongue to swirl around the head of his dick now and even though it almost kills him, he has to pull Connor off and up to where his own face is so that he can kiss him. He wants to make Connor come first. Wants to destroy that last bit of reserve he can still see on his friend's face. He pushes him down on the mattress and climbs between his legs. “You first” he breathes, pulls down Connor's shorts and scoots down until Connor's beautiful thick cock is right in front of his face. He has never done this, but he does have a working internet connection and knows how to look up porn. And Dylan Strome has always been a fast learner, he thinks to himself as he takes Davo's dick into his hand and gives it a tentative stroke.
Connor groans and bites his lower lip to stop further sounds from coming out. Dylan leans down and places a small kiss directly on the leaking slit. Then he dives in for real and takes as much of Connor into his mouth as he can. He can hear whimpers from above. Dylan bobs his head up and down a little and adds a little suction to make sure it feels good for Connor. He can't believe how fucking turned on he is right now. Connor grabs and pulls at his hair like it's a lifeline and it's almost painful except it feels incredible. He pulls off of Connor with a wet pop and looks up. “Hey Davo?” he asks. Connor makes an unintelligible sound. “Can I try something?” Dylan continues. “If you hate it, I'll stop, I promise.” Connor gives a shaky nod.
Dylan spits on his index finger and then puts his mouth back on Connor's twitching dick. He reaches a little lower until he finds Connor's butt and slides his wet and slick finger in the crack. Connor freezes, breath ragged. Dylan pulls off and whispers “Relax, Davo” and like on command, Connor does. Dylan circles the hole with his finger for a few seconds before slowly pushing in. Connor takes a sharp breath but Dylan starts sucking his dick again and Connor pushes himself a little lower and onto Dylan's finger. Dylan keeps sliding it in and out a few times before crooking his finger ever so slightly until he finds the little knot he knows to be the prostate. On a gurgled scream, Connor comes, like Dylan has pushed a button (which he kinda has).
He comes so hard that his cum lands on his stomach and his abs and a little on Dylan's chin and on the sheets. And he keeps coming and coming, until he slumps into a boneless mess on the mattress. Dylan pushes himself on his knees and with two strokes on his own aching dick, he shoots his load as well, while whimpering Connor's name. Dylan tries not to feel to smug, when he finally wipes his hand and face on the blanket and scoots up to kiss Connor. “Thank you, internet!” he thinks. And Connor seems to silently agree.
--
Mo gives them an amused look when they come down for breakfast the next morning. “Did you kids have fun last night?” he asks with a wink, and Dylan flips him off, laughing, while Connor blushes and spills a lot when he pours himself some orange juice. Mitch snickers like only Mitch can. “The thing about European houses is – the walls are pretty thin...” he muses while biting into a croissant. “The fuck do you know about European architecture?” Brownie chimes in with a snort. “Nothing” Mitch admits with a grin and a shrug. “But I know what two people getting their freak on sound like.” Auston slaps him on the back of the head, but with so much affection it ends up being more of a hair-ruffling sort of thing.
Connor is now almost purple in the face and very intent on picking out the right jam for his own croissant. Meanwhile Hallsy just looks from one of them to the other with a slightly open mouth until he apparently seems to get it. His eyes are bugging again and he only manages a soft little “Oh” of realization before Martin says “There we go,” and claps him on the back. “Now he got it.” Everyone laughs, even Connor manages to huff out a laugh and grin nervously at everyone around the table. Dylan puts a hand on his thigh and he looks up. “You good?” he asks him quietly. Connor nods. “Really good,” he answers.
--
It's been two years since Dylan got traded to the Oilers. The trade went almost unnoticed, because Mitch and Auston chose the first day of the season to publicly come out as a couple. “You know,” a cheery Mitch told Dylan on the phone, “we figured we'd do it, and then you and Connor can follow in our enormous footsteps any time you want. We are selfless like that.”
It wasn't all easy breazy and happy though. Auston lost a few sponsors and Mitch got spit on by some fans when they played in Philly. Every tv station of North America camped outside their apartments for weeks and seemingly every single girl Mitch had ever dated crawled into the spotlight for her fifteen minutes of fame. But then, halfway across the country, Tyler Seguin came out as bisexual. And a few months later Kappy and William Nylander posted a photo of them with matching rings on their fingers and the caption “Engaged, bitches!”. By the time Dylan and Connor finally told the Oilers' management to give out a press release, it wasn't as much of a hoopla as they had feared.
They already had told the entire team on Dylan's first day. Well, actually, Connor had told them. As captain of the team, he held a short and quiet speech that nevertheless ended with the sentence “If anyone of you has a problem with it, tell me now and I will step down as captain.” Nobody said a single word. Instead, when Leon collected the scraps of paper with which they were voting on it, they had all reelected Connor unanimously. They made it to the quarterfinals of the cup that year, Dylan almost constantly in second or third place of the scoring list.
Now, they are standing on their home ice and Dylan feels like his face is about to split from this massive grin he has had on it since a few hours ago. When they won – they fucking won – and the huge Stanley Cup was brought out to them on the ice. Connor was the first to lift it and Dylan thought for a second that the roar of the crowd would flatten him to the ground. They have all lifted it several times now, skated around the rink with it and hugged and screamed themselves hoarse. Dylan is still in his sweaty gear, his helmet and stick and gloves god-knows-where and his sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He stinks and he knows it, but it doesn't matter because he is here and they have won the cup.
He looks over to Davo, this man he loves, who has a proper scruffy beard now and is just finishing an interview with a lady from the Swedish national television. He looks up and meets Dylan's gaze and his face lights up with so much love and joy, that Dylan almost aches. They have kissed earlier, on the ice, both holding the cup and someone from PR has told Dylan that the picture of their kiss has apparently broken the internet. It's being shared everywhere.
Connor skates over to him and they hug. Both sweaty, both smelly and sticky from so much champagne. They don't say anything. They don't have to. Dylan knows that this awkward man in his arms is the love of his life. And he knows that that will never change. He knows they will grow old together and maybe even have a family one day. But he doesn't think about that now. They are both still so young, still have so much hockey to play and so much life to live. It will never get better than right now, he thinks. But he is looking forward to every damn day that he has Davo by his side.