osgood_asitgets / [Hockey RPS - taking it brutal, kissing it sweet - polybigbang

:::

Drapes is leaning back on his elbows on Chris's bed when they leave the bathroom about ten minutes later.

He gives them both a devilish grin as they drip on the floor, naked, probably both looking extremely flushed and very satisfied.

"So, Oz," Drapes says. "Have fun?"

"I swear," Chris mutters, "if you weren't my best friend..."

"In my defence," Drapes says, "Weren't you the one who suggested Pav and Hank should dance to 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'? Which means I have to put up with you, too, you know."

Chris appeals to the ceiling. "Point," he admits finally.

Nick is swiping a towel up and down his body, and both Chris and Drapes are momentarily distracted, watching him dry off. Hell, Chris forgets that he's still standing there just as damp, his own towel hanging from loose fingers.

Nick pauses after a moment, eyes going from one of them to the other.

"All right," he says. "Stop gawking and get ready, Oz; I'm hungry."

Chris blushes. He wipes off perfunctorily and throws on a pair of black jeans and black turtleneck. He hasn't even looked in a mirror since last night to see if he's littered in marks and love bites.

Nick dresses with more deliberation, sliding into his blue jeans, which hug his thighs and ass delectably—Chris thinks maybe he just wants to eat Nick instead. Nick pulls a soft cotton shirt over his head and shakes some of the water out of his hair.

Chris steals a glance at Drapes, and Drapes is sitting open-mouthed, as if he's just as overcome by Nick's beauty as he is.

Great. The two of them are pathetic.

Drapes gets to his feet, strides over to Nick, and reaches up, hand on the back of Nick's neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.

Okay, so Drapes might be more aggressive than he is when it comes to just taking what he wants. Which kind of makes no sense, because as a goalie, it's not like Chris is ever shy about anything else—at least, not as much as he used to be. This team and his ability when he's out on the ice has driven some of the shyness back; Chris has learned to mask it.

But there's something about Nick—especially after last night—that makes him hesitate.

He stands there awkwardly, watching them make out, and runs his fingers through his wet hair, reminded of the way Nick washed it so tenderly, yet with such an erotic undercurrent.

He's pondering grabbing the discarded keycard and heading down to breakfast without them—they look awfully busy—when Nick wrenches away from Drapes, mouth glistening.

"Come here," he says to Ozzie. He keeps one hand at the small of Drapes's back, but he's also holding out a hand to Chris.

Chris walks over slowly, and Nick smiles.

"You're not excluded," he says, and as soon as Chris is close enough to touch, Nick pulls him in against his side and lowers his head, tilting it to the side and kissing Chris, too.

Something loosens in his chest, a sudden lack of heaviness, and Chris pushes both hands into Nick's hair and winds the short strands around his fingers.

As if he realised at all once that he's allowed to touch Nick however he pleases. That maybe Drapes isn't the only one.

Nick makes a pleased sound and slips out of the kiss. He raises his head and Chris's hands fall away.

But then Drapes is there, kissing Chris just as soundly. He wonders hazily if they'll ever make it to breakfast at this rate.

He wonders, stomach rumbling a little, yet gives over to the soft yet demanding kiss Drapes is bestowing on him.

:::

Drapes used to kiss him like that when drunk, when they were fumbling into each other's arms on the way back to Drapes's motel room, Chris with his hands inside Drapes's shirt and Drapes's mouth hot and liquor-slick on his.

Groping and pawing at each other, barely able to get the door open, Chris unsteady on his feet and Drapes not much better; they'd kiss and kiss and be grateful that everyone else was either still drinking or had gone to sleep already.

Chris falls against the door, hands on Drapes's face, in his hair, fingertips running down his cheeks and rubbing against the scratchy hair of Drapes's beard.

Drapes pushes him harder into the door, devouring his mouth, jamming one knee in between Ozzie's legs and pressing the hard, long length of his dick against Chris's hip, searing heat against the firm flesh beneath his jeans.

Chris gasps and his head cracks hard against the door, a distractingly loud and jarring noise, at which point Drapes pulls away a little, strand of saliva breaking between their parted lips.

"Inside," Drapes manages to say, and reaches around Ozzie to key open the door.

They tumble inside the room, and Chris winds up on his knees, Drapes standing in front of him, twisting to shut the door and then he's looking down at Ozzie, his lips shiny and his eyes calculating, hot.

Chris isn't quite sure what he's doing—they've never done more than make out and jerk each other off before—but he's loose from the alcohol, uninhibited, and he leans forward—a little clumsily—and buries his nose in the crotch of Drapes's jeans.

Drapes's cock is so hot, so hard, that it squishes Ozzie's nose a little, so he turns his face to the side and breathes in the warm, musky scent of Drapes's dick.

Drapes's fingers wind into Chris's hair, pulling a little, and his hips buck forward just enough to get his point across, even if it might be unintentional.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Chris says breathlessly, fingers clumsy and thick as he tries to undo the buttons on Drapes's jeans. He's ultimately successful, and he snags the tab of the zipper and yanks it down, the sound of the teeth separating loud in the room, even with Drapes's and Chris's breath as loud as it is.

"I'm not really sure I care," Drapes replies, "as long as you don't bite me."

"I know that much—" Chris says, and then he gets Drapes's jeans open and holy shit, but his best friend isn't wearing underwear, which means his cock is

right there.

So Chris does the first thing that seems like a good idea, and opens up and sucks the head of Drapes's dick into his mouth.

Drapes makes a desperate sound and his hips jerk, which Ozzie takes to be a good sign, as he slowly works it in deeper.

He can't do much yet, this is really only his first time doing this, but it doesn't seem to matter to Drapes, who is making raspy sounds in his throat and dripping pre-come onto Chris's tongue.

Chris pulls back, allows Drapes's dick to slide from between his lips, and begins to mouth along its length, licking and pressing open-mouthed kisses, tasting the salt of Drapes's sweat and the cloying, heavy flavour of his body.

It should be gross, but it's strangely not. Chris is not used to the taste of
guy, but nevertheless, it doesn't seem to matter, his own cock throbbing hard against the inner seam of his jeans, which are much too tight now.

He flicks his tongue against Drapes's slit, remembering things Jenna's done when blowing
him, and Drapes groans, cock bobbing against Ozzie's lips.

Chris's mouth feels swollen and hot, but he licks up Drapes's slit again, tongue curling, pre-come slipping down his throat as he fucks at Drapes's little hole with his tongue. It's something he's done—well, not with anyone's mouth on his dick or anything—but he knows the feel of something
almost pressing inside that tiny opening, and it seems to work, making Drapes thrust forward, grunting in the back of his throat, fingers tightening painfully in Chris's hair.

He breathes over the crown, watching the way Drapes's balls tighten, and then swallows him down as much as he can.

And then he allows it to slide from between his lips again, looking up at Drapes, hardly aware of what he's saying when he says,

"Fuck me till I can't breathe. I like—I like it when—" he stops, flushing hot, realising what he's just admitted in a bout of drunken passion, but whether Drapes is really capable of paying close attention is up for debate.

But when he takes Drapes's cock again, Drapes seems to get with the program, slamming in hard, driving the head of his cock right into Ozzie's throat and taking his breath away, literally.

He sucks, though, cheeks hollowed, taking as much as he can, refusing to back down or pull away as Drapes begins to fuck into his mouth in earnest, rubbing it raw and almost triggering his gag reflex.

Thing is, though, Chris had strep throat so many times as a child that he has almost no gag reflex any more, so he moves with Drapes until his best friend grips the back of his skull and holds him still.

"You like this?" he asks, and Chris can't speak, can't nod, but Drapes doesn't seem to require an answer.

He rocks his hips and Chris feels his eyes water, his vision flutter black at the edges like burned paper, and his head is starting to get light and floaty from more than just the alcohol.

Drapes seems to sense just when to stop, though, and presses his hips back against the door, allowing Chris to breathe around his cock.

And then his fingers twine even further into his hair and he mutters, voice rough and hard,

"I'm—you should—" and his cock throbs against Ozzie's lips.

Chris leans back, eyes finding Drapes's just in time for Drapes to lose it, coating his lips and chin in spunk, spurting jizz into his hair and his eyebrows and thank
God he closes his eyes just in time because he can feel it land on his eyelashes.

"Jesus, Ozzie, I'm sorry," Drapes says, out-of-breath. "I'll fix it," he adds.

What Chris doesn't realise is that when Drapes says,
I'll fix it, he doesn't mean he'll get a dampened towel, he means he's going to get down on his knees, at Chris's level, and start licking it off his face.

Chris just about comes in his jeans from how much of a turn-on that is, to have Drapes licking his own come away.

Drapes starts with Ozzie's lips, tracing them with his tongue over and over until the come is nothing but a memory, and then a couple times more for good measure, making his lips swollen and tender.

And then Drapes begins to find each and every drizzle of come and lick it away like it's the frosting from birthday cake left-over on his fingers.

Chris's cock is so hard, swollen and aching, it feels like it might burst. It's trapped unbearably in the confines of his jeans, directly against the seam, almost excruciatingly, with every pass of Drapes's tongue over his come-smeared face.

And then Drapes gets to his eyes—he's especially careful there, but he slowly, delicately, tongues away the droplets of come still clinging persistently to his eyelashes.

Chris opens his eyes, and stares directly into the clear blue of Drapes's—narrowed in concentration—as Drapes continues to swipe his tongue upward in the direction of Ozzie's eyelashes until there's no longer white edging his vision.

Chris has no doubt that Drapes would take care of his hair, too, if he didn't go,

"Stop," and press his palm against Drapes's chest. "I'll come too soon if you keep that up."

"You're right," Drapes whispers. "We don't want that yet."

"My knees are starting to hurt," Chris points out, even if that's not a sexy thing to mention. Drapes gives him a half-smile, though; he gets to his feet and gives Chris a hand up.

They stop and kiss for a minute, just enjoying the feel of each other's arms and lips, and then Chris starts to back towards the bed.

He's about two steps away when he remembers what's still lying beneath the covers of his hotel room bed—something he really should have hidden better.

By then it's too late, and Ozzie's being knocked backwards, one of Drapes's arms wrapped around his waist to support him just enough, but it doesn't matter as Chris lands partway on his dildo, currently not very well hidden beneath the bedspread.

He's still trying to be ninja about things, but it hits him just right in the spine and an 'oof' of air that is compressed out of his lungs gives him away.

"What is it?" Drapes asks, eyebrow raised.

Chris knows he probably looks like he's hiding something, mostly because he is. He attempts to roll over to the side so that Drapes will climb onto the bottom of the bed and not—

Too late.

Drapes lifts the corner of the comforter, nudging Ozzie out of the way, and produces the electric blue, gigantic silicon dildo.

"Hmm," Drapes muses. "This is
very interesting."

"It belongs to Jenna," Chris tries desperately. "She must have left it in the suitcase."

Drapes raises his other eyebrow this time. "I think I know you better than that," he says dryly. "Besides which, one, why would Jenna need a suitcase, and two, even if she had, why would it then be thusly hidden in your
bed, Oz?"

Chris can feel himself flush all over, his chest heating and his cheeks especially warm.

"I got curious?"

Drapes smiles slow and crooked. "Did you find out if you can actually fit any of this inside, or should we test it out?"

"Um..." Chris is considering his best options, whether he should keep trying to play it off, but the sparkle in Drapes's eye makes him kind of want to try it out.

"Oh," Drapes says, looking downright evil now. "Did I give you the impression that you had a choice? I know you, Ozzie. You're just
itching to try it out."

Chris spreads out on his back, gazing up at Drapes, trying not to show his anticipation—on his own, he'd only gotten as far as four fingers inside himself before Malts had called and invited him out for drinks with the team. He'd barely had time to wash his hands and wipe away the excess lube before going down to the hotel bar.

In fact, there's still lube oozing out of his hole, even right now. He wonders what Drapes will think of that once he gets Ozzie's jeans off.

Drapes sets the dildo back down onto the bed and it rolls over to rest against Chris's thigh; it's so long that it reaches from Chris's hip to almost his knee.

Drapes eyes widen at the contrast, but then he turns his attention back to Chris's jeans, working his finger in between the button and the hole and separating the two.

He goes on down, flipping the rest of the buttons open, and then tugs Ozzie's jeans down his thighs, off one leg and then the other.

He grins evilly again and palms Chris's bare cock, which is dripping steadily. The inside of his jeans have probably been stained by both lube and pre-come, and Chris knows that when Drapes goes to stretch him, he's going to find that Chris is already a little loose from his pre-drinking activities.

Drapes runs his fingers down the shaft of Chris's dick and then in-between his legs, spreading Chris's thighs a little, all set to press his finger inside and then his eyes go wide.

"Wow," he breathes. "
Did you try this dildo on yourself? Look at that." Drapes circles Ozzie's hole reverently, fingers probing at the loosened ring of muscle.

Chris closes his eyes, cheeks flaming hot, waiting for Drapes to get on with things—this is not how they do things, they don't spend a lot of time really savouring each other, they usually just go at things hard and fast.

But Drapes is really taking his time here and now. Even though it would be easy to get in a finger—probably two or three even—Drapes doesn't even try, not yet; he touches the outer rim, faint pressure on puffy flesh.

Chris moans and widens his legs, head going back on the pillow, ass scootching up the mattress as his hips move fruitlessly towards Drapes's hand, trying to increase the pressure, to get him to put his damn fingers
inside already and stretch him so that he can be filled as completely as it's possible to be filled.

He has used this dildo before, of course he has, but never with a partner and certainly not recently; he and Drapes have never gotten this far, not like this. He's never been so exposed to Drapes's gaze before. Never been this naked, with his hole on display like it is now, but he bends his knees and plants his feet on the mattress and grabs Drapes's short hair, dragging on his head and hissing,

"Hurry it up."

Drapes doesn't seem inclined to acquiesce, but then he capitulates, circling Ozzie's hole one last time before shoving his finger in and crooking it. He smiles, pleased as punch, and another finger slides in easily, followed by a third, and it's only then that it starts to feel like a stretch for him to take.

Drapes crooks all three fingers and separates them, widening Chris's hole, stretching him even more. And then he leans down, eyes on Chris's face the whole time, and murmurs,

"You're still lubed up from earlier. Just
what were you doing, I wonder?"

Chris turns his face away, his ass full, his throat full too; he can't speak around the lump of embarrassment and emotion.

It's true, though; Drapes didn't need any additional lube to get three fingers inside. Doesn't really need any now, either, but he pulls his fingers free and then there's a faint shock of coolness as Drapes drizzles lube over his hole.

"Look at me," Drapes whispers. "C'mon, Ozzie, it's okay. I want to see your face."

He's not drunk anymore. He's so sober that everything is thrown into that immediate sharp relief you get when you've just been dunked into freezing cold water.

They're skating perilously close to the edge of dangerous, true emotion, here, and Chris is pretty sure they're both hyper-aware of it, but Drapes doesn't stop. His fingers keep working Ozzie open, spreading the lube around his inner walls, and then he grips Chris's chin and forces him to meet Drapes's eyes.

"I wanna see you," he repeats, and Chris wonders just when the alcoholic buzz wore off and this clarity set in. When did it go from a simple, drunken indiscretion to something that makes his heart patter hard in his chest, makes his stomach clench up with something he
definitely does not want to put a name to?

Ozzie knows his mouth drops open on a grunt and a breathless pant when the blunt head of the dildo breaches him for the first time. It's thick, wide; it's wider than anything else Chris has ever stuck up there, and that includes the one time that Jenna got to be on top.

And despite its width and length, Drapes doesn't stop; he keeps pushing, inch by inch, and every bit more that Ozzie manages to take steals a little bit more of his breath.

He has no idea how much is within his body when Drapes pauses, but he opens his eyes, and everything seems awfully bright and a little hazy when he brings the wonder on Drapes's face into focus.

It's not the whole thing, he knows that much—he's never got the whole thing inside before—but it's apparently impressive enough that Drapes is staring at Chris like he's done something utterly unexpected, something bigger and better than his most sparkling save.

He's breathing in tiny, aborted pants now, each one accompanied by a little hitch of sound, his whole body thrumming, his dick so full that it
aches, the throb echoing his heartbeat so forcefully that Ozzie is amazed Drapes can't hear the throb of his cock.

And, oh God, but he's stretched
so wide, and his body is so tight around the shaft of it that he's not sure he'll ever be the same again, and he's not even sure if that's because of the dildo or because of the expression on Drapes's face.

He looks both bemused and absolutely fascinated, turning the dildo just slightly, which causes the flare of the head inside Ozzie to stroke right over his prostate.

Chris nearly flies off the bed, his toes digging into the mattress, his fingers fisting the bedclothes beneath his body. Drapes grins, but there's still a little bit of awe undercutting the familiar mischievous curve of his lips.

"You should see your face," he mutters, and pumps the dildo in and out a little, just once, before pausing to take in Chris's features once more.

"I look ridiculous," Chris squeezes through his constricted throat, but Drapes shakes his head.

"Your nose is all wrinkled up," he says, twisting the dildo and thrusting it in and out at an angle—grinding the silicon against Ozzie's prostate and making him hardly able to work out what Drapes is saying. "Your lower lip's between your teeth and your eyes are such a dark, stormy blue. It's..." Drapes stops. It's like he's realised what he almost admitted; he pushes the dildo back in and holds it there for long moments, just watching Chris's face.

Chris knows his mouth is open wide enough to catch flies again, but every movement of that thick shaft into his body is dragging him closer to the cliff's edge, balls tightening in anticipation.

"This is incredible," Drapes says. "I can't believe how much of this you can take."

"Our—our secret," Chris gasps, body still arching into each movement of the dildo, pushing back against the pressure.

Drapes nods, and Chris knows that this is just one more thing between them, one more secret, one more confidence, one more confession. They're best friends; Drapes isn't going to betray that. Chris doesn't need to worry, so he just hitches his hips up, rocking his pelvis into Drapes's rhythm until his balls finally draw up, his eyes slam shut, and he shoots hard and slick over his belly.

He feels each inch as it slides from his body, Drapes being careful about it, and when it's finally free, he says so low it's like a lover's endearment,

"Look at this, Ozzie."

Chris looks.

The dildo is wet from lube all the way almost to the base. He's
never taken that much of it before—didn't know he could. His body is still shaking, heart racing, and his ears are ringing.

The flush of orgasm is joined by one of complete embarrassment; he can't believe what he's just done in front of his best friend. Not the
orgasm, per se, even though this is the first time he's been quite this naked when it's happened.

But he's basically just proven what a cockslut he is for anything, the bigger the better, the more the better.

But Drapes doesn't look disgusted by it. Chris's eyes flick down and Drapes is actually half-hard again, even though he just got off less than fifteen minutes ago.

"Can I?" he asks reverently, and Ozzie nods, sweat cool and thick on his forehead and dripping down his temples into his ears.

Drapes isn't anywhere near comparable to the size of the toy that's just been in there, but neither of them seem to mind—Drapes sits back on his haunches a little and then just slides right on home.

When it's all over, it's probably the most memorable sex he's ever had, and that's saying something considering he should be blacking-out drunk.

:::

Nick is eating eggs and toast. He looks utterly content, as if his wheat toast and bland, unseasoned eggs are all he wants out of life.

Drapes is eating God-only-knows-what, since he's a health nut.

Chris is eating bacon and sausage and pancakes, and enjoying every second of it because Jenna's not around to scold him about eating healthy to keep in shape and keep his body in peak condition.

Chris pauses with a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth.

"How long have you been sleeping together?" he asks, and Nick glances away from his newspaper, swallowing the coffee in his mouth.

Drapes just keeps on munching as if the question is entirely unimportant.

"Not frequently," Nick says, which is an answer but also not really an answer at all.

Chris cases the room, finding Helm at a corner table in the hotel restaurant, and Franzen and Fil are there too. Against one of the walls, Kronwall is sitting, hands folded on the table in front of his empty plate, kind of staring off into space.

Or at least, it looks that way until Chris realises all at once that Kronner is staring at Franzen.

Drapes finishes chewing.

"It's been just a thing," he explains. "Like you and I." He's echoing Nick from earlier, that what he and Chris have is similar to what he and Nick have.

"It was," Nick says smoothly. "Until Drapes suggested I go back to the room with him, and we found you."

"I planned that," Drapes says smugly.

Chris eyes him darkly. "I'm sure you did," he grumbles.

"Oh, Ozzie," Drapes says. "Don't pretend you aren't grateful that what happened, happened."

Chris glowers, but Drapes is right. If his best friend hadn't done that, he might still be pining for Nick, unable to make the first move.

"So it's a thing," Chris says. "Fine." He stuffs the piece of bacon he's still holding into his mouth.

Nick cocks his head and contemplates him for a long moment.

"Call your wife," he says. "See what she says."

It seems like a suggestion out-of-the-blue, but Nick never does or says anything without very deliberate purpose. And it also sounds more like a command than anything.

He pokes at the food left on his plate. His appetite has vanished. If he calls Jenna, he knows he'll wind up divulging what they did last night. He can't really keep a secret.

Which would be the reason why Drapes knew about his crush on Nick in the first place.

Chris takes on last look at his two friends and then flees back to the hotel room, pulling his cell phone from his jeans as he goes, dialling his wife's number. She answers, cheerful and bright.

"Hi, love," she says. "How's the trip? Miss me?"

"I slept with Nick and Drapes," he blurts out stupidly.

"Did you?" she asks, sounding unconcerned. As if she's unsurprised by this development. And then she confirms that observation with, "It certainly took you long enough."

He must be gaping like a fish out of water. "You... you expected...?"

"Honey," she says patiently, "you've been fooling around with Drapes for years and you've had the most ridiculous crush on Nick for about as long. You think I didn't notice?"

"How... I didn't even—"

"Chris, my love," she says. "Sometimes you just need a little extra explanation. It's okay."

"You don't mind?"

"Sweetie," she says. "Drapes and Nick have had open marriages for years. It's always been an understanding between them and their wives."

Chris fumbles for words, feeling stupid. "But... Nick loves Annika so much. And Drapes, he's utterly mad for Julie."

"Yeah," Jenna says, sounding slightly distracted. "It's only come up once or twice before for either of them."

Okay, even Chris can figure out that means they used the fact of their open marriages to sleep with each other from time to time. And that Drapes did, to sleep with him.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, fixating on her approval. If she's angry with him... what will he do, if he's fucked things up with Jenna? She's still his wife, and someone he loves passionately, no matter what young feelings for Nick he's discovered within himself.

"I don't mind. That's why I told you about Kris and Nick, honey." She pauses. "Hey, listen, babe, I've got to go. I've got a class to teach. Give them my love. And don't feel guilty," she admonishes him. "Sometimes, a person needs different things from different people." And with that cryptic statement, she hangs up.

"I love you too," he says to the dial tone, then depresses the end button.

He stands there, in the middle of the room, for a long time, just thinking about what that's supposed to mean.

Maybe it's not just a 'thing'.

Maybe it's more.

:::

Chris thinks about calling Mac. He stares at the backlit display of his phone, finger hovering over the button.

Does he want it to be more?

He sets the phone down.

:::

Nick comes back to the room later that morning, without Drapes, who must have finally gone back to his own room to get ready. Chris is sitting at the edge of his bed, head in his hands. He should be able to figure out what Jenna meant, but every possible interpretation seems absurd.

"Did you talk to Jenna?" Nick asks, as he starts to undress. Chris peeks through his fingers, raking his gaze down Nick's naked skin as each inch is exposed.

Chris wants to eat him up, like honey on his tongue. Nick just looks so downright edible.

"I did," Chris says, trying not to stare too hard. "She said sometimes a person needs different things from different people. I don't even know what that means."

Nick finishes disrobing and sits on his own bed cross-legged, watching Chris carefully, eyes soft.

"It means you can be in love with more than one person at a time," Nick explains gently. "That you can love Jenna, and need her, and still want me, and Drapes. It means that you're one of those people who can make space for everyone."

"Are you?" Chris finds himself asking, insatiably curious, even though he knows the answer—Jenna told him already. But he wants to hear it from Nick himself.

Nick gets up, comes over, and kneels by Chris's bed. He brushes some of Chris's hair away from his temple and smiles, dimples appearing. "Yeah," he says. "Yes, I am, because I love you. But if you're uncomfortable, that's all right. We can end this now, no awkwardness."

Chris lunges forward and kisses Nick fiercely, the upper hand his for only a moment before Nick cups the nape of his neck and takes over. Nick's other hand comes up against the side of Chris's face, holding him in place for Nick's sensual assault.

They kiss and kiss until the phone rings in the room, and they split apart, flushed and panting.

"No," Chris says breathlessly. "I don't want to end it."

"Then we won't," Nick says, grabbing the phone. He says hello and nods after a moment—to himself?—then hangs up with a brief good-bye.

"Drapes wanted to know if I convinced you," he says, laughing a little. "We're to meet him downstairs on the way to the pre-game skate."

"Tell him you convinced me," Chris says, stealing one last kiss before he stands up. "I'll get dressed."

Nick gets to his feet, still standing in all his naked glory. "I will as well."

They're quiet for a long time, just the soft rustle of fabric as they dress, but on the elevator, Nick says,

"You weren't that hard to convince."

"Jenna's very persuasive," Chris responds. "She tells me I've been in love with you forever."

Nick smiles. "I know."

When they get off the elevator, Drapes is waiting for them.

He grabs Chris and hugs him, and presses a kiss to the side of his neck, getting away with something in the hotel lobby before letting him go.