Work Text:
Bitty felt a slight ache in his back, but there was relatively little he could complain about at the present time. His wallet was full, his rent was paid, he was able to afford the new Zanotti’s he’d been eyeing—took a chunk of his savings, but it had been worth it to pair them with some skinnies and see the look on Lardo’s face when he walked into the café that morning for his caffeine fix.
She’d been painting the far wall with her newest mural idea as Shitty manned the coffee bar. “You’re shitting me.”
Bitty had laughed, and did a twirl. “Yep.”
“Do I wanna know what you had to do to get those?”
“Nothing untoward. Outside of my usual.” He ordered his PSL—the café kept it stocked year round, and it was the sole reason Bitty had started coming into Samwell Coffee in the first place. The atmosphere, owners, and employees had been just the bonus. Bitty taught an amateur baking class Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the local community centre, and the coffees were necessary.
Now Samwell was a habit.
Bitty had come up from Madison Georgia to Providence with two hundred bucks, a key to a tumblr friend’s apartment who was out of the country for six weeks, and a hundred CVs printed from a Kinkos.
It had taken him a while to get established, to get the jobs he loved—one of which paid his bills and for his designer shoes—but now he couldn’t dream of a better life. He missed skating sometimes. Missed his parents, though he didn’t miss having to hide who he was. But he was five years established in himself.
Eric Bittle. Baker and hooker.
Yes. Hooker. He didn’t prefer the term, but it was one most of his co-workers used, mostly in jest or as they said, “reclaiming the term” from those who wanted to use it as an insult. And though escort services weren’t exactly legal in Rhode Island, Bitty did alright. It was under the table, but he made enough to cover his taxes, his apartment, and anything else he needed.
And then some.
Lardo and Shitty had been the one to set him up. He’d been counting pennies and bemoaning the idea he’d have to climb back into his closet and grovel at his parents’ feet when she’d sent two giant men over to his table.
“So. Lardo tells us you’re having money woes,” said the taller, blonde one.
Bitty blinked at them. “Um. Who are you?”
“I’m Adam, but everyone calls me Holster. This is my partner in crime—sort of literally considering all things, but also my queer-platonic soulmate, Justin.”
“Ransom,” the other one corrected. His dark brown eyes did a sweep of Bitty’s body and then he asked, “Are you a virgin?”
Bitty started to panic, then took a breath and said, “Depends on your definition of virgin.”
“Ever take it up the ass,” Holster said plainly.
Bitty felt his cheeks threaten to catch fire, but he shook his head. “Nope. Did a few things with my boyfriend back home but…”
“Are you incredibly attached to the idea that virginity means something? That your first time should be rooted in love?” Ransom asked. When Bitty started to bristle he said, “Lards and Shits say you’re cool so like…keep this on the DL. We have an escort service and you can make a fuckton of money. Holtzy here used to play in the NHL until he blew his knee, and we happen to know a lot of players who want to drop a lot of money on good sex with someone who won’t out them.”
Bitty understood the importance of not being outed. Considering the worst had once happened to him and it went as badly as an outing could go. Assuming the person wasn’t a famous NHL player.
After that, one domino hit another, which hit another, which revealed the landscape portrait of Eric Bittle’s current life.
He had several regulars—only one in the NHL, but several in high end careers with wives and children. There were nights it made him feel a little guilty, but he was in no position to judge. He was in the position to fuck, and make enough money to pay for most little luxuries he wanted in life.
Including spending Wednesday afternoons after his baking class at Samwell.
Not just because the pumpkin spice lattes were the best.
But because Jack Zimmermann, like clockwork, arrived at six oh five every night they didn’t have a game. Jack Zimmermann, captain of the Providence Falconers, who liked to read history text books and sit in a chair near Bitty, and occasionally chirp him about his eating habits, coffee preferences, and the celebrity gossip magazines he lived and died by.
Just like they were old friends.
Bitty’s crush was astronomical. It was one he didn’t plan on doing anything about considering his job, and considering Jack’s, but this was nice all the same. It was two hours once a week he could pretend his life was something at least resembling normal.
Though really, what was normal?
Bitty all-but skipped to the counter where Nursey was busy pouring espresso dredges into foamed milk to make funky shapes, and he turned his head, grinning. “The usual?”
Bitty shrugged. “I kinda feel like trying something new? Maybe that tea latte thing you make?”
“With vanilla? The one Rans is always drinking?” Nursey asked.
Bitty nodded. “Yep. Also I freed up some time tomorrow evening to come by and stock the mini pies.”
“Oh my god if you make me some extra I will love you forever.” Nursey tilted his head back. “BABE! BITTY JUST SAID HE’LL MAKE US MINI PIES!”
“I did not,” Bitty argued, but Ransom was already leaping through the baking door and tackling Bitty with kisses.
“You know I love you, right? You’re like…my favourite everything,” Ransom insisted.
Bitty rolled his eyes and pushed Ransom off. “Whatever. You’re the one who got me the free night.”
“Looks like you earnt it,” Ransom said, waggling his brows at Bitty’s shoes.
“Shush. Go make me that tea latte.”
Ransom snorted. “On it. Go wait for your boy. He’ll be here soon.”
Bitty blushed, but he took enough chirping over Jack Zimmermann anyway, so he was used to it. He found his usual chair, and curled up with the Pioneer Baking Book he’d snagged from the book kiosk near the lady who sold daisies, and was soon joined by a small slice of Ransom’s coffee cake, and the tea latte with a splash of vanilla.
He felt warm, and at home. And yes it was strange. Strange to give himself in more ways than he could really imagine to rich and sometimes famous people at night. Strange to come into the coffee house the next day as his boss worked as a baker and barista, whipping up coffee cake and frothy tea.
But it was his life.
It was nothing like he’d imagined it ever being when he was struggling to get by in Georgia.
And honestly, he didn’t think it could get much better.
***
“You’re early.”
Bitty blinked up from his book, realising he’d been sucked into a pie technique he was unfamiliar with, and saw Jack standing near him holding a cup of black coffee and a fruit tart. Bitty quickly moved his legs from the second loveseat cushion, and shifted over.
“You, Mr Zimmermann, are late,” Bitty corrected.
They were both right, really. Jack was half an hour behind his usual time, and Bitty had gotten done with the class thirty minutes early because half the students had been out with whatever nasty cold was going around.
Jack grinned at him though, in spite of the chirp. “Left practise late. Press.”
Bitty’s nose wrinkled. “Of all the things I’d envisioned myself doing—Food Network cooking star, Beyonce’s nanny—I don’t think I could handle talkin’ to people with microphones being shoved in my face after doing several hours of suicides.”
Jack snorted into his coffee. “We only do the suicides at the beginning. The rest we spend shooting pucks at Snowy’s face.”
Bitty couldn’t help his smile. He also couldn’t help picturing Andre Niege—twenty-four, black hair, French, and goaltender for the Providence Falconers, spread out and debauched on a soft bed. Because that’s where he’d been six nights ago, with his cock buried deep in Bitty’s throat. Bitty, of course, wouldn’t breathe a word.
Any one of their clients knew to avoid Samwell Coffee Haus like the plague. And Bitty was a thousand percent sure that even under the most extreme torture, Andre wouldn’t breathe a word.
Still, the thought made him blush. Six degrees of separation from Jack Zimmermann in a less than platonic way, and it made Bitty’s skin tingle. It was strange, having sex for a living, but never wanting it for himself until he was looking at droopy blue eyes and a slightly crooked grin.
Even then, Bitty thought he didn’t even need it. He’d be far more content to curl up in those giant arms and let himself fall to sleep against the rhythm of Jack’s beating heart.
Free tonight? Usual looking to book a night.
The text startled Bitty, who glanced at his phone, then up at Jack who was watching with a curious brow. Bitty felt his cheeks pink as he typed out, Yeah okay. Late?
After the game. Wants 11pm to morning.
Bitty sighed. He’d been looking forward to his own bed, to curling up with a cup of tea and maybe some Netflix but… Okay.
Jack cleared his throat and Bitty looked at him again. “Sorry, hon. Work stuff.”
“Baking emergency?” Jack chirped.
Bitty rolled his eyes. “Hush, you. Now I know y’all have a game tonight—and I’m expecting a nice win so why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you this pioneer cookbook I just picked up.”
He delighted in Jack’s grin, in the slow press of Jack’s body against his, and the warm puff of breath as Jack leant over Bitty’s shoulder to be read to.
***
Bitty splayed his hand over the round, firm buttocks, going from left to right with just the tips of his fingers first, then a hard press. Andre liked to be treated firmly, but kindly. He wanted someone to lavish attention upon him, and be allowed to do the same.
The Falcs had lost that night. Bitty had been watching with apprehension for both Jack—who never took losses well, and for Andre who shouldered the brunt when he let pucks get by him. When Andre arrived at the hotel, he didn’t say much. He just crowded Bitty against the door, held his face, and kissed him until Bitty pushed him back and took him by the hands.
“You did amazing tonight, sweetheart.” When Andre started to shake his head, Bitty squeezed his hands tightly. “You did. You didn’t win, but you played your best. I was real, real proud of you. Now come on, let me take care of you.”
Bitty had learnt quite a few tricks of the trade over the years. How to read his clients, to anticipate their needs—which ones were sexual, which ones were not. Andre had been calling on him for nearly a full year, so Bitty knew at this point he would love a bath. He would love the slow drag of a sudsy loofa across his back. He’d preen at Bitty’s talented fingers working soap into his hair, then down his shoulders.
After that, when he was pliant and warm and soft, he’d want to get fucked.
And that’s what Bitty was doing now. He had Andre pinned by the small of his back, and Bitty was working two fingers into him. “You cleaned up nicely for me, didn’t you?”
Andre groaned, pushing his hips into the mattress. “I tried those…uhnf…that brand you sent me. The enema. Shipped right to my house, I didn’t feel euh…strange. Checking out.”
Bitty laughed, dipping his head low to press a kiss to the join of skin between Andre’s ass and his thigh. “That’s real good, baby.” He scissored his fingers a moment, then reached for the toy sat on the nightstand. He began to lube it up, and he watched Andre squirm in anticipation. “No issues at work?”
“Not one,” Andre said. The mechanics of fucking were less than pretty some nights. The prep-work was tedious and Bitty had become familiar with things he never thought he would, being the Georgia-bred virgin for most of his college years. But he was seasoned now, and sated enough, if not a little lonely.
He wondered from time to time what it would be like to come home from a long night of all this, and curl up in a boyfriend’s arms. Would he still be into fucking? Would that even matter? But it seemed like a pipe-dream. Bitty probably wouldn’t do this forever, but what man would want to settle down with someone who had a past like this?
He licked his lips, than began to ease the toy into Andre’s hole. “Good,” he breathed as Andre grunted. It was a slow push and pull until he was worked open, and pushing his face into the blanket to muffle his moans.
Bitty watched it slide, watched lube beading up along his rim, and he prepared himself to take the place of the toy. “You want to be on your knees, baby? Or facing me?”
“I don’t…” Andre huffed a breath. “Like this.” His accent was heavy and slurred as he shifted up onto his knees a little more. He sighed, sounding almost disappointed when Bitty pulled the toy out, but a moment later a condom covered dick was pushing against his hole, and Andre groaned with relief. “Ah ouais, merci, c’est parfait.”
Andre knew Bitty liked it, the mumbling in French. He didn’t do it often, it was a conscious thought and a lot of times Andre was lost in his own head when Bitty was fucking him. But he was more present tonight, needing a little more, Bitty could tell. So Bitty gave a firm push once he’d worked himself inside. He knew the angle perfectly, knew Andre’s body as well as he knew his own.
He was rewarded by a sharp cry, by Andre thrusting his own hips back onto Bitty.
All in all, it didn’t last long. Bitty didn’t expect it to, either. Andre had been worked up from the game, and after just a few thrusts, a few pulls on his leaking dick, and he was coming.
Bitty had trained his body to come when it was necessary, and after snapping his hips once, twice, three times, he was spilling inside the condom.
Andre collapsed beneath him, and Bitty stroked his back gently, up and down his spine until he softened enough to pull out without hurting him. He tied up the condom, then fetched a wet cloth to clean up the residual mess. The lights in the room were dim, and the air was a little stuffy, smelling of lube, and latex, and sex.
Andre didn’t seem to mind as he rolled onto his side, making grabby hands at Bitty.
“Is this okay?” he muttered as Bitty eased under the thin sheet.
With a laugh, Bitty leant up and pressed a kiss to Andre’s nose. “Of course, sweetheart.” Their fingers tangled, and Bitty drew absent lines with his free hand along Andre’s shoulder.
“Can I…ask you a question?” Andre said. “I know we’re not…we can’t know anything about each other personally. I mean…you know who I am, of course.”
“I do,” Bitty said slowly.
Andre sighed. “Just…does this seem weird to you? That I choose this over a relationship?”
Bitty shook his head. “No. Of course not.”
Andre let out a small, huffing laugh. “Isn’t it, though? Not…normal? Every time I think about settling down I get…uncomfortable. This is nice. No obligations. And I think on some level you care a little bit.”
Bitty closed his eyes, pulling Andre tighter. “Honey, of course I do. Of course I care. And I’m certainly not in a position to decide what’s normal and what isn’t. If it makes you happy, it’s normal for you and it don’t matter what other people might think.” He chanced a look up at Andre’s face. “I like to think apart from all this, we’re friends.”
Andre’s face softened into a smile. Bitty was caught up in his lashes, so dark they looked like he was wearing eyeliner. He had a cut jaw, olive skin. He was incredibly beautiful, and if it wasn’t for who they were to each other, Bitty might have liked him in a different way.
“There’s someone,” Andre said after a minute. “His name is David.” Bitty delighted in the way Andre pronounced it. ‘Dah-veed.’ “He’s…he works with me.”
“A player?”
Andre shook his head. “Non. But I see him a lot, and he’s…I think sometimes he might like me back, but other times…” He shrugged.
Bitty cupped his cheek. “He’d be a fool not to.”
Andre smiled again, kissing the tip of Bitty’s nose. “What about you, mon petit canard? Is there someone who has your heart? Who holds you like this?”
Bitty flushed, shaking his head. “No.” When Andre tensed, he said, “There’s…there’s someone I like. I see him once a week but…” He swallowed. “It’s complicated. But he’s real nice and I like to think what we have is special, even if it’s not exactly what I was hopin’ for.”
Andre stroked his thumb down Bitty’s cheek. “He will see it. How can he not?”
“I think he’s straight,” Bitty said with a small sigh.
Andre shrugged. “He might surprise you.”
At that, Bitty laughed. “Maybe, but I doubt it. And even if he wasn’t he’s…I mean I’m not exactly in his league. He’s real tall and gorgeous and…” Bitty stopped himself. He was about to say something a little too revealing about Andre’s captain and that wouldn’t be safe. For either of them. “It’s alright. I’m happy with what I got.”
“Just promise me you won’t sell yourself short. You’re precious,” Andre said, and Bitty didn’t think he meant that last word in a way that was meant to infantilise him. It sounded, in a way, like he truly meant something to Andre. “You deserve love. As much as you give.”
Bitty didn’t have anything to say back to that, so instead he closed his eyes, leant his cheek against Andre’s chest, and together they fell asleep.
***
Jack stopped in front of Samwell’s front door, confused by the scribbled, Closed Due To Technical Difficulties sign hastily taped to the front window. He tried the door anyway, and found it open. Poking his head inside, he heard thickly accented Bostonian swearing coming from behind the counter.
He felt like he knew Shitty well enough to let himself in, so he did, then flicked the lock to prevent any more curious passers by from doing exactly what he just did. Approaching the counter, Jack cleared his throat. “Euh…everything okay back there?”
Shitty’s head popped up. His hair was tied in a messy bun at the back of his head, and he had a smudge of dust on his left cheek, a dust bunny hanging from the edge of his stache.
“Jack fucking Zimmermann, you mother fucking beaut. How did you know?”
Jack’s eyebrows went up. “Know…?” Then he saw what was happening. All of the shelves on the pastry counter were collapsed. The floor was covered in smashed crust, smears of jam and filling, and crushed remnants of cookies. On top of all that were the shelves and brackets spread out. “Oh.”
Shitty sighed, and swiped his hand across his brow. “Rans ran out to get more supplies, but he won’t be back for a bit. I think I’ve got the broken bracket fixed, but I could really use another set of hands. I mean, I know your sweet bod is worth billions but…”
“It’s actually just millions,” Jack chirped with a grin. He rolled up his sleeves as he came round the side of the counter, then knelt down. His knee squashed into a sticky bit of jam, but he ignored it as he peered under the counter where Shitty was attempting to hold a bracket in place. “I’m insured anyway.”
“Even off the ice?” Shitty asked.
Jack chuckled. “Especially off the ice. On the ice I’m a god. Or don’t you watch ESPN.”
“Holy fuck you beautiful fucker, I forgot you could be hilarious,” Shitty said, clapping him on the arm. “Do you think you can squeeze your gorgeous ass into that tiny space and hold the shelf up there?”
It was a tight fit, but Jack managed it. He was curled into himself, but had enough leverage to steady the shelf as Shitty attempted to work on it. Unfortunately, the bolt was stripped, and he sat back after a second.
“Fuck. Just hang tight, I’m gonna grab another. You okay?”
Jack nodded. “I’m good.” He was balanced enough there was no strain holding the shelf, and frankly Jack had always felt weirdly comfortable in small, tight spaces. Shitty eased himself up, and Jack shifted his knee just a bit.
He could hear Shitty in the back, cursing as he looked for more bolts, and then there was another sound. The lock on the door unclicking. The bell chimed, and then the sound of a familiar voice which sent Jack’s heart racing.
“…wanted to just…cuddle. I mean, which I’m all for, but it didn’t hardly seem the point.”
It was Eric. Eric, whom Jack had been harbouring a crush on for months. Eric, the sole reason he fucked his time off to spend sat on an uncomfortable sofa in a coffee house just to hear stories about pies and figure skaters. Eric, the sole reason Jack knew anything about anything that wasn’t hockey or history, and god he wanted to know so much more. But Eric was a closed book so often. He knew that he taught a few days a week at the community centre, that he was from Georgia and no longer spoke with his family, and that he’d dropped out of University when the expense became too much.
They’d been dancing round their relationship, not quite defined, neither of them brave enough to get a number, or go to dinner, but Jack wanted. Oh he wanted.
“Well shit, I mean, are you really complaining, Bits?”
That voice was Ransom, the barista.
Eric sighed. “No, I mean…I’m not complainin’, but it feels like that ain’t what he’s payin’ me for. Or well, it is, but I think there’s something else goin’ on and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it. Hell, Rans, we fucked one time, then we cuddled and fell asleep. I woke up to bagels and a grand in cash in my bag. Like…on top of the fee. He was tellin’ me about this guy he likes at his work and…aw hell I just…I’m not sure.”
Jack felt his blood start to run cold. He wasn’t entirely educated in modern pop culture, and he could be a little thick sometimes but he wasn’t stupid. His throat went tight.
“Bits, look, you know the rules. You can terminate his contract at any time. Literally. Like you don’t even have to have a reason. Your safety and comfort is just as important as any client.”
“I don’t want him feelin’ like I’m rejecting him,” Eric argued. “It isn’t about that. But I think he needs to…stop. With me. And maybe go for that guy he’s into.”
Ransom huffed a laugh. “Bro, we run an escort service, not a counselling service. If you wanna talk to the guy, go for it. You just keep me posted and if it’s a no-go after this, I know I can find you one or two clients who can supplement that income loss.”
Eric laughed. “Being able to afford Louboutins is pretty nice. Anyway I’d better run. Looks like Shitty doesn’t have all this worked out yet.”
“Ah fuck me, no I gotta go too. Holtzy’s waiting for me at the airport. Shits!” Ransom yelled, “I’m leaving your crap on the counter. Bits and I gotta run!”
“See ya!” Shitty called back.
Jack’s breathing was coming in slight gasps when the front door shut again, and Shitty walked out. He was whistling, flipping a screw driver in his hand, but when he bent down, he went quiet. Jack wanted to say something, to tell Shitty what he’d just heard, but it was all crashing down on him.
Everything was crashing.
Eric was an escort. A prostitute. He knew what that meant, and it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Jack wasn’t that guy.
Except he was also asexual. There was no grey area with it, either. Jack didn’t like or want sex. In an ideal world—a world he’d been building up in his head where Eric liked him anyway, and wanted him anyway, and wanted to be loved and romanced just…without all the messy bits Jack couldn’t handle—they’d be together. Jack would ask him out and it would be a perfect ending.
But Eric clearly…he clearly liked sex. He was an escort, and Jack didn’t think Eric would be able to handle or understand what he needed.
It was burning to ash before he could even try and he liked Eric so much and…
“Jack? Hey Jackabelle? You with me, brah?”
Shitty’s voice sounded far off and tinny. Somewhere along his thoughts, Jack had released the shelf and was hugging his knees. He felt outside of his body, his skin hot and tingling, and he couldn’t catch his breath.
“I…” was all he could manage.
“Looks like a panic attack, Jack-o. Can I touch you?”
It took Jack a full twenty seconds to remember he had to reply in some fashion, and he managed a nod. Shitty’s cool, calloused hands fell on his, and it was startling, but grounding. Jack listened for Shitty’s breath, and began to follow it, and after a moment, he crashed back into himself.
“Shit, Jack. You okay?”
“Um.” Jack blinked at him, still foggy.
“Was it the confined space?” Shitty asked.
Jack’s eyes wandered round the little box he was still sat in, then he shook his head. “No. Eric was…here.”
Shitty raised a brow. “Yeah? He and Rans dropped off the…” He trailed off. “Shit. What did you hear?”
Jack licked his lips, coming back to himself even more. He was nervous, that saying it aloud was going to trigger another attack. He shifted slightly, pushing himself more out into the open. The air was fresh, even in the closed café, and he took a small breath. “I think,” he said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I heard enough. All of it.”
Shitty’s face paled, and he backed up against the mini fridge where they kept the milk for their lattes, curling one knee into his chest. “Jesus. Okay. Look, Jack I know what Rans and Holtzy get up to isn’t exactly legal here but…I swear it’s all consensual and if you could just…”
“I’m not,” Jack said swiftly, and took another breath to avoid becoming dizzy again. “I don’t have a problem with it, Shits. That’s not what I…” His throat went tight again, and he looked down at his lap. He wondered how he could do so much with his life—he could win multiple trophies, championships, captain an NHL team, and yet feel so incapable of expressing himself. He knew what his therapist would tell him—that there’s nothing wrong with having trouble expressing something so intimate—that it wasn’t anything like playing hockey or keeping his team organised and motivated, but it still felt ridiculous. He swallowed thickly. “I like him.”
Shitty blinked at him. “You…like him.”
“Eric,” Jack clarified.
After a second, Shitty laughed. “Well Christ, you beaut, I knew that already. Hell, I think everyone but maybe lil Bits knows that.” When Jack looked slightly alarmed, Shitty shrugged. “Man, you have the biggest heart eyes for that man, there’s no helping it. And I get it. Bitty’s amazing. I just…is it because of his job? Is that the problem?”
“No,” Jack said. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “I’m…I don’t want that.”
“Look, I don’t think…it wouldn’t be fair to ask Bitty to stop just because you like him,” Shitty started.
Jack shook his head firmly, then took a breath and decided he trusted Shitty since Shitty was trusting him with all this. “I’m asexual.”
Shitty’s jaw snapped shut. “Oh.”
Jack nodded miserably. “I’m asexual. I euh…my therapist says it’s different for everyone. For me it’s…I don’t want…I don’t like sex. I’m never going to want it. But Eric’s…what he does, that might…I don’t think…”
Shitty held up a hand. “Look. I think you shouldn’t sell that man so short, Jackabelle. Bitty might surprise you. He isn’t doing this to sate a raging sex-drive. He’s doing this because he’s good at it, and he makes a lot of money. It’s not really my place to say more, but Bitty’s been gone on you since the day you walked in that door and chirped him for the Martha Stuart cookbook he was reading, and I think if you two talked, you might realise there’s hope for you two yet.”
Jack was startled by the sudden, warm rush of hope in his chest. He hadn’t realised just how much he wanted it, or just how crushed he’d been when he thought it was truly out of his reach, until now. Until Shitty said that Jack still had a chance.
“Okay,” he breathed.
“And man, if this is about your job—like I know being out in the NHL is pretty much a no-go and dating an escort might not be the best idea but…”
Jack shook his head. “I’d like to talk to him about it. But I need…I might need some time to work things out.”
Shitty nodded. “I get it, man. And for what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you kids.”
Jack snorted. “I’m older than you.”
“Point still stands,” Shitty said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, can you help me fix this, or do you need to bail.”
Jack chanced a grin. “I’d never back out on a friend, Shits. Let’s get this done.”
***
Jack left the café with a box of mini-pies Eric had baked, and his phone number. Shitty said he would text Eric ahead of time, letting him know that Jack had his number and wanted to chat. He also agreed not to say anything to Eric, to give Jack the chance to form his own words, and how to approach it.
Now all Jack needed was time with Eric.
He was still a little stunned by the revelation, but on the walk home, he’d come to the conclusion that it truly didn’t matter. Nothing had ever been conventional for Jack—not his entrance into the NHL, not his life nor his relationship with his friends and family, nor his sexuality. So why would he expect this to be? And if it made Eric happy…
The thought of that alone left Jack with a small grin on his face as he kicked open his door, set the pies on the counter, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through a few texts—one from Kent asking if he wanted to stay an extra day after their game in Vegas, one from Georgia asking him if he was going to be doing the little Falconers with Tater, and one from his dad, reminding him that tomorrow night was his cousin’s Bat Mitzvah in Boston.
It struck Jack suddenly. The perfect opportunity. Not quite a date, but Jack could get Eric in a personal setting, without the risk of Jack’s teammates popping by or strangers asking for autographs. They could eat, and they could talk.
He sent the text before he could talk himself out of it.
Hi Eric, it’s Jack.
The reply was almost instant.
Jack! Shitty said you’d be texting. Everything okay?
Yeah. I wanted to ask a favour.
Not a favour. It’s…
My cousin is having a bat mitzvah. I have an early afternoon game Saturday, but the reception is that evening after Shabbat so…uh. If you wanted to…I’d um.
Are you inviting me to come with you?
Jack couldn’t help the grin on his face as Eric saved him from his death by awkward conversation.
Yes. Please. If you like. I can pick you up.
I’d be happy to, Jack. Anything special I should know or wear? I’ve never been to one.
Suit and tie is fine. It’s just family, and her friends at school.
I have the perfect thing. See you tomorrow?
Absolutely. Have a good night, Eric. See you then.
So formal, sweetheart. Sleep well, Jack.
And Jack did, with his face pressed into the pillow, and a smile on his lips.
***
Bitty was beside himself at the invite. He’d said yes before he really had time to think about it, and he had a moment of panic because he didn’t know just how close other hockey players were with the Zimmermanns. What if Andre was there. Or any of the other few players Bitty had serviced over the last year. What if…
But he didn’t think that was going to be the case. Just friends from school and family, and Bitty decided to take that as a good sign. He wasn’t sure there was anything in the world that would turn him off to a date with Jack Zimmermann, even if it was as unconventional as a Bat Mitzvah for his cousin.
It was strange, but Jack didn’t have a reputation of being a hundred and ten percent for nothing, and Bitty knew that about him after nearly a year of spending time at the Haus.
So.
He took his time that afternoon, turned down the request for a job from Rans by saying, I have a date with Jack Zimmermann!!! and ignored the series of eggplant emojis Ransom and Holster both sent his way.
He made a pit stop at Lush, soaked in a bath bomb, used a face mask, and by six pm was dressed in one of his finest suits, a shimmering purple shirt under his jacket, his hair done just-so, and a matching bowtie at his neck.
He was certain he looked good, but he couldn’t help the hitch in his breath when his buzzer sounded, and he opened the door to Jack on the other side.
Bitty wondered for a moment if Jack had someone to dress him. He was a little bit of a fashion disaster off the ice—when he wasn’t in suit-and-tie for press. Frequently the folks at the haus accused him of dressing like he wanted to rob Burger King—something Bitty couldn’t help agree with, but also found painfully endearing.
But right now, Jack looked…breath taking. His suit was obviously designer, his tie matching his blue shirt perfectly. His normally floppy boy-band hair was combed and set, and his blue eyes were wide and a little nervous. He swept his gaze up and down Bitty’s form, and Bitty knew then this wasn’t just a platonic friend thing.
“Hey,” Bitty said. “You wanna come in?”
Jack hesitated. “Actually, I’m a little late so maybe we should…not that I don’t want to but…”
This boy, Bitty thought with a grin, and saved him. “Okay, just let me grab my phone and we can head out.” He winked, then did just that, and followed Jack down to his car.
It was a surprisingly modest truck. Bitty knew most of the hockey stars had at least one sports car, and maybe Jack did in a garage somewhere. But this ride was comfortable, leather seats and roomy, but it wasn’t over the top. There was soft, country music in the background, and Jack smiled at him as Bitty buckled in.
“Thanks euh…for doing this with me. I know I probably should have started with dinner but…”
“Is this a date?” Bitty blurted out.
He could see Jack’s cheeks pink in the fading light of the sun as he pulled away from the kerb. “I was…hoping. I mean, maybe not tonight. But I wanted to…to ask. I have for a while. I just didn’t have the courage.”
Bitty almost laughed, and bit the inside of his cheek. “What changed?”
“Shitty gave me some good advice,” Jack said simply.
Bitty did laugh at that. “He’s been known to do that from time to time.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did.” And he was rewarded with the softest, sweetest Jack Zimmermann smile to date. He felt a rush in his gut and thought, Maybe this will work out. Maybe I can tell him the truth and he’ll like me enough he won’t freak out or think that I want…that I’m…something I’m not.
He wished briefly he’d had a chance to talk to Shitty. To express his concerns. He wanted to date, but he was afraid whenever someone learnt what he did, they would think that’s all he wanted. That’s he’d be willing to do things he wasn’t comfortable with. That he wouldn’t get a break from sex and allowed to just be. He didn’t want to be seen as a walking fuck-fest, and that terrified him a little.
Jack didn’t seem the type, but Bitty had been spending the entire year trying not to get too close, and that was starting to backfire a bit now. He wished he’d been brave enough before.
“Are you okay?” Jack’s voice cut into his thoughts, and Bitty startled a bit.
“Oh. Yeah. Just…haha I’ve never been to a bat mitzvah before. And all your family. Lord is it going to be all French?”
Jack chuckled. “There might be some. It’s my dad’s side of the family, but Miri’s mother’s from Boston so she grew up there, not in Montreal. I think you’ll be okay.” He paused. “You don’t even speak a little French?”
Bitty snorted. “The year I dropped out of college, I was halfway through my first semester of Spanish. So no, sweetpea, I don’t speak French.”
Jack blinked, his cheeks going even darker. “Oh.”
Bitty hesitated. “Did I say something wrong? Was I…”
“You called me sweetpea,” Jack clarified. And just before Bitty could apologise again he said, “No one’s ever…that one sounds…nice.”
Bitty felt the sudden urge to cup his hands round Jack’s heart so no one could ever hurt it. He wasn’t sure what was in this boy’s past—what happened to him, why he seemed so afraid. But he wanted to make sure Jack never had a reason to feel that again. Lord he was in so deep.
“It’s a southern thing, all these silly nicknames,” Bitty said, as casually as he could.
“I’ve never heard you use that one before,” Jack pointed out.
Bitty flushed, but shrugged. “I haven’t. I…was saving it for you.”
Jack smiled that smile again, and Bitty felt like that was all he ever needed to survive.
***
They arrived at the venue, a posh hotel with valet service, and Bitty felt his nerves flaring again. As Jack handed over his keys and got his ticket, he loped his arm round Bitty’s and they started inside.
“Um. So is anyone here like…famous?”
“Besides me and my dad?” Jack asked. Bitty nodded, staring at his feet. “No. I mean, I suppose the band but…no. You’re not going to be surrounded by celebrities or anything. We’re fairly modest.”
“Uh huh,” Bitty said, staring at a massive, golden chandelier, and Jack laughed. “Whatever you say, sweetpea.” He delighted in Jack’s blush, and let the taller man lead him to the ballroom.
From there it was a flurry of family, most of them speaking English with accents either just like Shitty’s, or just like Jack’s. But they were all friendly, and far too attractive for their own good. Jack was instantly roped into conversation, but he managed to make introductions with Bitty enough that he found himself with a glass of prosecco and a long chat with Bob Zimmermann about the time he was a guest judge on Chopped.
By the time Jack made his way round again, the band was playing, and Bitty had found himself a quiet seat at their table while all the kids screamed and danced.
“Was music this terrible when I was a teen?” Bitty asked.
Jack laughed quietly as he eased himself down, scooting his chair close to Bitty’s. “I think maybe worse. But we still have Beyonce, eh?”
Bitty threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah. We do.” He felt like he had sparklers shooting under his skin, like this was perfect and nothing was ever going to be terrible again. How could it be, with the way Jack was staring at him.
A slow song kicked on, and Bitty raised his head as he listened to the lyrics. “Wise men say…only fools rush in…
“Do you want to dance?” Jack asked, a little shy.
Bitty blinked, then set his drink down. “Okay. But I haven’t done this since my winter formal junior year so…”
Jack laughed again, then eased him onto the edge of the dance floor. “When we all danced like this?” he asked. He put his arms round Bitty’s waist, Bitty’s round his neck, and they began to sway back and forth.
“Like the river flows….surely to the sea…darling so it goes…
“I wanted to euh,” Jack said softly, “talk to you. About something.”
Bitty felt his body tense a little. “Okay.”
Jack took a breath, then swallowed thickly. “I like you. Um. Obviously,” and he and Bitty both chuckled. “A lot. I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while, but I hesitated because things with me…who I am…they’re…it’s complicated sometimes.”
“I understand,” Bitty breathed, relaxing a little. “Trust me Jack, I understand. Your job and your life…”
“No it’s,” Jack said, and let out a frustrated sigh. “Eric I um. I know.”
Their dancing paused, and Bitty’s entire body went tense. “You…know?”
“Yesterday. I was helping Shitty with the broken pastry display. I was…I was there, when you and Ransom came in. I…I know.”
It felt like being caught in waves, crashing over and over, only able to get a little breath before another one hit him. Bitty found himself backing up, stepping out of Jack’s embrace. His head was shaking, and every one of his instincts told him to run. He was going to be outed. Jack knew, and he was going to be outed and everything was falling apart.
“I…I have to…I need to…” He turned and fled, the music following him soft and mocking as every hope he’d ever had was dashed.
“I…can’t help…falling in love…with…you.”
***
Bitty wiped the sweat from his brow, then eased himself off Andre’s hips. He knew he was distracted, and maybe a little more aggressive than usual, but Andre didn’t seem to mind. He did look a little concerned though, as Bitty perched on the edge of the bed.
A warm hand fell to the small of his back, and Bitty turned his head. “Hey sweetheart. Nice job.”
Andre shrugged. “That was…good. But different. Do you want to talk about it?”
Bitty let out a hollow laugh. “That’s real sweet, hon, but I don’t think you’re payin’ me six hundred an hour to hear about my petty problems.”
Andre’s face fell a little, but he didn’t back off. “What was the thing you said last time? You think after all this time maybe we’re a little bit friends?”
Bitty felt his cheeks heat up. “Yeah, hon, but you don’t…”
“I asked out the guy I like,” Andre blurted. “He…was hesitant, but he said yes. We’re having dinner this weekend.”
Bitty perked up instantly, a rush of happiness for the other man in spite of his raging emotions. He’d been a mess since he left Jack at the Bat Mitzvah, not opening any texts unless it was for work, and avoiding the café like the plague. It had been over a week since he’d seen Jack, and seeing Andre now was hard, knowing this man was friends with Jack, had access to Jack where Bitty did not. But he couldn’t think like that now.
“Sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”
Andre flushed. “We have to keep it quiet at work, of course. The guys will chirp me to death if they found out but…I’m…I like him a lot. I think we’ll be happy.”
“You deserve it,” Bitty said, his voice flooded with sincerity.
Andre looked at him a long moment. “And you?”
Bitty frowned. “And me?”
“I shared, now is your turn. Why does it seem like your puppy died? Oh god, fuck, did your puppy die?”
Bitty laughed in spite of himself. “No, darlin’ I don’t have a puppy. It’s…” He took a breath and decided fuck it. He could be outed at any time anyway, and he wasn’t about to out Jack, but he could at least explain a little. “That guy I told you about, the one I liked? Well…we had a date.”
Andre brightened. “That’s good, right?” He drew soft lines up Bitty’s naked back.
“It was. It was…it was so good. It was…” His throat went tight, and he cleared it. “I think he liked me a lot. But he erm. He found out. About me. About my job.”
Andre’s brow furrowed. “He rejected you for this? For the job? Do you want me to beat him up?”
Bitty laughed in spite of himself, thinking about Snowy dropping gloves and going after his own captain. “No, hon. No. I…panicked and left before we could talk things out. He didn’t reject me, but it sounded like he was fixin’ to and I just didn’t think I could take hearing that from him right there.”
Not that it added up. If Jack had known since Friday, why would he have invited Bitty out. Bitty had gone over that in his head, repeatedly. Until he couldn’t sleep and felt like crying. But he wasn’t brave enough to see it through. He wasn’t brave enough to see Jack want to…to fetishise what Bitty did, to try and benefit from it. Or to just reject him, to threaten him.
Jack didn’t seem the type but Bitty wasn’t brave.
“I think you might want to talk to him,” Andre said. “Or you’ll run yourself mad thinking about the what-ifs.” He reached out, cupping Bitty’s chin gently between his fingers and kissed him soft and slow. “Like you told me, you deserve to be happy.”
Bitty sighed, leaning up to kiss the tip of Andre’s nose. “I take it this was a goodbye.”
Andre lowered his eyes. “I think…I think yes. It’s probably best.”
Bitty laughed, then yanked him into a hug. “You might not have seen the last of me, you know. Maybe not like this but I meant what I said. I think we might be friends one day.”
Andre smiled brightly, and kissed Bitty once more. “Just ask him, Bits. At the very least, you deserve to know the truth.”
***
Jack wasn’t playing his best game. He’d been off in practise, and had missed too many shots. The only thing saving them was Snowy’s on-point performance, not letting a single puck through. They ended up taking it against the Islanders, 4-1, narrowly missing the shut-out, and all the goals had been down to both Thirdy and Tater.
In the locker room, Jack lingered long after the guys showered, dressed, did press, and went home. Jack sat in his stall, his legs stretched in front of him, his phone still devoid of any sign of Eric. He’d…he’d fucked it up, like he’d been afraid to do. He didn’t know what he was thinking, springing that all on Eric in the middle of a family gathering. But it had just seemed…right. He’d been falling so hard, and he didn’t want secrets between them.
He should have anticipated Eric’s reaction, Eric being hurt and offended that Jack had found out without Eric’s say-so.
Nothing felt worse.
“Hey Cap,” came a voice from the doorway.
Jack looked up to see Snowy in the doorway, leaning with his arms folded. “What are you still doing here?” Jack asked, switching to French. The language flowed soft and natural, comforting.
Snowy shrugged. “I have plans with David after, but he’s fixing Marty’s knee. Why aren’t you gone?”
Jack stared at his phone again with a sigh. “Thinking.”
Snowy frowned, then crossed the room and sat. “Do you want to talk about it? I have it on good authority I’m an amazing listener.”
Jack chuckled a little, then thought what the hell. He couldn’t give the full story, but at the very least he could tell him the gist. “It’s relationship problems,” he said. “Unfortunately I think I messed it all up.”
Snowy’s face softened. “I hear those are terrible.”
Jack laughed. “I wouldn’t really know. It’s been nearly a hundred years since my last, and I think I ruined this one before it got started.” He was out to his team, though he’d always been cautious with pronouns, but Snowy was out to him as well so he relaxed a bit. “He and I had been flirting for a while. A long while. I finally had the courage to ask him out, but it fell apart halfway through the night. I…there was…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “He has a unique job, and when I tried to speak to him about it, he left. I should have used more tact.”
Snowy’s face went through a series of complicated expressions, and his cheeks were mottled pink. It took him a moment to speak, and Jack started to feel nervous until, “Was it a problem with the job?”
Jack shook his head. “No. Not at all. Not…it’s. More me. I’m…” Jack shrugged. “Different, and I wasn’t sure he’d like me because of it. I just want him to be happy, but you know me. I’m not so good with words.”
Snowy laughed, though he still seemed a little off. “I understand. I think…I think maybe if you give him time, he’ll come around. You deserve to be happy, after all. And I bet he does too.”
Jack ducked his head. “He called me ‘Sweetpea,’” he said in English. “It was the most cared for I’ve felt in a long time and not hearing from him is killing me.”
Snowy leant over, squeezing Jack’s knee. “He’ll call. Trust me.”
Jack offered him a smile. He didn’t believe that. The look on Eric’s face said otherwise. It was the look Jack saw every time he closed his eyes and well…it didn’t feel good. But he appreciated the support all the same. “Thanks man,” he said after a minute. “I’d better get going but this helped.”
“Don’t give up hope,” Snowy called one more time before Jack was out the door.
***
Bits, I have a message from Andre. He asked for your number and I of course told him no, so he asked me to pass this message along. He just says, trust JZ. No idea what that’s about but…anyway. That’s it. You want a job tonight?
Bitty’s hands were shaking, and he stared at the message for twenty minutes before he managed to type out, Thanks. And nah not tonight, too tired. Check with me tomorrow.
He put his phone down, then paced his room, worrying his Bun between his hands. Andre knew. Somehow, he knew about Jack. Had Jack told everyone, or had Andre just worked it out. It had been a risk he knew he was taking but this all seemed like a lot.
But Andre wasn’t trying to out him, either. He was just…giving support.
After nearly driving himself up the wall, Bitty finally grabbed his phone and opened up the series of messages Jack had sent. They’d all come in that night, four of them, and Bitty wished he’d been brave enough to read them before.
Eric, I’m so sorry. It was so wrong of me to spring that on you.
I didn’t mean to overhear, I should have said earlier. You have every right to hate me.
I want to talk if we can. I like you, I want to date you, but there’s things you should know about me first.
If you’ll let me, I’ll tell you everything. I’m so sorry. You deserved better.
Bitty’s hands typed, without thought. His address, and the simple request, Please come over tonight.
There was only a moment’s pause before he got back, I’m on my way.
Twenty minutes, and Bitty’s buzzer was ringing.
***
Bitty distracted himself by making tea. He wasn’t sure what Jack was going to say, and this time he didn’t let his mind wander. He didn’t let his inner voice tell him all the terrible things Jack might want, or assume. He just made the tea, and added a few cookies to the tray, and brought it to the living room where Jack was sat.
Jack’s knee was bouncing, but it stopped when Bitty sat, and he couldn’t seem to make eye contact. Bitty watched as Jack methodically added a little bit of honey to his dark brew, stirred it with the spoon, then sipped.
Bitty sighed. “I shouldn’t have run out. I’m…I’m real sorry I put you through that.”
Jack looked up, a little startled. “You had every right. It was wrong of me to say it then. I should have…I should have let you know I was there on Friday.”
Bitty’s shoulders hunched. “Maybe, but I think maybe I’d’a kept on hiding too. I don’t think I’d be brave enough to pop out if I heard somethin’ like that.” He flushed and glanced away.
Jack stayed silent a moment, then said, “I’m asexual.”
Bitty’s gaze snapped over. “Asexual?”
Jack nodded, his face miserable, his hands shaking, and Bitty wanted to take them into his own, kiss each finger, each knuckle, until he calmed. Instead he gripped his warm mug as Jack said, “I don’t like sex. I don’t want it, ever. I was worried…it’s…dating is hard enough because of that. I love romance, I’m…I feel things. I fall in love. But I’m not…I don’t want…”
“Okay,” Bitty said very slowly. “Thank you, Jack. Thank you for telling me.”
Jack worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I thought it might be…that you might not be okay with it. After learning what you do. But Shitty set me straight, said that I was making assumptions. That this wasn’t about…about. Sex.”
Bitty couldn’t help a slight chuckle. “Well it is, but not because I want it,” Bitty blurted out, going pink all over again. “I mean I do. I like sex, Jack. But it’s just my job and the way I feel about you…lord,” he breathed. “Just havin’ you smilin’ at me is everything.”
Jack’s eyes got a fraction wider, and the corner of his lip twitched. “I was hoping. When we were dancing it felt…it felt right, and perfect. I thought maybe I could tell you then. Who I am, what I need. That I knew and that I didn’t mind. That it didn’t matter. I just want you to be happy, Eric. I just want…”
“Can we start over,” Bitty said, unable to stop himself. “Please. God please can we just…” He set his tea down, then took Jack’s tea and pushed it onto the table. He moved until their thighs were pressed together, and he offered out his hand. When Jack took it, tangling their fingers together, Bitty felt relief so visceral it was almost painful, wash over him. “I like you. I like you more’n I’ve ever liked anyone in my whole life. And I want…if you want this, I want it too.”
Jack let out a trembling breath, then tugged until Bitty was in his lap. His large hands sat at Bitty’s waist, holding him firm, and needy. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
Bitty giggled. “Me too. Lord Jack I…do you um. Kissing. Is kissing…”
“I like kissing,” Jack said, a little breathless. “I’ve thought about that a lot.”
Bitty grabbed one of Jack’s hands, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm, then placed it on his cheek. “You don’t have to think anymore. You can just do.”
Jack leant in, and Bitty’s eyes closed, and their lips met.
Nothing in the world had ever been more perfect than this moment. It was messy and kind of ugly, and wounds still stung as they healed. And there were novels they needed to talk out, about themselves.
But they had this. And Bitty wasn’t going to let go. They’d have to pry this moment, and every one after, from his cold, dead hands.
***
Epilogue
“Is it weird?” Bitty asked as he clambered into Jack’s truck after the family skate.
Jack glanced at him, then laughed. “I thought maybe it would be. But he’d so in love with David, I’m really not bothered.”
Bitty grinned, then leant over the seat to kiss Jack careful and soft. “I always told him we should be friends. I mean…it’s a little weird for me, I think. Everything he knows about me. But…also it’s kinda nice someone else knows. Besides Shits and the others.”
Jack laughed quietly. “Yeah.” He started up the truck, but didn’t put it into gear straight away. “Do you have any clients tonight?”
“Rans texted me a couple, but nothing solid. Why?”
Jack shrugged. “I was thinking dinner and a Netflix marathon if you want. But if you need to work…”
“Sweetpea,” Bitty said, enjoying the fact that four months later it still made Jack blush, “Netflix and dinner with you is always more important. I’ll just tell him I’m busy. Besides you boys got a roadie comin’ up here soon, so I can put in my time then.”
Jack reached over, grabbing Bitty’s hand, kissing his knuckles. “You know how much I love you?”
“Yeah,” Bitty said with a grin, “but I’m not stoppin’ you from tellin’ me again.”
Jack grinned. “More than anything.”
“More than hockey?” Bitty prompted.
Jack laughed. “More than any game in hockey I might ever play.”
Bitty dug his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, and grinned. “Let’s go home, baby. We got some cuddlin’ to do.”