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Here’s how it starts— Will asks Mack to move in together after the season ends.
Will finds them this condo in San Jose that’s located a five minute walk from the beach. It’s close to their favorite cafe, the one where Mack orders the hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and mini marshmallows on top. The cashier even knows them both by name which is a little embarrassing but not enough that Mack wants to stop going.
“Dude, this place is amazing,” Mack says when he walks in for the first time. It’s sunny, with floor to ceiling windows. He walks around, already picturing them coming here after practice.
“Didn’t I tell you, Mack-y?” Will says with an easy-going grin. “Feels like home, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mack says, a little breathless, as he runs his hand down the marble kitchen counters because Will had just said “home,” and Mack’s chest got all stupidly tight for some reason.
“The building has a gym, pool, so we can workout. We could have the guys from the team over to hang out— do our book club. And there’s some recipes I've been dying to try from Tik Tok, but I need, like, a whole-ass kitchen to really perfect them,” Will says as he leans against the granite counters, biceps flexing.
“Yeah? You gonna bake for me, Smitty?” Mack chirps.
“Maybe,” Will says with a toothy grin.
“Gonna be all domestic and shit, bro?” Mack says with a matching grin and playfully pushes at Will.
“Sure, if you buy me an apron. Why not?”
Mack can’t help but imagine Will with nothing on but an apron and boxers as he walks around their kitchen, and Mack’s stomach drops for some reason.
Huh.
“I mean, it’s healthier to eat home cooked meals. Better for our macros than eating out all the time,” Will continues, and he’s still making eye contact with Mack, smiling, and Mack has to look away first. Because Will said ‘home’ again and his heart started rabbiting in his chest.
“Right, better for our macros,” Mack repeats, brain still stuck on the image of Will cooking for him in nothing but an apron and boxers on.
“Come on, check out the bedrooms,” Will says and leads him over, and he’s saying something about the square footage, and- and the whole time Mack’s just keeps…looking at him.
Bro, stop it; you’re supposed to be checking out the apartment, Mack lectures himself, but his eyes betray him by dropping down to trace the curve of Will’s perfect hockey ass.
It’s not like Will’s even doing anything different today. He’s just wearing a basic Sharks shirt, grey sweats, and his favorite cologne.
“So you wanna sign?” Will interrupts him as he flops down onto the bed.
Mack’s eyes get caught at the place where Will’s shirt is riding up; he can see Will’s Calvin’s peeking out from under his sweats.
“Sorry, uh, signing?” Mack asks, forcing himself to look up, and he wipes his palms on his khaki’s and realizes they’re sweaty. They’ve been sweaty since Will started to joke about the apron.
“Yeah, signing. I forwarded you the information. It could happen really fast. Like, this week fast,” Will says, leaning back and looking up at Mack through his lashes. “Let’s do it?”
“Um, yeah, I- I should call my Dad,” Mack says, and he hates the way that Will’s face immediately gets pinched.
“…okay.”
“What?!”
“Dude,” Will says, still not looking at him and half shrugs. “I didn’t say anything. Call him.”
“What’s your problem with me showing the place to my Dada- uh, Dad.”
“Well…are you just showing him or you asking him for his approval, Mack?”
“Will.”
“Okay, call your Dada,” Will says with an eyeroll.
“Dont be mean,” Mask says, flushing, and FaceTimes his Dad to show him the whole place. Mack’s talking a mile a minute, and he hates how he’s too embarrassed for some reason to even look at his Dad the whole time. He can feel Will’s eyes on his back as returns back to the bedroom after a tour.
Finally, Mack pauses for breath and asks, “Well? What do you think?”
“This is, uh, supposed to be a bachelor pad, right, Macklin?”
“What’s a bachelor pad?” Mack asks, feeling sort of dumb. Sometimes he feels like he and his Dad are talking about two different things. Or his Dad is speaking a language he doesn’t understand.
“You’re going to be bringing back girls here?” His Dad demands. “Or you’re becoming….Californian?”
“I mean…what?” Mack asks, confused. “What do you mean by Californian? The condo is in California.”
Mack makes desperate eye contact with Will, who’s staring back at him with raised eyebrows from where he’s leaning against the bed. Will looks like he knows why his Dad’s upset. Mack presses the mute button and scrunches his brows together pleading for Will to help him out.
Will takes pity on him and finally hisses— “Your dad’s worried living with me is going to turn you gay.”
Oh.
Mack unmutes himself and blurts, “It’s a bachelor pad, Dada. Don’t worry.”
“Okay,” his Dad says and fixes Mack with another searching look.
Mack feels guilty, thinks about his random fantasies of Will cooking for him in boxers and an apron, and he knows his Dad is right. What if Mack goes through with this and he becomes…Californian? Confused? Sexually liberal? Someone his Dad doesn’t want him to be.
“But you like it?” Mack asks nervously, and his Dad launches into something about the value of investing in property. Then into the benefits of leasing versus buying. Mack’s eyes glaze over.
He sits back down on the bed, leg pressed up against Will’s. Maybe Will was right— it is annoying that he wanted his Dad’s approval.
“So….all things considered. Yes, I like it. Send a copy of the contract to our lawyer, Sam.”
But damn does that approval feel good.
“Okay, great, thank you! I love you, bye,” Mack rushes out and ends the phone call with a relieved ‘click.’
“Good?” Will asks, pressing his leg into Mack’s, and Mack’s already forwarding the PDF that Will sent him to his Dad’s lawyer.
“It’s good,” Mack promises. “Let’s do this, yeah? You and me, bud.”
And Will grins back at him, smiling at him through his lashes again, and Mack has to remember how to breathe.
———
They move in on a random Tuesday and Mack gets this weird shiver when he walks over the threshold with his suitcase. It’s the same feeling he got right before he was picked by the NHL to play for the Sharks. It feels like— life is about to get real fucking good.
“We’re home, dude,” Will says with a grin, and Mack immediately grins back. Home. His hand brushes against Will’s, and Mack’s fingers tingle.
“Should I order you the apron now or later, Smitty?”
“Later. We got to get groceries. The fridge is empty,” Will says as he opens up their huge fridge to reveal that there’s nothing inside.
So they head over in Will’s car to Trader Joe’s, and Mack is excited because it feels so good. He’s walking shoulder to shoulder with Will and begging him to let them have carbs for dinner.
“We need vegetables, dude,” Will says as he picks out some peppers.
“Ew, are you going to make us a salad?”
“Salads are good for you.”
“Ugh. Boring.”
“You just haven’t tried my salads yet,” Will says, and Mack groans out “gross” and goes over to the frozen aisle to get them some pizzas. Then of course he decides they need ice cream because fuck a diet. Will eyes the foods he picked out in the cart but lets him put them in.
“What are you making us tonight?” Mack asks as he leans against their cart, bicep pressed up against Will’s. He’s noticed himself doing that a lot lately— wanting to be in Will’s space.
“You’ll see,” Will says with a secret little smile. The one he reserves just for Mack. Mack can’t help but smile back, feeling warm and more of that shivery-good feeling.
Turns out that Will isn’t a good cook— he’s fucking amazing.
“Dude, what aren’t you good at? What the fuck?” Mack groans as he watches Will pull the chicken out of the oven. It’s that perfect simmering golden brown color, and Mack’s just been sitting on the counter, admiring Will, watching him cook for them. His favorite part is that Will likes to do the whole thing himself, which is fine by Mack, whose favorite part is eating.
“Off,” Will slaps Mack’s thigh to indicate to get off the counter: “Go set up the table?”
“Yes, Mom,” Mack says and earns himself another bitchy Will look. Ha, but Mack loves when Will looks at him like that, all annoyed and put-off.
And the food is somehow better than it looks. The chicken melts in his mouth and, yes, even the salads are seasoned so perfectly that Mack takes second helpings.
“Yo, you’re amazing,” Mack says around a mouthful. “This is amazing.”
And Will modestly shrugs, but Mack can tell by his smile that he likes that Mack is enjoying his cooking.
“Your girlfriend better know how to cook,” Will finally says.
“She’s going to have a hard time competing with you,” Mack says as he licks his fingers clean.
Will goes silent like he’s thinking about something and takes their plates and goes to the sink. He starts washing, and Mack’s just sitting there, in a pleasant flush of post-food feel-good mood as he stares at Will’s back muscles. Will’s in his home sweats. A fitted black tank top and grey sweats, and Mack’s eyes are lazily tracing over Will’s biceps, thinking about how Will needs to bulk up a little and hm maybe they can check out the gym tomorrow. And then Mack’s eyes drift down to Will’s ass, and he’s thinking— it’s so nice, like the shape and size and I wonder what glute exercises he does, and maybe he can show me.
Then Mack’s picturing Will doing squats in his sweats and then squats in spandex and then squats in his boxers and then-
Huh.
Then what Will would look like if he was squatting naked.
Mack blinks, and he’s still sitting there, still at the table, but he’s aware that he’s hard. Oh shit. Mack shifts a little and does not react, but his heart is beating fast.
He swallows roughly, cheeks flushed. It’s not the first time he’s gotten hard around Will, but it’s the first time that Mack is aware that he got hard because of Will.
“You want to have ice cream for dessert?” Will calls over his shoulder, blissfully unaware of what Mack’s going through.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Just gotta go to the bathroom,” Mack says, and he forces himself to pretend like that didn’t just happen, like he didn’t just get hard from staring at Will’s body.
He splashes water on his face.
Mack looks up to stare at himself and thinks— maybe Dad was right. Maybe I’m going to become…Californian?
————
The problem is that Mack thinks he likes becoming Californian.
He likes shopping at Trader Joe’s and Will cooking them meals everyday. He likes walking together to the beach, hands brushing casually together. He likes going to the gym and having Will time him as he does a plank until failure. He likes doing reps with his best friend and then going back to their apartment and playing video games or watching movies for hours and hours. It’s like a hangout that never has to end.
“I’m going to make us a new dessert tonight,” Will says as they start their tenth round of Super Smash Bros.
“Oh, what is it?”
“Secret,” Will says, and Mack knows it’s going to be good already.
He kicks up his feet so they’re on Will’s lap, and he smiles to himself when he realizes that Will just lets him. They finish the round of Super Smash Bros and Will rests his hand on Mack’s ankle, squeezes a little-
“You want me to make you steak or lamb for dinner?” Will asks and slow-blinks at him as he hypnotically traces his finger over Mack’s skin.
Mack thinks he’s in heaven.
“Steak,” Mack decides, idly rolling his ankle under Will’s hand. Will pats Mack’s legs and then moves them to start cooking.
“I think my Dad was right,” Mack says finally as he follows Will to watch him cook for them in the kitchen. Admiring Will all the time is probably Mack’s favorite part about living together.
“Right about what?”
“I don’t know…about this not being a bachelor pad. We don’t,” Mack rambles as he hops up on the counter. “We don’t have any girls over, do we?”
“Do you want to have girls over?” Will asks, shoulders tense.
Mack swings his legs: “Mh, nah, not really. Do you?”
Will looks up at him through his lashes, and it feels meaningful, feels like Mack should understand something about him: “…no.”
Oh.
“Cause we’re Californian?” Mack asks as he watches Will prepare the steak.
“And what if we are?”
“I think I wouldn’t mind it,” Mack says.
“Yeah?” Will asks, eyes flickering up to Mack.
“Yeah, what’s not to like? I don’t need to worry about girls. I don’t need to message anybody or have awkward first date conversations. We can just hang out together all the time. It’s better.”
Will’s shoulders relax as he puts the steaks on the frying pan and they start to sizzle: “Yeah, I like it better too.”
And if they’re both going to be Californian and not bachelors. Well, then….
Mack finishes his meal, wipes his hand clean, and rests it on top of Will’s knee, just inches higher than he’s ever put it before. He grips the muscle of Will’s leg, tight.
Will looks at him, ears tinged pink, blush high on his cheeks and looks away— “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mack says, rubbing Will’s leg.
Mack sneaks his hand up a little higher, until it’s up on Will’s upper thigh, until his fingertips are slipping under Will’s shorts. Will inhales sharply, still not looking at Mack. He watches Will’s thighs tense, but he never pushes Mack’s hand away, not once.
“I never, um,” Mack says and then stops, cheeks red. He’s still all of nineteen. An adult, but not really. Just barely. “Have you ever…?”
“Yeah, a little,” Will admits. “In college.”
They’ve never talked about this before.
“Leno?” Mack asks, already jealous at the idea of Leno’s hand here, rubbing at Will’s soft inner thigh like Mack’s hand is doing now.
“Dude, why does everyone think that? No, just some randoms,” Will groans and spreads his legs a little wider, allowing Mack more access. “So you never…?”
“No.”
“No? Never even thought about it?”
“Not until now, no,” Mack admits truthfully.
It’s not like he ever thought this was an option. His whole life has been hockey, hockey, and hockey. All he could think about was the next drill. The next goal. Sure, he had a girlfriend but that was just something he thought he should have because all the other boys had one. It had been okay, if he was being honest. He hadn’t been that upset when they broke up.
“Are you- are you thinking about it now?” Will asks, muscles twitching anxiously under Mack’s fingertips.
“Yeah, thinking about it now,” Mack says, obsessed with the way when he runs his hands down Will’s inner thigh, tracing his warm skin there, back and forth, he can feel the muscles tighten. He watches curiously as Will hardens in his shorts. Mack’s mouth waters and he thinks— I did that. On purpose.
Mack squeezes his own thighs togethers as he feels himself hardening, and he starts to pull his hand away, unsure what the next play is.
Will’s hand immediately comes down, right on top of Mack’s, keeping him there.
“I don’t know what to…? Uh, how to…?”
“Don’t worry about that. I know,” Will says immediately and squeezes Mack’s hand. All easy confidence in a way that makes Mack feel safe.
“I’m a quick learner,” Mack sputters. “Coachable.”
“Coachable?” Will repeats, amused, squeezes his hand and then lets go of it. “You don’t need to be coachable. I’m not your Dad, Mack.”
“I don’t?”
Mack had assumed sex was just something that would be a skills issue for him because he didn’t have much experience.
“I’ll take care of it,” Will reassures him and then picks up their plates and goes to wash the dishes, and Mack sits there and realizes he hasn’t washed a single dish since he moved in two weeks ago. He looks around and it’s spotless. The countertops are all wiped clean. The floor’s gleaming. He thinks about their bathroom— sparkling white. He looks up at where Will is washing the dishes for him, without a single complaint, arms all wet.
Huh.
And Mack looks down, and he’s not just hard. No, he’s achingly hard. He adjusts himself as he looks at the curve of Will’s back.
It hadn’t occurred to him until now how much Will likes to…serve him.
Like a wife does, Mack suddenly thinks as he palms himself. Like my mom serves my Dad.
He’s not sure what’s going on, but Mack has nothing to complain about here. Will keeps all of Mack’s needs filled. Company. Food. Fun.
Pleasure.
Mack gets up and walks over to where Will’s washing the dishes, and he runs a gentle hand from the top of Will’s broad shoulders down to the small of his back, where he keeps his hand. He feels Will shiver under his touch.
“You want me to help?” Mack offers, not really meaning it, knows instinctively he’ll say no. He just wants to see how he’ll react.
And Will just keeps rubbing the dishes clean, shakes his head: “I got it.”
Oh, Mack is obsessed with him— he has to have him.
He moves in closer, until his head is resting on Will’s shoulder and he moves his hand to Will’s hip, right where his shorts meet his skin: “What game are we playing, Smitty?”
If Mack moved his own hips up an inch he would be pressing his hard-on into the flush of Will’s ass.
“You like it,” Will says. “Don’t you?”
“What?”
“When I do it for you?”
Yeah, of course Mack does. He lets his cheek press into Will’s broad shoulder as he exhales hotly. He thinks about how his Mom would cook for his Dad. She’d do all the dishes too. The man never had to lift a finger.
“I haven’t done my laundry yet,” Mack says suddenly, letting his big hand trail down to rest on Will’s abs. He feels Will’s muscles tighten under his touch and then relax.
“Leave it out. I’ll do it with mine tomorrow,” Will says, sounding breathless, almost…excited.
Is this doing it for Will just like it is for Mack? Are they both messed up in the same way?
“You want to?”
“I don’t care,” Will says, but Mack knows when he’s bullshitting. He lets his hand fall down to cup Will’s hard-on through his shorts. He’s so hard that Mack thinks Will could cum just like this, if Mack kept squeezing him.
“Liar, you do care,” Mack says, digs his heel down into Will’s erection. “This does it for you.”
Will’s silence is as good as a confession.
Mack squeezes him once more and then says, “I’ll leave it by the washing machine.”
And Mack walks away with a pounding heart. He’s still so fucking turned on, isn’t sure how or what they’re going to do, but Will said he would take care of it, and Mack trusts him in a way that’s not normal. Like on the ice when he knows like an instinct that Will’s going to pass the puck to him. He’s already aiming for the net before the puck even hits his stick.
He gets that same shiver from two weeks ago when he walked over the threshold for the first time, like the day he got drafted, like the moment he first locked eyes with Will when they were rivals at college. Something real good is about to happen.
And Mack does not just put his dirty laundry by the washing machine. He puts the rest of his stuff back into his suitcase and drops it into Will’s bedroom. Goes back to his room and takes his pictures, comes back to Will’s room and sets them up. He goes back and forth like that. Until he’s red faced and seated on Will’s bed, waiting for Will.
And Will walks in his room, looks around, at where Mack’s moved in all his things, mixed their stuff all together and hits the light switch—
“You can still change your mind tomorrow.”
“I won’t change my mind,” Mack decides, firm.
“What about when your dad or the guys come to visit?”
“We can close the bedroom doors.”
“Oh,” Will says as he comes to sit down next to Mack on the mattress, their thighs touching. “Don’t you need to ask your Dada if you can sleep in my bed?”
“No,” Mack says, for the first time in his life, and he means it. He doesn’t need his Dad’s permission for this, he needs Will’s.
And Will cups Mack’s face and says greedily against his lips: “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
And then true to his word, Will pushes him back against the pillows and crawls on top of him, so he’s seated firmly on Mack’s lap. Mack’s hands fly to Will’s waist as Will kisses him. Mack relaxes his lips, making them soft, kissable. It’s easier in the dark. He can’t really see anything. Pitch black. Makes it easier to lay back against the pillows and submit to Will's hungry mouth. With his girlfriend, Mack had been the one who was supposed to be in charge when they kissed. He had to be dominant, as boys should be, but with Will he could be…
“Lay back,” Will whispers hotly against his lips, panting with hunger. “Let me take care of it, Mack. Want to- want to take care of you.”
“Yeah,” Mack says in agreement, lips slack, muscles completely relaxed. He’s not really doing…anything. Just like Will had said— this isn’t something he needs to be coachable in. Because with Will he could be….
Submissive, Mack finally thinks of the word.
His cock helplessly twitches inside his boxers, precum wetting the fabric.
“Let me,” Will’s still mummering. “Let me, please, let me take care of it, Mack.”
And Mack’s nonverbal from the overwhelming pleasure of being kissed into the pillows. He’s never felt like this before. It feels like Mack’s lived his whole life with his eyes closed and now, in one single moment in the dark, Will’s opened his eyes to how good it could be.
There’s the loud sound of Will unzipping him, and then he’s shoving Mack’s shorts and boxers down to his knees.
“That’s it,” Will says with a shaky exhale as he wraps his hands around Mack.
“Will,” Mack whimpers.
“You have no idea,” Will reveals as he strokes his hand slowly down Mack, grips him by the base, and then goes back up. Somehow he knows exactly how Mack likes it.
“What?”
“No idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for you,” Will pants into his neck, kissing into the skin right there, practically nuzzling into it.
“Since when?”
Mack’s tearing up; he hasn’t felt this fucking good in years. Didn’t know he was allowed to feel this good.
“Mack, since the moment I fucking saw you on the ice for the first time. With your cute fucking red cheeks and your eyes and- oh my god. You don’t know what you looked like.”
Since he was eighteen? And Mack’s turning twenty in a couple weeks. That means Will’s been thinking about this for years. Mack hadn't imagined it until now; he didn’t think it was a possibility.
Will presses a kiss to his heated cheek, stroking his hand down Mack’s cock, slow, sure, and Mack relaxes deeper into the pillows as he lets out a relieved moan, lets his warm tears spill down his cheeks, lets Will take care of it, lets him do all the thinking for Mack. Drops of cum drip down his cock and Will finds them, seems to see better in the dark, rubs them into Mack’s sensitive skin.
“That’s it, let me, let me-“ Will’s saying desperately and Mack’s aware that Will’s rubbing himself off against Mack’s thigh, humping him like a dog. “I just want to, please. Mack, let me take care of you. All of it. Let me take care of it for you— on and off the ice. I want to be what you need.”
“You are,” Mack moans, means it, thinks about skating together, living together. Thinks about weeks and weeks of just that. Shopping, working out, video games. All of it, always with one another, together. All the time, never apart, no space between Will and Mack. WillMack. One word. The way they’re always in one another’s space, close, so close people call them ‘brothers,’ but it’s not that. It’s something else, worse.
“Mack, please. Can I…?” Will says and his fist is speeding up, hips jerking as he rubs his cock against Mack’s thigh, determined to do all the work, for Mack to just lay there and enjoy it.
“Yes,” Mack gasps. “Yes, Will, yes, yes.”
A thousand fucking times yes.
Will kisses his neck one last time, says “Mack” against his wet skin and then- and then-
One more stroke. Another kiss. Mack’s abs tighten and then release, and he’s cumming in Will’s hands, coming apart as Will mummers “that’s it, come on, Mack; I got you.”
He cums so hard, all over himself, sticky and wet and satisfying. Mack feels Will suck down into his neck, hard, hard enough to bruise, and his thighs squeeze against him, cock kicking inside his shorts, and he’s cumming with a quiet exhale, fabric wet against Mack’s thigh.
“Wow,” Mack says, panting, and turns over to kiss Will ‘thank you.’
“Yeah,” Will agrees, chest heaving; he runs his hands down Mack’s abs, through the sticky-wet of his cum.
“Again?”
“As many times as you want,” Will promises him.
Mack realizes as they fall asleep that they forgot about dessert; Will serves it to for him breakfast— it was homemade chocolate chip cookies. Somehow it’s never tasted so sweet.
———
And just like that. For the first time in his life, Mack’s free to just…exist.
It’s amazing.
He’s making six figures in the NHL and lives in a beautiful apartment with his best friend who’ll jerk him off whenever he wants. And Will meant it when he said “as many times as you want.” They’ll be playing video games and Mack will pause the game and turn on Will with That Look, and Will’s already moving onto Mack’s lap, unzipping them both this time to press their hard-ons together. Turns out it can get even better. In the shower after, Will goes down to his knees for the first time and guides Mack into his mouth; Mack’s brain turns off as he runs his hands through Will’s hair with a grateful moan.
“Oh my god, Will, yes, yes please,” Mack shouts as he leans his other hand against the shower wall, knows the walls are sound proof, knows he’s allowed to throw back his head and enjoy it. Who’s going to stop him?
And Will just smirks around his cock, looks up at him with those eyes, and Mack’s cumming down his throat with a buck of his hips and a helpless whimper.
“Fuck, you’re insane,” Mack says when Will stands up, licking his lips, and Mack realizes that Will came, just from that, just from sucking Mack off.
“Happy to be of service,” Will says with a wink as he takes the soap and washes Mack off, attentive, making sure to lather him everywhere.
“So should I order it?” Mack says after as they’re laying on Will’s bed -or is it both their bed now?- with their legs tangled up together. Will’s scrolling through Tik Toks and Mack’s got his head on Will’s shoulders, arms wrapped around him, watching with him.
“What?”
Mack laughs into Will’s neck, half-joking, half-not: “The apron, Smitty. You’re my wife, right? Happy to be of service?”
As if a wife could be an almost six foot NHL-er who’s currently bare chested, all of his lean muscles out on display. Mack runs a hand up Will’s chest and then down it, knows if he keeps doing that, without a shred of doubt in his mind, that Will’s going to get hard.
Will’s lips twitch in a smirk, somewhere in the back the dryer goes off, signaling that the load is done: “Sure, why not?”
And Will untangles himself from Mack to go fold the laundry in the hallway.
Mack opens up his Amazon and orders it.
Will comes back in the room, and Mack folds him onto the bed, and Will moans under him as Mack presses the weight of his muscles down on him—
“I want you,” Mack says into Will’s neck because he does, and he’s not surprised to feel that Will’s already hard against him.
“Okay, yeah, let me- let me. Mack, please, let me,” Will begs, pushing Mack down onto the mattress, undoes Mack’s towel, and Mack goes limp, letting Will dominate him with a desperate flick of his wrist.
“Yeah, of course,” Mack says softly as he gets his hands in Will’s soft hair, pulls. “I’ll always let my wife take care of me.”
And Will moans, eyes closing in pleasure, as he presses his face into Mack’s face and speeds up his hand— “More. Mack, say more.”
“What? You think I wouldn’t let my pretty wife take care of me?”
“Oh my god, yes, yes, always. I’ll always take care of you, Mack.”
Will’s hand speeds up, jerking Mack off with a breathtaking speed and then Will’s loosening his own towel. Unlike last time, the lights are still on. So Mack can look down and see the gut wrenching sight of Will’s soft hands wrapped around Mack’s hard cock, jerking him off like it’ll save them both. And then Will pressing his own hard cock against Mack’s naked hip, rubbing off against Mack’s soft skin like he’s going into heat.
“More,” Will moans into Mack’s neck, making the skin wet with his spit. Mack realizes with a gut-wrenching twist that Will’s drooling. That’s how much he likes this. He’s literally leaking over it. Mack can feel the dribble of Will’s wet cock-tip rubbing against his hip.
“I- I always knew I would have a pretty trophy wife one day. That’s you, sweetheart. Everyone’s jealous. I have you. And I’m going to keep you,” Mack says, babbling some nonsense. “Not- not going to let you go anywhere; I’d like to see anyone take you away from me, Will. I’d go insane. You’re mine. Better than Olympic Gold. Better than the cup. You’re gorgeous, funny, smart, fit, good cook, creative, pretty, perfect. An angel. Mine, Will, do you understand? You’re mine-“
And for the first time, Will closes his eyes, and he cums first, fucking up into Mack’s hip with a startled whimper after Mack hisses “mine.”
“Yours,” Will says softly, breath just a puff against Mack, and he’s still dutifully stroking Mack— devotion has nothing on what Will has going on.
“Mine, no one else’s,” Mack repeats, harsher, and he means it. He means it with all the force that he slams grown men into the boards. He means it with every trained muscle in his body.
“No one else’s,” Will whispers like a dreamy prayer.
Mack’s heart is going so fast, and Will presses a close mouthed kiss into his neck, and Mack cums so hard that he sees white. He just lays there, heart rate slowing as he feels somewhere below where he’s floating that Will is still kissing him everywhere.
He comes back into his body and reaches around to hug Will, greedy for him to be close, for there to be no space between them.
“So…your trophy wife?” Will teases.
“Shuddup, you liked it,” Mack says into Will’s soft hair, still hugging Will tight; it’s never close enough when it comes to them.
“Better than the cup?”
“Well, I’d like to have both, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, duh,” Will says, almost shy. “Obviously I want to win, with you. Does that make you my trophy husband?”
“Sure,” Mack says with a laugh as he snuggles closer into Will. “What do I even do as a trophy husband?”
“Mh, look cute. Make money. Buy me things.”
“I can do that,” Mack jokes, thinking seriously about how he would buy Will anything in the world he wanted.
———
This is how it ends— it’s a joke…until it’s not.
“You’re serious? With your last name on it?” Will says as he opens the Amazon package and looks at the frilly white apron. Mack customized it so that it says ‘Celebrini’ on the front in black cursive.
“You said I could order it,” Mack chirps with a grin. “Remember? When I called you my trophy wife?”
Will fixes him with a dark look, eyes dilating black: “You’re not joking. You like it; you really fucking like it.”
“Maybe,” Mack says, caught, cheeks flushed a humiliating red. He’s wanted this before he even knew what wanting meant. Back when he was a little boy, before he knew what it meant to be gay or straight, he dreamed of being an NHL star, one of the greats, and coming back home to a pretty WAG. Blonde, of course. Gorgeous. He remembers now that it had been a slim boy in his dreams. Mack had just been smart enough not to say it out loud. Repressed that knowledge somewhere along the line when his Dad told him “to be a real man.” And real men are supposed to marry women.
“You want this,” Will dares, challenges him. “It’s not a gag. Admit it, Mack.”
As he speaks he’s stripping naked, right in the middle of the kitchen, pulling his shirt over his head, pulling off his pants, until Will’s down to nothing but his boxers and the gold rosary around his neck.
“It’s…it’s not a gag,” Mack admits, caught.
Because Will’s just what he always dreamed of— someone special, someone gorgeous, someone just for Mack. He’s got a pretty face, delicate features, a little upturned nose like a girl, big eyes, slim waist, and an ass that’s unreal.
Will ties the apron around his waist, tight, ‘Celebrini’ right across the front of it: “That’s what I thought.”
“I like it,” Mack continues. “All of it. The cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the…the sex. All of it, Will, I’m obsessed with you. I think I’d go crazy if you ever left me.”
And Will smirks, eyes still dark, and he pulls his boxers off, letting them fall to the kitchen tiles. Mack’s lips part, and his heart rate rabbits, threatening to run out of his chest.
“What would you do if I tried to leave you, Mack? If I decided I wanted another hockey player? Wanted to be their WAG instead? Wanted to assist them?”
Oh.
Mack sees red.
He blinks, and he’s got Will pinned to the counter; Mack pushes Will onto their granite, so he’s between Will’s spread legs: “Don’t ever fucking joke about that.”
“Famous temper,” Will says, sweetly, running his hands through Mack’s hair.
Mack roughly squeezes Will’s bare thighs, feeling pathetic, and growls, “It’s not a joke, Will. You’re mine. You know that, right?”
“I know that,” Will says softly as he crosses his legs behind Mack’s back and gently cups Mack’s face. “That’s why your Dad was so scared of us moving in together.”
“What? Why?”
Will presses a soft kiss to Mack’s blotchy red cheek: “Because he knows once you’re mine…he’s not getting you back, Mack.”
Mack’s heart skips a beat.
Will tilts Mack’s face up by the chin.
“Your Dad was right,” Will says, sweetly, blinks down at him with those pretty-boy eyes, seductive as a siren. “It was never a bachelor pad.”
“No?” Mack plays along, hands going up higher, under Will’s apron, massaging him there. “Leno and Gabe, let me guess— they chose the bachelor life? They were never game to play this game with you.”
“It wasn’t like that, not with them,” Will denies, but crazy knows crazy. Mack knows Will is just like him. Maybe worse.
“But you wanted it to be,” Mack continues. “Wanted to trap you a nice, rich hockey husband.”
Will licks his lips, eats Mack up with eyes: “I got him, didn’t I?”
Well, if Mack’s caught by Will, he never wants to be set free. Mack thinks he’ll die happy here, right between Will’s thighs.
You can’t trap someone who wants to be trapped, Mack thinks as he picks up Will like he weighs nothing, carries him to their bed. Their bed. Those two words are going to make him go insane. Mack feels the weight of his possessiveness as he grips Will’s thighs, presses him into the pillows, kisses him. Will reaches under the pillow, obviously he’s prepped for this moment, pulls out lube, spreads his thighs slick, so he’s wet— wet like a girl.
“Mine,” Mack says as he pulls down his pants, rushed, desperate to claim. “God, you’re mine, Will, nobody else’s, don’t even fucking joke about it.”
”Yours,” Will says, just as insane as him, always, always matching Mack’s level of intensity, meeting him right where he’s at.
“My pretty wife, mine. You’re going to come home to me, always, and I’m going to come home to you,” Mack fantasizes as he slowly thrusts between Will’s slicked thighs, and it’s perfectly wet like a pussy.
Mack reaches for Will’s hand, threads their fingers together, and it feels perfect— it feels like coming home.
He’s moaning into Will’s neck as he holds by him the hips and thrusts between his slicked thighs. He’s saying something insane, something like, “Mine, Will, god, you’re mine, mine, mine. I own you, Will. When other players in the league look at you, they think of me. I have you all marked up by me. I have you cooking for me, cleaning for me, down on your knees for me, on the bed for me, down on the ice for me. You’re mine, everywhere. People don’t even dare to touch you— they know that’s mine. Celebrini’s boy. Wish you could wear my name all the time. Like this. You’re perfect like this.”
And Will’s silent, listening, devouring every word, starved for it. Mack reaches up to cup Will’s pecs like he’s groping a puck bunny’s breasts and Will lets him, always, always fucking letting Mack.
“Yours,” Will finally says when Mack stops for air, and Mack’s abs tighten and he squeezes Will’s hand, who squeezes back, and he’s cumming all over Will, marking him up in one more way as his.
He reaches down under the apron to finish Will off only to find that he’s cum somewhere in between Mack going insane.
“You really are perfect for me, aren’t you?” Mack says when he realizes.
“Yeah,” Will says, pulling their interlaced fingers over his chest. “I fucking am.”
And Mack falls asleep like that, curled around Will, and he thinks to himself— “home.”