Who: Hockey and Figure Skating. What: Hockey returns from his road trip. Where: Figure Skating's apartment. When: Late Tuesday night. Warnings: Possible language, sexuality.
The rest of the team was heading back to New York City in the morning, all at least somewhat pleased with their performance on the road trip and all itching to get back to home ice. Hockey had a reason to itch even deeper than they did, however, and that was what had him calling the airlines from the locker room of the HSBC Arena. Although Hockey had a lot on his mind - the pardon of Graham James, the death of Matt Cook, his team's playoff chances getting smaller with each game - he did manage to sleep on the hour and a half flight back to the city, dozing, slipping in and out of consciousness, trying not to dwell on monsters and players stolen from him by disease. The flight attendant woke him up gently when they were about to land and Hockey managed to give her a polite, if a bit groggy, smile and sign an autograph for her son when asked. Then it was merely a matter of navigating his way through the airport, stopping only once to give a television reporter - how did they know he had flown back early? - a soundbite for the morning news. When he finally slid into a cab, he blurted out Figure Skating's address without really thinking about it too hard.
It was late, possibly too late to be sneaking into his brother's apartment, but Hockey did it anyway, not thinking about potentially waking Figure Skating up or interrupting anything as he flopped down on his brother's couch, closing his eyes as a six games in nine days road trip began to catch up with him. Hockey could feel his older brother in the apartment, feel the cold radiating out from the bathroom, hear the steady stream of the shower, but his body was aching, weary, in a wholly satisfying way that could only come from a steady string of games well played. Figure Skating could come to him. And when Hockey heard the shower turn off abruptly, when he heard the approach of footsteps, he stretched, long, luxurious, and with a happy little sigh when his bruised and battered body fell back onto the soft couch. It was only when his muscles had fallen back into a lax state and Hockey felt utterly boneless that he opened his eyes to see his brother before him with a towel around his waist. Hockey's eyes couldn't help but trace the progress of an errant droplet of water as it traced its way down from Figure Skating's collarbone but when it hit his brother's rib cage, Hockey's eyes snapped back up to lock with Figure Skating's. Hockey gave his older brother a lopsided little smile as he let his arms fall open in invitation, one lolling on the back of the couch, one slipping from the couch to stretch out above the carpet.
"Miss me?" He asked, his voice a mix of Stan Wayne's arrogance and Hockey's affection. It had been far too long and phone calls only gave a small measure of satisfaction.