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It wasn't that surprising, back when Matthew noticed the initial fixation developing; Draisaitl was objectively more storybook handsome than should really be allowed in an NHL player, and Matthew is shallow. He doesn’t really get down on himself about it- it’s not like anyone else in the league is particularly deep or intellectually motivated in their dating choices. He just notices surface-level hotness in guys sometimes, as well as girls.
Besides being shallow and never knowing when to stop, Matthew is a lifelong expert at wanting more than he gets. Growing up, it’d been wanting to play well enough to satisfy his dad’s highest hopes and expectations, surpass them even. Nowadays, it’s more the exaggerated version of Big Walt that lives in his head, echoes of the days as a kid when he’d been frustrating to coach, and whatever family trait he inherited that keeps him pushing himself- and everyone else too- for better or worse. He still wants to be better than getting jealous of his younger brother, who he loves like crazy and also can't stop comparing himself to on bad days, not since Brady's first early teenage growth spurt. He’s better about it every year, not checking on a regular basis anymore, but it’s still there in the back of his mind. An awareness.
And like anybody would, he wants to win, and keep winning. He wants the fucking bragging rights of being the first Tkachuk to have his name on the Stanley Cup.
In the same way, since his first game playing against the Connor McDavid in the NHL, back in October 2016 when that had felt like a big deal, his attention had been drawn away from the beginning.
He'd wanted Leon Draisaitl's eyes on him. At first it had been curiosity; later, as they got to know one another out on the ice, he’d wanted Draisaitl’s fury and derision, to make him lose his temper, to get hit. That game within a game had just been a bonus on top of the challenge that playing against Edmonton's top line always delivered.
The part of him that never got old enough to know better had been thrilled before that stupid All Star Game, now a memory from just before the world went to shit. He'd been fucking invigorated, that he was the reason boring, disciplined Leon Draisaitl said something snarky in front of a camera. There was no feeling as good as knowing you'd gotten under somebody's skin like that.
Matthew doesn’t pretend he hasn’t thought about it (a lot), but for all that, it's honestly not even a thing. It was barely a thing at the ASG, where Leon had smiled at him on the ice and Matthew had pushed, just to test how far the truce could go, over one weekend in his hometown.
It's a really good smile, in his defense. A little like a shark or something, intense, but in a hot way.
It turned out not to be that hard to push it to "handjobs inside the Enterprise Center". They locked themselves in one of the little family-sized restrooms, with the changing station and all, and Draisaitl watched him a little guardedly for the first couple minutes - they were standing really close together, obviously, and Matthew was just grinding against Draisaitl's thigh at first. He’s usually pretty willing to give before he gets. He could hear as Leon's breaths started to come in heavier and quicker, and then he was able to scoop up a couple drops of wetness from the tip to make the slide of his hand smoother, and Leon's eyes shut and he started sort of... Holding his breath, maybe? He was making the world's tiniest amount of noise, given that absolutely no one was going to come looking for them on the mezzanine concourse between events. His face got blotchy when he was close, but somehow with those cheekbones even that was a good look for him.
Matthew was close by the time that was over, and if he was the type of guy to care, it would’ve been embarrassing how Leon didn’t even have to pull his pants down or anything, just slid a hand in under two layers of fabric and jerked him off unceremoniously. It did not take long at all, and then they were both messy and having to clean up with one ply stadium toilet paper.
If they’d been friends Matthew would’ve made a joke or something, the situation was objectively ridiculous, but they're not friends.
He was glad he’d waited, gotten to watch Draisaitl go first, because once he came he got control over his stupid German face again, and if Matthew didn't know better he might have been able to convincingly act like he hadn’t been that into it. Matthew did know better, though. He felt even more delighted with himself watching Draisaitl avoid eye contact and sneak out of the restroom, all careful, than he had watching that puck go into the net off of his assist.
After that weekend, the wanting became something worse. It had been a pastime, an itch to scratch, something to make dark Albertan winters interesting.
But at some point being the most annoying part of Draisaitl's season had stopped feeling like enough.
So he pushes again, four days later, and again he is rewarded for questionable behavior. It’s almost like shit didn’t have time to get weird. The Flames are in Edmonton, and before they leave town Matthew has received his first blowjob from a European. It’s sort of one of those dumb things you think about when you’re trying not to come, at first- he’d been looking down at Draisaitl’s face and aggressively trying to think about his bad or even neutral qualities. So he’s not 100% sure of the stat until the next morning, tracing his memory all the way back to ancient history to confirm it. North Americans only, before this. It’s kind of funny, and he wishes it was the kind of thing you brag about. Or he could chirp Draisaitl, at least, except he realizes on the way home that last night he’d just slipped Leon one of his room keys in the little numbered sleeve, in some random hallway at Rogers Place, which means that two hookups in he still doesn’t have the dude’s fucking phone number.
That doesn’t take long to resolve, though, because on Saturday Leon Draisaitl is standing on Matthew’s turf, judging his furniture and scowling all “I have never wanted to see anyone I’ve fucked this often, even people I like. What the fuck is this scheduling?”
“I’m like a bad penny,” Matthew grins. Draisaitl doesn’t get it, or if he does he’s not ready for them to be joking around.
“You haven’t actually fucked me,” Matthew points out, all business. “You can, though.”
Draisaitl leaves when they’re done but he does grumpily save his number in Matthew’s phone first.
It’s funny because he doesn’t actually use the number for months after that, because the world sort of ends. Temporarily, at least, but in the moment it doesn’t feel temporary. Matthew doesn’t remember how to tell time, how to track the seasons passing, without hockey. It is a really shitty five months, slow as hell.
By August, sex is honestly not even top three things Matthew’s most excited about. When they finally get to go back for the weird, dystopian version of the playoffs, no fans and almost no fun allowed, it’s such a relief to be fucking skating again, with his guys, to know that the horror story ends, and how.
He is horny, though, and he already has the number, so before the Oilers play their first bubble game he texts Draisaitl. At first he just sends u up?, real tongue in cheek, but when he doesn’t get an answer he starts typing again. He gets a response before he comes up with a good second line.
Matthew starts to type out ‘your loss’, like he’d absolutely have blurted out if they were speaking in person, but then he reels the impulse in and clears the little box. Leaving Draisaitl on read seems more like he doesn’t care, which he doesn’t.
—
2021
He’s not expecting it.
“Hey,” he hears from behind him. It’s February at the Saddledome, and they just beat the Oilers, and he recognizes the voice before he even turns around.
“Hey,” he says, super casual. They haven’t talked since… Well, honestly they don’t really talk ever, so this is weird all around.
“You still live in that ugly condo?”
“Uh,” Matthew says. “No. Why?”
Now this is familiar ground, Draisaitl looking at him like he’s got pigshit for brains. “Guess,” he says dryly.
“Thought you had a girlfriend?”
“I did.”
“Okay.”
“Are you gonna give me the address, or do you want to be seen leaving together?”
So that’s happening. He lets Matthew top, which feels like maybe some kind of weird apology about the girlfriend thing. It’s not necessary, but talking about it feels worse than just going with it. Leon takes it really well, and it’s none of Matthew’s business whether he’s cheating or rebounding or in some kind of weird open relationship! They’re not friends.
After Draisaitl leaves, he tries to think of that time as a one-off. Before, he’d fallen too easily into feeling like they had some comfortable agreement that they actually made, and then he’d looked stupid.
It happens twice more that month, and then once in March before Matthew stops counting. Why overthink something good?
—
It’s May. They don’t talk about it, but this is probably their last time for the season. Tangentially, the Flames aren’t in the playoffs, and Matthew is in kind of a shitty mood until his second orgasm, his scalp sore from being led around by his hair. He’s a little floaty and he’s not really contributing much anymore, but Leon’s still fucking him and sounding like he’s having an okay time, so that’s good. Leon comes and flips Matthew over, looking over his upper body like he’s trying to see something. Like an examination. Matthew doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Matthew doesn’t really move, just tries to remember what normal breathing looks like, and after a few seconds Leon leans down to kiss him and then drags the heat of his mouth all the way down Matthew’s sternum. He’s too sensitive to come again, but Leon sucks him off anyway, really slow with it, and still watching like a hawk. It feels like a lot. Matthew has to be so fucking red. It feels really good.
It turns out he was wrong, about the going again thing. He doesn’t even try to shower. If he stands up he’s not sure what will happen, so he’s lazy and Leon eventually brings him a wet cloth to wipe off with. Warm, even.
The lights are still on, but that seems like too complicated of a problem to solve right now, so Matthew just rolls back over and sort of hides his face in his arms. He’s going to sleep so fucking hard tonight.
Literally every part of his mind and body is exhausted except for apparently one really stupid brain cell has a question, and he doesn’t have the reflexes to stop himself from talking before it’s too late.
“This is going to come out sounding stupid,” Matthew says, “because I’m too tired to make words happen, but like…”
“What?” Leon asks. He doesn’t look impatient or mad or anything. Matthew feels like a dumbass anyway.
“So, you’re into dudes?”
“You’re right,” Leon says. “That does sound really stupid.” He looks skeptical now, or confused. Whatever the face means, he’s still hot as shit. Matthew wants to touch his cheekbone, or something insane like that. He doesn’t.
“Shut up. Just, before when you said you had a girl, I wasn’t sure if that was in a “no homo” way or just, like, that you were taken. But like. You’ve done this before.”
“You say ‘like’ a lot,” Leon says, kind of smirking. Matthew rolls his eyes.
“Am I right? You give too good of head to just be like. I dunno.”
“Thanks,” Leon says, and now it’s a real smile, and Matthew has to look away for a second, can’t get a reply together. Suddenly it seems like they’re laying really close to each other, for two people who aren’t touching. It’s so late and he still feels boneless and floaty and like this conversation may not even be real.
“Anyway,” Leon says, after a beat, “uh. I wasn’t lying about- I was with a girl, but we broke up before February. And yeah, there was- I did stuff before, in juniors. I like both, and- yeah.”
“Gotcha,” Matthew says, feeling himself getting sleepier.
“You?”
“What?”
Leon shoves him. Matthew sits up on one elbow and shakes his head a little to clear it. “I like sex?” he says. “Girls are fun. Tonight was super hot. I’ve never- I guess there’s never been anybody I liked more than hockey. Can you get the light?”
He army-crawls a couple feet and when he drops his head back down it’s actually on the pillow. He feels a little exposed, but it’s late, and finally dark in here and he’ll deal with that in the morning, if at all. With his eyes drifting shut he can’t read Leon’s face. He braces for a chirp or another question.
Leon just hums, turning so he’s lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling.
“I’m gonna fall asleep,” Matthew warns.
—
So it wasn’t a thing, and it still isn’t, but it does… happen. They didn’t kiss the first time, but now sometimes they do, just like usually they don’t fuck in public and actually make it to a bed more often than not. Thinking sex stuff doesn't count if you don't kiss the guy is stupid, and kissing is fun, and also Leon was the one to do it first- all reward for no risk on that, from the beginning.
They don't hook up every time they're in the same place, obviously: they play each other roughly 700 times that COVID season and sometimes it just doesn't happen.
A lot of times it does. It’s not a thing. Life goes on. Another season starts, and they play each other a normal amount of times and have sex a normal amount of times. The season ends when the Oilers knock the Flames out of the playoffs in six. Leon lets Matthew fuck him about it before he leaves for Germany or whatever.
It’s summer. Stranger Things comes back. Brady gets engaged. Matthew signs long-term with Florida.