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Dylan

I will vomit if you make me drink again

You don’t have to drink

It’s poker

I’ll pass

Bro

I’m gonna hang out with baps

Okay cool bring him??

I’m sure he’s up for poker

Okay I’m going to be so for real with you right now

You’re cockblocking me

I KNEW IT

You promised me this wasn’t another Sokolov

Have you met baps?

He’s not at all like Sokolov

He really isn’t

Fine. I’ll cover for you.

“I want to—” Henri yawned so wide he felt like his face was splitting in half. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

Dylan’s nose crinkled as he smiled fondly at Henri. “I think you were saying you want to go to bed.”

Another yawn, slightly more contained, as he shook his head. “No. We were going to…” The words never coalesced, but the image of Dylan over him, thrusting and kissing and moaning, was clear as day. He wanted it so badly and whined.

“Let’s get you in bed.” Dylan guided him to the edge of the bed and started undressing him. It wasn’t as sexy as it usually was, but Henri appreciated it infinitely more. “You worked hard tonight.”

“I’m so fucking tired.” He was. His limbs were jelly. He would sleep all night, drag himself out of bed to the airport, sleep on the plane, drag himself home, and sleep all day. Maybe eat somewhere in there. Despite the loss, they’d been given the day off tomorrow, and he fully intended to use it to force his body to reshape itself into something vaguely resembling a hockey player.

“I know,” Dylan soothed. “You looked so good out there. That was hot as hell the way you helped kill that 5 on 3.”

Henri humphed. He never got credit for that kind of thing. Teams would throw him on the PK, give him a pat on the head if they killed it and chew him out if they didn’t. Granted, Krzysztofek wasn’t that harsh. As a former NHL defenseman, he had a more grounded view of the game than some of Henri’s former coaches.

“I just want to sleep for the next year.” He let himself be manhandled under the covers. Sighed happily when Dylan folded over him, kissing a line up his spine.

“Sleep, Hen. You earned it.”

Because of his trip to Quebec, Henri’s car wasn’t waiting for him in Albuquerque. He’d forgotten that he’d taken an Uber to the airport, too distracted and tired to think about it until he was standing at the very end of the airport hallway to the cold parking lot that definitely didn’t have his car, no matter how much he longed to leave.

His shoulders slumped.

“Where we headed?” Dylan’s arm wrapped around him and pulled him tight. Henri anticipated a kiss that never came; he’d forgotten that they were in public.

“We?” He gave Dylan a sidelong, questioning look.