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Jack talks. That’s his thing. It took longer than it should have for that to stand out to Noah, because it’s not that Jack compulsively fills silence. He has opinions, but he has them about most topics. If you get him going, he can run with a subject for a while. He’s usually genuine about it, though. They’re all ideas he’s honestly mulled over, so it takes Noah a while to get that Jack’s always speaking because he’s actually saying something most of the time, and Noah’s trying to keep up with the thread.
It hits him when they’re trying to get out to Cambridge one night. Jack’s talking about the T and waiting on the green line forever because train cars are always full on Friday nights.
He’s saying, “We could take the bus, but I bet that’s just as packed. Like last month me and Brandon were heading out to Porter --”
“Jack.”
“-- and there was so much construction and people going from work, you know. Rush hour. We could’ve taken --”
“Buddy. Jack,” Noah says, louder. “Shut up for a second.”
Jack rears his head back. Noah imagines the record scratch. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“Let someone else get a word in.”
“Whatever, asshole.”
It works, though. There are suddenly pauses in the conversation. Noah pats him on the arm. “We could take an Uber. Split it.”
“Ugh,” Jack says, but it’s easier, he knows. Noah only has to stand around for another 20 seconds before Jack caves. “Yeah, okay.” He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket and frees his thumb from his gloves to pull up the app. “Have you seen the stories about people getting into fights with Uber drivers or something? Crazy. I don’t know if they’re in Mass. Mostly places like New York.”
He’s off and rambling while he gets a car for them. Noah’s fine to sit on the edge of the sidewalk and listen, chiming in here and there to ask a question.
**
Noah doesn’t expect it to become part of their rhythm. Other guys might get annoyed, Noah assumes, but Jack just laughs half of the times that Noah cuts into whatever he’s saying and tells him to hush.
“It’s not my fault you never shut your mouth.”
“Fuck you,” Jack says. “You need this wisdom.”
Jack’s one of the cockiest people Noah knows, but he’s funny. Noah doesn’t know what it says about him that he’s entertained by and encourages Jack’s bravado.
Eventually he realizes that he’s not the only one who has methods for handling Jack.
Ahti getting an earful from Jack regularly isn’t surprising. They’re linemates. There’s a purpose to the chatter. Noah will concede that Jack working out plays to score goals is probably even more important than working through his feelings on the “Die Hard” franchise out loud with Noah that one time.
He meets up with Jack not long after their practice, so he catches him in a gray area -- that twenty-minute overlap where he’s still transitioning from working to personal time.
He’s talking about taking showers in the locker room and having to walk across campus. “To be quick means you’re not all the way dry, and it’s cold out. You know? And damp in the cold doesn’t work. You could shower back in the dorms, but then you’re putting your swamp ass back in your good clothes.”
“It’s not that bad either way,” Noah says.
Jack raises a hand. “Let me pause you there. It is. If you’re cool risking --”
He starts on a tangent about getting colds that come from switching from warm to cold too often, too quickly. Ahti speaks in the middle of it once he’s got his shoes tied, asks, “Are we eating?” but Jack misses it, focused on completing his thought.
Noah almost asks it again for Ahti, but a second later Ahti extends an arm and touches Jack’s shoulder. The fabric of Jack’s shirt bunches where Ahti squeezes. It doesn’t startle Jack, but he slows down, like it takes him a few seconds to realize the fingers aren’t moving away.
He stares at Ahti quizzically, silent. Ahti says, “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
“Oh,” Jack says. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go grab my coat.”
It’s a normal move for Ahti, Noah learns. Sometimes he’ll interject but on other occasions it seems like he doesn’t want to try to compete with Jack spewing words rapid-fire. He’s found a solution that works for him, holding Jack’s shoulder or touching his arm or, once, covering Jack’s hands on the table with one of his own. Each time, Jack runs out of steam gradually, the weight of Ahti’s hand slowly registering.
**
Jack loves shitty beer.
“I’m saying that I think PBR and Natty Light get too much of a bad rap sometimes, considering how helpful they’ve been to college students through the years,” he says, pressing his hands to his chest. Jack swears. On his ratty Red Sox t-shirt, he swears he’s not saying he likes Natty Light.
“Nope. Confession’s already out,” Noah says.
“I’m saying.” Jack holds his hands out. “I’m only saying.”
They’ve been sitting on the thin carpet for a couple hours now, drinking better shit than light beer -- not much better, but some of these people are over 21, have part-time jobs between class and can buy a bottle of Captain Morgan if they want to put up the twenty dollars for it. Noah doesn’t know these guys that well. They live on his floor, and he and Jack had no reason to decline when they came by the common area and said they were hanging out in their room with people if Noah wanted to join.
So -- shots. Rum shots.
Noah feels warm and loose. It’s all nice until other people, probably feeling equally loose, start tripping over their legs.
“It got fucking crowded in here,” Jack says. His cheeks are bright red.
Noah thwaps Jack’s knee with the back of his hand. “Let’s go. My room?”
Alex is out for the night, so they can take over the bean bags in his room and play videogames or something. They won’t disturb anyone.
It’s a good thing, because Jack’s extra loud tonight, encouraged by liquor and kicking Noah’s ass in Super Smash Bros. Noah tries to bat Jack’s controller out of his hand, tries to mash buttons, anything, and Jack squawks.
“I can’t believe this. This is sabotage!”
Noah has had enough shots that he has no shame, but he still loses the next couple rounds. His focus is all out of whack.
Jack switches to the XBox when Noah throws in the towel. Call of Duty doesn’t quiet him down either, instead adding, “Watch this,” and “They can’t touch me!” to the night’s Rolodex of repeated phrases. Jack jumps and hollers when he almost gets hemmed into a corner, standing as he tries to shoot and fall back simultaneously.
“Man, it’s like two in the morning,” Noah says.
“Sorry,” Jack says. On screen he starts getting hit from the side. “Oh my god! Fuck, fuck, fuck -- yes. NO.”
Noah tugs Jack back down. He sits, eyes locked on the TV, but he doesn’t move again with Noah’s hand on his forearm. It’s not until he hollers again that Noah slides his hand up, squeezing the muscles near the top of his shoulders.
“Ahh,” Jack breathes, arm dipping but he doesn’t shake Noah off.
“Sore?”
Jack shakes his head. “No, it’s like -- you know that’s where tension builds up? I read it. Stress and all that, that’s the first place. That’s why people are always massaging low on their neck when they’re wound up.”
Noah lets the chatter wash over him, feeling flushed and floaty now that he doesn’t have to focus on a game. Shots, man. He’d felt okay earlier, but now it’s tough to hold on to anything too long. Except Jack. He works his fingers against Jack’s shoulder, kneading, and words keep coming out of Jack’s mouth, but Noah can’t make any of them stick.
“Jack,” he says.
“Have you ever had a massage? Professional, I’m talking about.”
“Once,” Noah says. It wasn’t full-body, but he was having some mobility issues. A chiropractor thought it’d help him loosen and heal faster.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Jack shouts at the game. Noah has to jerk forward to keep him from bolting up, clutching at his shirt.
“Christ. Shut up.”
Jack rocks back and Noah lifts his hand to Jack’s shoulder again, slides his fingers around the back of his neck. It makes Jack look at him, saying, “Sorry. My bad.”
Noah edges his thumb higher. He can sort of feel it when Jack swallows.
“I’m dying right now,” Jack says, eyes flicking to the screen a couple times, “Shit, I’m gonna, I’m totally fucked, I --”
Kissing him gets him to stop speaking.
Noah hasn’t ever really thought about kissing Jack, about what it might feel like, but Jack’s mouth goes soft, lips falling open easily. He lets Noah in, lets him lead and that surprises Noah so much that he retreats.
“What,” he says. “What the fuck.”
Jack’s cheeks are red. “I couldn’t -- you’re the one who --”
He’s not quite speechless, but something about the broken thoughts feels like winning. Noah touches the corner of his mouth, watches Jack’s jaw slack as Noah traces his thumb across his bottom lip. He’s not sure what to do next, caught in a drunken haze and shocked he kissed Jack at all, but Jack’s eyes flutter closed as he mutters, “Hanny, Hanny, Hanny,” like he’s trying to ground himself, too. Noah tips forward again.
Noah learns two things right away. One, it’s tough to make out with someone across bean bag chairs. Two, Jack is completely okay with letting himself be kissed.
To fix the first thing, Noah tugs at Jack until he comes across the short space, half on Noah’s lap and half carving out his own place on the chair. It helps, Noah cupping Jack’s cheek, sliding his fingers to Jack’s hair and then down again. Jack moans as Noah’s hand comes to rest at the base of his throat, no pressure, and Noah wonders what would happen if he went lower.
Going for it had gone well with Charlie this past summer. Noah had never been more nervous in his life, but Charlie had kissed him finally -- finally -- and Noah had wanted everything he could get in case he never got another chance. He’d jerked Charlie off right in the front seat of Charlie’s car. There were napkins in the glove box for him to wipe his hand before he went inside, but Noah thought about it for the rest of the night, Charlie’s come on his hand and his tongue in Noah’s mouth.
Granted, Charlie did an about-face later and said they shouldn’t. That he was really nice about halting everything was inconvenient since Noah wanted to holler that he was ready. Still does. He isn’t a kid anymore. He’s already had sex with a girl. He can figure out whatever Charlie might throw at him, but he hasn’t figured out how to get that through yet.
Jack doesn’t seem to have a problem believing Noah can handle this.
The idea of getting Jack off makes him feel less like he’ll shake out of his skin. The nerves are there but different, more curious than desperate, but it’s still a little overwhelming when he gets bold enough to palm Jack’s cock through his jeans and Jack pushes into the touch.
Jack grabs at the chest of Noah’s shirt tightly as Noah kisses him. He’s so pliant. Noah pops the button of his jeans, and Jack stops his arm for a moment, almost reflexive.
“Let me do it,” Noah says. He can feel how hard Jack is.
Jack kisses him again. Noah gets his pants open, Jack working his hips to help. It’s fun to get his hand on Jack’s cock, stroking in quick, tight pulls. The way Jack gasps is hotter than he would’ve guessed. Noah’s in control, feeling lit up and powerful from it.
“Shit,” Jack says, gritting his teeth after a few minutes. “Fuck, it’s too --”
Noah brings his hands to Jack’s mouth, says, “Help.” Jack blinks at him for a second, but then licks his palm. Noah shivers.
Spit doesn’t make it perfect, but it aids the slide. Noah spreads around the precome, too, giving attention to the head, and Jack whines in the back of his throat. He turns his face into Noah’s shoulder, huffing wetly against Noah’s neck as he pumps his hips into Noah’s fist.
“Jesus, Jack, you’re so easy for it.”
He’s so eager and quiet now in comparison, from yelling to low keening. Maybe it’s the drinking or the hour, but it’s like he’s hypnotized, caught against Noah’s body and in his grasp.
Jack comes with a muffled swear, lips pressed right to Noah’s skin. Spunk gets all over Noah’s hand and Jack’s shirt. Noah barely waits a second before he’s freeing his own cock, jerking fast. Jack kisses his mouth, his chin, and then bites at it lightly. The asshole. It stings and, in retaliation, Noah aims at Jack when he finishes, adding his come to the mess on Jack’s lap.
“You fucker,” Jack sighs, too spent to put force behind the insult. It sounds like complaining, but Jack strokes his hand over his soft cock, mixing them and rubbing it into the skin. Fucking hell.
It’s a good thing Alex isn’t coming home tonight, because they sit there with their cocks out, soft and breathing together until Noah gets sleepy.
**
Hooking up with one of his best friends is less bizarre than it could be. It sort of makes things simpler, in a way. Noah hasn’t actually really gotten to talk much about messing around with guys. He hasn’t told anyone about Charlie, not wanting to try to look at that situation too hard, but he tells Jack the next time they hang out, when they’re sober. Jack doesn’t even interrupt for a change, commiserating with Noah about how annoying it is not to know where you stand with people. And he waits until after Noah’s finished to say, “At least your thing wasn’t awkward. You didn’t have to do, say, a walk of shame from BC.”
Laughing, Noah says, “You’re so full of shit.”
“Low point.” Jack holds a hand to his heart. “My lowest.”
“You had a good time.”
Jack pretends to look pained, probably because he knows it’s true. On the bright side, Noah tells him that he’s a good kisser, and Jack apparently takes a lot of pride in that.
Normalcy resettles quickly. Jack talks too much, and Noah tells him to shut up if he really wants to add something, and it works. They’re still friends. Sex doesn’t even become regular, but Noah notices more how much Jack responds to being touched, the surest way to get his attention and hold it.
It’s mostly innocent, except for when they get drunk together a couple other times. The second time, Jack’s complaining about hockey, about their draft year and how it’s more irritating than he thought it would be to have to hear about the OHL ad nauseum.
“I picked the NCAA. If I wanted to talk about Canada constantly, I’d be there,” he’s saying, and it’s not that Noah doesn’t get it or doesn’t care. He’s just really into this whiskey buzz.
“Oh, god,” Noah says. “It’s bullshit, anyway. How do I turn you off right now?”
Noah pokes at him, trying to find the off switch. Jack squirms and tries to melt to the floor to get away eventually, but that puts him on his knees, closer to Noah’s lap than his face when he looks at him again.
“Have you ever gotten a blowjob?” Jack straight up asks.
That’s how Noah finds out that Jack has definitely sucked cock before. He’s not a pro, but he finds a rhythm quicker than Noah feels like he might if their positions were switched. He seems comfortable, bobbing his head and making content humming noises. Noah’s toes curl because his fingers can’t. He’s trying to be polite about laying his hand across Jack’s hair, even when Jack relaxes his jaw and taps his hip to get Noah to fuck up into his mouth.
The third time they fuck around while tipsy, they’ve been making out for a while before Noah thinks to escalate anything. Jack’s on top of him, working his hips idly as they kiss, and Noah reaches to palm his ass, squeezing, and then it hits him to ask, “Can I finger you?”
Jack raises his head, expression twisted in confusion and then morphing into something more thoughtful. He takes his sweet time answering, but Noah’s learning that Jack doesn’t really resist any chance to try something.
He says, “Yeah, okay.”
It’s better than Noah’s even ready for, watching his fingers fuck inside. Jack lies on his stomach, moaning into the sheets with his hips cocked back. Noah has to touch himself, feels like he’s going to burn up if he doesn’t, so hard he’s dripping with it as he shoves two fingers in and out while Jack humps the bed.
Noah comes on Jack’s ass and lets his cock brush across the mess, but he wipes Jack off. He uses his own shirt for it, including when Jack turns to his side so Noah can bring him the rest of the way.
He can wash it tomorrow, he figures, tossing the shirt aside and plopping down on the mattress. Jack sidles closer, nosing at Noah’s shoulder and says, “Coyle is fucking crazy if he doesn’t go for you.” Noah smiles.
**
It’s fair, Noah thinks, to say he’s become an expert on how to handle Jack. There’s a nonstop energy there, and it’s not manic but it takes some finesse. Noah doesn’t keep all the helpful tips he’s learned to himself either, especially when summer comes at them like a freight train.
End of the season, end of the school year, the combine, pre-draft, go, go, go.
Noah’s so focused at the combine that he misses when Jack starts invading Dylan Strome’s space. He would almost think Dylan and Jack had spent real time together before now if he didn’t already know better. They’re on a similar wavelength, prone to talking shit, but Noah also catches the way Jack speaks to Dylan more than Connor, trying to get in funny digs and jabs.
He doesn’t entirely get Jack’s deal with Connor. He’s not even sure Jack’s puffing his chest out and talking around Connor on purpose, but it’s funny.
Jack jumps up to throw his arms around Dylan’s neck from behind while they’re in Chicago, attempting to get him to crumple. He says, “I can take you. Who’s bigger now?”
Connor steps aside, eying them both with amusement and watching when Jack finally wanders away to say something to Lawson.
Dylan straightens his collar, wiping his hands down his shirt and laughing. “Aww, my hair,” he says and looks around. They’re standing by a closed kiosk. Dylan turns to an empty pretzel case to see his reflection.
“You’ve got to tell him to chill out,” Noah says while Dylan tries to fix his hair. It’s not really helping.
“Who, Eichs?” Dylan says. Connor reaches out and fixes Dylan’s shirt collar in the back. Dylan glances back. “Oh, thank you, Davo. Thoughtful.” He looks at Noah. “Eich doesn’t seem like a guy you tell what to do.”
“When he reaches that too-much level -- you know, he runs his mouth a lot. Gets on you.” Noah flaps his hand, opening and closing his fingers. “Sometimes you have to tell him to button it. Shut it down.”
Connor chuckles and says, “He might let you get away with that.”
“No, it’s simple,” Noah says. Jack gesturing with his right hand while he yaps at Lawson. “Eichel! Shut up and leave Law alone. His eyes have glazed over, bud.”
Jack’s jaw drops, offended, and he flips Noah off. Everybody laughs, Dylan swatting at Noah’s arm and saying, “Real piece of cake.”
Noah nods his head, indicating Jack as he walks toward them now. “Left Law alone, though.”
“I’m kidding. Hanny, you know you’re everything to me,” Jack says, arms already open to get the hug.
Noah raises his eyebrows behind Jack’s back. Dylan giggles while Connor shakes his head, a soft, crooked smile on his face.
Telling Jack what to do -- he’s not sure how that would work out for Connor. NHL staffers split them up for separate interviews, and it’s no surprise that Connor and Jack get stuck together. Noah’s tempted to stop Connor and warn him to disregard his advice, but really, if Connor’s feeling that bold at any point, then that’s his funeral.
His own interviews go well. Noah would be lying if he told anyone the media tour wasn’t exciting, a confidence booster. He wouldn’t be here if people with influence didn’t think he belonged. It’s flattering.
By the time he finishes, his stomach’s growling a bit. The assistant with him gives him a rundown of the evening, lets him know they’ve got some free time for the next hour or so. Noah thanks her and strolls through the arena. He runs into Dylan, who asks, “Where are you going? Do you know what we’re doing next?”
“Whatever we want right now,” Noah says. “I mean, we know when the game starts. Are you hungry? I want food.”
“I need to pee first,” Dylan says, “but I’ll find you in a minute?”
Noah waves him off and keeps going. He cuts around a corner and sees Connor and Jack together, coming toward him. Connor leans in as he speaks. Whatever he says makes Jack laugh, naturally drifting away to one side, and Connor latches onto his forearm, guiding him near again. Noah sees Jack look down at Connor’s hand, and he picks that moment to call out.
“Eich!”
Jack follows the sound and spots Noah after a second. His pace quickens, and Connor’s fingers fall away.
“You made it out,” Noah teases, holding his hand out for Jack to give him a low five.
“Killed it, in fact.”
“They were nice and everything,” Connor says. He glances away. “Have you seen Stromer?”
“Bathroom,” Noah says. Connor walks ahead of them, presumably going to find Dylan. Noah pulls up alongside Jack. “Look at you being friendly.”
“I’m so damn gracious,” Jack says.
He practically preens right in the middle of the United Center. Noah laughs at him and tosses an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, help me find where can we get something to snack on.”
**
Any poise Jack might have at the beginning of the month vanishes by the end. Noah doubts anyone else can really tell the difference. He only knows because he’s seen Jack when he’s relaxed and he’s seen Jack wound tight. Being so close to draft day has Noah keyed up, so he knows exactly where Jack’s babbling comes from and why he can’t settle.
Going to Marlins Park is at least a light way to jumpstart the weekend. It’s good to see the other top prospects again, too. Noah knows Jack well, but it already feels like the six of them are their own team in a way, all in on how surreal the last few weeks have been.
Their families are in town, but the NHL has them pair off and room together. They’re supposed to rely on each other to remember to get going from place to place. The first night they crowd in Lawson and Mitch’s room after dinner, ordering one of the on-demand movies and then mostly talking through the entire film.
Dylan and Jack start out on opposite sides of the room. That changes when Jack goes to the bathroom, then comes out and finds Dylan, smacking his wet hands right on Dylan’s cheeks.
“Eichs! Why!” He tries to wriggle away, the two of them causing a commotion on the bed at Mitch’s feet. Mitch kicks at them. “Davo, help me. I need you.”
Jack turns his head, pinning Connor with a look while he holds on to Dylan. Noah doesn’t think the standoff lasts longer than a few seconds, but Connor says, “I think you’re on your own for this one.”
“Hanifin!” Dylan tries next. Jack tries to cover his mouth, Dylan’s hollering muffled by his palm. He pries Jack’s hand away somehow, says, “Get your friend.”
“Aren’t you bigger than him?” Noah says.
“Oh, my god.”
Jack practically cackles, triumphant. Lawson tells them to bring it down so he can hear the television. It takes Dylan wrapping a leg around Jack and flipping him for him to gain any ground in the fight.
“I’m too much for you, Eichel,” Dylan announces, but Jack bites at his forearm and Dylan collapses. “What’s wrong with you?”
Despite that, Dylan doesn’t take Noah’s advice. He weathers the nonsense. Noah’s content to watch.
Dylan gets a small reprieve the next morning because Jack hates the Everglades so much. It doesn’t last. They’re back to messing with each other by the clinic that afternoon, Jack bouncing between chatting with Noah and interrupting Dylan, Mitch, and Connor to slash Dylan playfully with his stick.
“Children,” Noah says, shaking his head as Jack comes back.
“Until Friday,” Jack says. “Enjoy it, Noah.”
He and Dylan sure seem to be. Dylan even calls Jack later that evening while he and Noah are sitting around their room. Noah didn’t know they’d bothered to exchange numbers.
“Just come over here,” Jack’s saying. “Ummm, no. Room service or something. Yup -- yeah, see you.”
“What did he want?”
“He’s bored,” Jack says. “He fell asleep, and so I guess Marns, McDavid and Law left to get food without him.”
Dylan does have that telltale nap look about him when he makes his appearance. Noah lets him into the room. His hair’s a mess and his face is sort of puffy.
“Sleep well?” Noah asks.
“I can’t believe they let me nod off,” Dylan says. “If I sleep too much now, I won’t sleep later, right? I have to be fresh for tomorrow. Beauty rest.”
“Rest wasn’t gonna help you there anyway,” Jack says.
“Ouch.” Dylan walks across the room and drops down on the bed, across Jack’s stomach. He chuckles at the “oof! ugh” sounds Jack makes. “That’s what you get.”
Noah sits on the other bed, asks, “You really think you won’t be able to sleep?”
“You think you will?” Dylan turns over, shocked. The move seems to have the added bonus of making Jack complain.
“You’re right on my gut,” Jack says.
“Pretty comfortable, thanks.” Dylan smiles. “I texted Davo that I was here, by the way. He might show up after they get back.”
Any immediate plans they had to order food go out the window once Jack and Dylan get preoccupied with needling each other. Talking about the draft tomorrow becomes the interludes to their mutual sounds of frustration while trying to overpower each other. When Jack is determined, he’s nearly unstoppable, on ice and off, and he’s been on a mission to get under Dylan’s skin this entire weekend. Noah thinks that’s obvious, even if he can’t figure out how much is still some sideways plan for dismissing Connor. Either way, it’s working. Dylan has given in to Jack enough times.
“Good thing you got a haircut this time, Stromer,” Jack says, rubbing his hand over Dylan’s head. “No mullet.”
Noah laughs, tipping back. “That’s right. You and McDavid both were pretty rough for the lottery.”
“Playoff mode, man.” Dylan ducks sideways, but Jack recovers and latches onto his back, a new approach to besting him. Dylan reaches behind himself to pet Jack’s hair. “What’s your excuse?”
“Dirty.” Jack digs into whatever flesh he can find.
Dylan shouts and tries to escape. Some weird stand-up maneuver works at first but really only succeeds in dragging them to Noah’s side of the room. He has to dodge when they topple over, right onto his bed.
“I’m trapped. Ambush!” Dylan yells with Jack smothering his head.
Noah intervenes because Dylan starts kicking his legs. He grabs for Jack and pulls him off.
“What a goddamn traitor,” Jack says, resisting. Noah scoops Jack in his arms from behind, yanking him away. Jack’s squirming only makes it worse for him. He slips down in Noah’s grasp like he’s trapped in quicksand, caught awkwardly around the shoulders.
Noah says, “I’m looking out for me here.”
Jack lifts his legs to get a lock on Dylan that way. He sort of accomplishes it, too, legs around Dylan’s torso for a second. It’s not hard for Dylan to break free. He makes dumb squealing noises while he does, and takes a free shot at Jack once he’s loose, slapping him on the thigh.
“Ow, what the hell!” Jack’s so loud that Dylan looks in the direction of the door at the same time he lunges forward to cover Jack’s mouth.
“Shut up, shhh,” he bites out. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.” Jack glares but he goes silent, quickly contained, and Noah can see the moment when that registers for Dylan. His eyes get wider a beat before he raises his gaze to Noah. “Wow, you were right.”
His other hand is on Jack’s leg. Jack doesn’t have a ton of options for where to go right now. He tries something that widens his thighs, and Dylan’s hand slides down along the inside, near his cock. Dylan gasps.
“Oh, um.”
He’s clearly at a loss for where to go next. Jack jerks his hips but doesn’t protest, eyes closing. That’s interesting. Noah knows how Jack can respond to being touched, and it’s not like he ever thought he was special in getting this kind of reaction, but seeing this happen for Dylan feels unexpected. Then again, Dylan hasn’t pulled back. Maybe Noah shouldn’t be completely surprised.
They all have all this energy they’ve been trying to downplay. The media tour has helped, but they’ve got nothing left but getting through this night, and then tomorrow’s going to be a whirlwind. Noah’s plans were to eat, to lie down and let Jack talk at him about whatever until he hopefully passed out, but now -- now Dylan’s fingers flex against Jack’s thigh, not retreating but anxious.
Noah puts his hand over Dylan’s, moving it a couple inches inward until he’s got a handful of Jack’s cock. Jack bucks into the touch.
“Shit,” Dylan breathes. “Oh, my god.”
It gets worse for Dylan when Jack sighs, mouth opening against his hand. Dylan curls his fingers a bit, and it’s enough for his middle finger to drag into the heat of Jack’s mouth, across his tongue.
“Eich.” Dylan’s voice is almost too low, awed. Noah can relate, heat already pooling in him as he wonders if this is really about to happen. Dylan pulls his hand from Jack’s mouth entirely, braces it on the bed. Jack opens his eyes again, expression inscrutable.
“Keep going,” Noah says, testing it. Just to see.
“Can I--” Dylan swallows. He starts to drop low but pauses.
“What?” Jack breathes.
“If I,” Dylan says and visibly steels. “I’m gonna kiss you.”
Jack clears his throat, lifts his chin. Dylan moves in slow, pressing his mouth to Jack’s gently. Seeing Jack kiss back, giving in so immediately, is as surprising from the outside as when Noah first went for it. The fight Jack had a few moments ago has vanished.
Noah gets hard watching them kiss. He’s still holding Jack around the shoulders with one arm, keeping him propped. It’s impossible to stay upright enough to do that while also hunched in to keep his hand over Dylan’s. Noah taps his knuckles, a reminder, and leans back to give his spine a break.
Jack sinks down more, their kiss breaking as his head comes to rest on Noah’s lap, fitting right at the curve of his flexor. Dylan turns his attention back to Jack’s bottom half, playing with his cock through his pants. Jack groans softly.
“You can take his pants off,” Noah says.
Dylan glances at Jack’s face, but Jack’s quiet. Now Noah can’t quite tell if his eyes have stayed open, and it’s a little strange doing this cold sober, but Jack is apparently content to be lulled despite that detail.
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Dylan says.
Jack has his track pants on from the clinic. It means he’s easier to access than if Dylan had to peel skinny jeans off. They slide away without a problem, underwear coming with, and Dylan stares at Jack’s half-hard cock for a moment.
“Have you ever done this?” Noah asks, trying to press a hand to his own cock without coming off like a pervert. He’s not sure that’s achievable, really, and he needs something.
“Not -- not really,” Dylan says. He rolls his shoulders. “Some with girls, but not even that much.”
“Aww,” Jack says, breaking his silence for a taunt.
Dylan narrows his eyes. “Shut up.” It comes out sharp, and Jack chuckles but pipes down. Dylan exhales and asks, “Are you two -- you do this?”
“It’s not what you think,” Noah says. They’re buddies. They’re happy with that. “Jack likes to let me try stuff.”
Smoothing his hand along the length of Jack’s cock, Dylan says, “Hm. A little slutty, Eichel, eh?”
“Like you know anything,” Jack says. It’s impressive, Noah thinks, that he even has the audacity to try to be an asshole when he’s chasing the feel of Dylan’s hand. Dylan takes real hold of his cock, giving him experimental strokes. “Dylan, fucking commit.”
“Hold on,” Dylan says. He scans the room and then goes to the bathroom, comes back with a small bottle. “Lotion.”
He squirts some in his palm and doesn’t rub his hands together, just takes Jack’s cock in hand. Jack shivers, cursing him, and Dylan’s face quickly runs from surprised to apologetic to fascinated. The last one is where he stays, pumping Jack’s cock and openly surveying how he reacts.
He cups Jack’s balls, not quite massaging. Noah can’t see it well, mostly turned on by Jack’s shallow breaths and the way Dylan looks like a cat who’s found a brand new toy to figure out.
“Has he ever taken it?” Dylan asks abruptly.
“Uhm,” Noah says, realizing that Dylan’s asking him. He’s not sure, actually. They’ve never talked about it, but. “I’ve used fingers.”
“Really?”
“He was down for it,” Noah says, and Jack whimpers. “A lot. It’s fun.”
“Should I,” Dylan starts, pushing Jack’s thighs further apart. “I mean. You try stuff. Can I?”
Noah touches Jack’s face, curving a hand over his cheek as he asks, “Will you flip over?”
Jack blinks slowly. He’s so hard, and he seems so into this already. He nods and takes his time getting onto his knees. Like this, he’s facing Noah’s crotch, can probably easily tell how hot Noah’s feeling right now, too.
“Hanny, wow,” he says. He undoes Noah’s fly and works his cock out. Jack shudders as he leans in to take the head, and that’s when Noah tunes into the way Dylan’s touching him, exploring like he wanted.
He doesn’t think Dylan’s in yet, but he's pressing at Jack’s rim, teasing.
Noah asks, “You’ll start with one finger, right?”
“Mmhm,” Dylan says. He catches sight of Jack’s mouth on Noah’s cock, licking the crown and getting his fingers around the rest of him. “Fuck. Guys, this is crazy.”
He pushes a finger in, careful, and Jack hums around Noah, low vibration.
Yeah, spit-roasting Jack probably isn’t the pre-draft bonding anyone had in mind. Noah’s never done anything like this. He’s out of his element but pushed on by how hot it is to see Jack spread out, to share, to see Dylan’s mind blown over and over because he thinks Noah’s the one who actually knows what he’s doing here.
Noah thinks about Charlie, a flash of triumphant spite creeping into him. He can do this. If people believe he won’t screw up a threesome, he can take dating Charlie. He can handle sex. The bitterness dissipates almost as soon as it forms, though, Noah imagining what it could be like if Charlie looked at him like Dylan has been here, trusting.
“Go for two,” Noah says when Dylan’s got the hang of one finger inside Jack, dragging smoothly.
It makes Jack falter again, mouth loose around Noah’s cock. He can’t get great leverage like this, but he tries to give a couple weak thrusts.
A knock on the door is inconvenient as hell.
Dylan says, “Oh, no, I forgot.”
They all freeze. They have to make a filthy picture right now, Noah thinks. There’s no way to play it off well. Stillness doesn’t keep another knock from coming, the taps on the door not demanding but persistent.
“Stromer?” It’s Connor’s voice. Right. “Are you guys in there?”
“Ignore him,” Jack says.
“I told him to find me,” Dylan whines.
“Maybe he’ll go back to your room,” Noah says. If no one answers, he won’t stay forever, right?
Dylan says, “What if he already checked there? I can’t blow him off.” Another knock. “Fuck, okay, I’ll go. It’s -- alright.”
He pulls out of Jack as Jack lets go of Noah’s cock. He falls and rolls to his back, resting his head on Noah’s thigh. If he’s trying to hide, it’s not really working. Noah pets him.
He hears the door open and Dylan says, “Hey. Marns isn’t with you?”
“Him and Law went back to their room,” Connor says. “What are you guys up to?”
Noah can’t really hear what Dylan says next, pieces of their exchange swallowed by distance. He reminds himself that staying quiet doesn’t mean he should stop breathing and inhales. He catches Dylan suggesting that they head out, but he misses Connor’s reply.
The next thing Noah hears Connor clearly say is, “If you guys found alcohol somehow, I don’t care.”
Dylan says, “Stop, freeze. CONNOR, don’t.”
It doesn’t matter. Connor’s already past the length of the mini-hallway between the door and the rest of the room.
“Fuck,” Jack says, tucking his face into Noah’s hip. “Strome!”
“Sorry!” Dylan says, in the exact same tone as Jack. He halts just shy of Connor. “I tried, but he got by.”
Connor’s obviously stunned. He looks back to Dylan, and then to the bed. His eyes slide from Noah’s lap -- and Jack’s head not quite in it -- to lower, Jack still lying with his knees up. Bringing them together under Connor’s gaze isn’t doing much to help them save face.
“How you doing, Davo?” Noah says to break the moment.
Shaking his head, Connor says, “What’s -- what is this?” and Dylan holds up his hands in surrender of something unnamed. Noah can tell his fingers are still wet. If he can tell, then Connor has to see it also. “God.”
“He just, he likes it,” Dylan says and Connor reaches out to grab around the side of his hand, thumb pressed to Dylan’s palm.
Jack’s breathing against Noah’s hip, warm where his breath breaks across his waistband and fans against skin. There’s a chill against Noah’s cock now, without Jack’s mouth, but he’s still hard, even with his body suddenly full of adrenaline. His heart pounds in his chest.
“Could somebody fucking do something?” Jack demands. His face is flushed. The color disappears beneath his shirt, and Noah wonders how far it goes. He reaches down to pull at the hem, exposing more of Jack’s belly, the skin pale there.
“Stromer,” Noah says and nods down at Jack’s waist. He’s still hard, too.
Dylan moves back toward the mattress and touches Jack’s calf. “Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking back to Connor a couple times as he pushes Jack’s knees apart again and trails his hand along Jack’s inner thigh. Underneath the touch, Jack jumps, these small jolts that make Noah chuckle nonsensically.
“Don’t,” Jack says.
Noah pulls at his shirt again, stripping it off. “I didn’t say anything.”
Dylan rubs his fingers between Jack’s legs. Noah can tell he catches Jack’s hole again when Jack gasps.
“Hold on, I need more of the stuff,” Dylan says, trying to reach across his body with his left hand to get the lotion bottle laying on the comforter.
Connor has barely moved, watching everything with wide eyes. Noah says, “Hey, McDavid,” and waits for Connor to look at him. “You helping or going?”
Indecision keeps Connor immobile for a beat longer. He eventually inches closer to the bed instead of away, scooping up the lotion when he’s close enough and holding it out for Dylan.
“Uh. Thanks,” Dylan says.
It’s… odd. It’s weird to have Connor standing there, but not leaving is probably a decent cue. Dylan wets his fingers more, asks, “Okay?” and Jack makes a small noise of assent. He breathes out slow against Noah’s leg as Dylan dips inside again.
There are the slick sounds of Dylan finger-fucking Jack and the sounds of Jack panting. It’s mesmerizing. Connor has a way better view of it than Noah right now, but he’s still lingering awkwardly, fidgeting. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, Noah can tell, and he says, “Connor,” gently. When Connor turns, Noah nods to the open corner of the bed.
Connor walks around and sits. Jack starts to look over, but Noah touches his jaw, holding him. He says, “Jack, I need you back. Please?”
Jack focuses on Noah’s cock instead, feeling him with his hand first. He frowns, forehead creasing, “I can’t really reach you.”
Noah rock onto his side, feet hanging off the bed so that he can feed Jack his cock.
“Ohhh,” Dylan says, a sort of giddy wonder. “Davo, look at him go.”
Connor’s definitely watching. He has a hand in his lap, but he’s not doing anything yet, fingers curled in a fist. Noah makes eye contact with him and smirks. Fuck it. If this is what they’re doing, he’s going to embrace it.
Jack’s moaning between them, displayed. He lets Dylan and Noah set the pace and goes for his own cock when he’s ready, jerking to match the way Noah works into his mouth.
“It’s not even enough for him,” Dylan says. “Eich, do you want another one?”
Jack arches, pressing his hips to meet Dylan’s fingers. He’s such a show-off.
“You should fuck him,” Connor says, the first thing he’s said since he decided to stick around.
Dylan gapes at him, slowing down what he’s doing. “Seriously?”
“He wants more,” Connor says softly. It almost sounds practical. Calm, sensible advice: fuck Jack because he’s nearly gagging for it.
On the other hand, Noah wants to see that. He nudges Dylan with his foot.
“Yeah, but I’m not,” Dylan says. He keeps staring at Connor. He tries to stretch in Connor’s direction, scrutinizing him, and then he shakes his head. “Yes. I can --” he looks at Noah. “Could I do that?”
“Ask him,” Noah says.
Dylan pulls his fingers out of Jack’s ass, curls them over Jack’s own around his cock. “Jack. Can I try?”
Jack won’t say no. Noah always gives him a choice when they hook up, but Jack’s never opted out. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever put his cock in Jack before, but he knows Jack’s going to say yes to this, whether it’s his first time or not. Jack likes being touched. He likes new challenges, and he likes attention.
He stops letting Jack suck at his cock, resting the head on Jack’s lip. Noah says, “Did you hear him?”
Jack groans, pretending to be burdened by the interruption. He looks down at Dylan, back to Noah. “I don’t want to move. So, just --”
“Fuck, yeah. I got you,” Dylan says. Noah only remembers then that Dylan somehow hasn’t tried to get off yet because of how quickly he ditches his pants.
Noah says, “Make it really wet for him. I have better lotion in my bag. It’s, like, oily.”
“Right, okay.” Dylan and takes a breath. He slips off the bed to go to the bag by the entertainment center. “This one?”
“Yeah, the pocket.”
Dylan fishes it out and comes back, hard cock bobbing between his legs. It would be funnier if Noah wasn’t caught up in the anticipation of this. Dylan rubs a wet hand on his cock, Noah watching the head poke in and out of his fist.
“I’m gonna raise your legs,” Dylan says to Jack, crowding close.
“Whatever,” Jack says. He hooks one leg over Dylan’s shoulder, the other hitched along Dylan’s side.
Noah strokes himself lightly with his right hand. Jack licks at the tip again, occupying his mouth as Dylan prepares. Noah watches Dylan drizzle more lotion on the cleft of Jack’s ass. He rubs it in with his cockhead, thrusting along the cheeks but not in yet. When Noah glances at Connor, he’s finally started massaging through his jeans, rapt.
“Okay,” Dylan says, catches Noah’s eyes and then Connor’s. “Okay?”
“You’re killing me, Stromer,” Jack says.
“Hush. Don’t rush me.” Dylan sounds firm, but he must fit the tip in, because Jack pulls back from Noah’s cock and breathes out hard through his teeth. “Hoooooly fucking hell.”
It takes time for Dylan to bottom out, going so slow. Noah can see him trembling with the effort, and he tightens his grip on the base of his own cock. When he’s in all the way, hips flush against Jack’s skin, Dylan practically sobs.
“How does it feel?” Connor asks. He stuffs his hand in his pants, fabric bulging as he starts tugging.
Dylan’s eyes flutter shut for a second, but then he looks to Connor and forces out a laugh as he sees Connor’s arm working. “Why, you’re into this?”
“Fuck off.” It doesn’t have much bite with Connor all breathy and shifting his hips.
Dylan drops his head, like he’s overcome. He pants a little, tiny explosions of breath as he pulls back and plunges forward again.
“Aw, Davo,” he says, wounded. “He’s so tight.”
Jack moans. Noah’s not sure if it’s in reaction to what he’s feeling or being talked about. “You alright?” he asks, and Jack feels around above him until he finds Noah’s wrist, clutching.
“Move,” Jack says. “Stromer, you gotta move.”
Dylan obliges. He pulls all the way back, holding Jack open and pushing in again. He takes his time, watching his cock pump into Jack lazily. The noises Jack makes punctuate Dylan’s thrusts, and he tries speeding up and backing off, alternating his flow.
Noah sits fully, sneaking looks to Connor in between watching Dylan gain confidence. Connor lifts to shove his bottoms down and so Noah does too finally, both of them with pants trapping their thighs as they masturbate watching Jack get fucked.
“You got it,” Connor whispers, but Dylan looks ruined, sucking on his bottom lip and trying to weather the sensation.
Dylan comes first. He makes a really good effort and seems undone by the sight of Jack grabbing his own cock again, trying to meet Dylan’s thrusts halfway and simultaneously get himself off.
“God, Jack,” Dylan says, collapsing. He catches himself before he crushes Jack completely, but he’s pressed close enough to mouth at Jack’s collar as he finishes, his hips faltering.
“You’re still in him.” Noah barely recognizes his own voice.
Dylan sits back, watching his cock slip out, and skates his fingers along Jack’s ass. “Wow, he can't keep it in.”
Connor moans, head thudding against the wall. Dylan looks at him and smiles, close-lipped.
Jack’s still hard. He’s hiding his face again, trying to bury himself against Noah’s leg like earlier, but his cock is flush against his belly. Noah moves lower on the bed, gets up to jerk off over Jack’s stomach until he gets himself over, a rush of relief after teetering on the edge for so long. Pearly come contrasts with Jack’s flush skin and his needy, neglected cock. Noah rubs in it for him, swiping his hand along Jack’s shaft.
“You guys suck,” Jack says, desperate and tight. “I need to come.”
Noah says, “You could have fingers again.”
Jack practically growls, frustrated, and finally Connor crosses whatever invisible barrier that’s kept him at bay. He touches Jack’s arm, sliding down to the elbow. Jack rolls his head to the left and looks at him, can see Connor with his hand on his cock and everything. Noah wonders if he’s been pretending Connor isn’t here the whole time, wonders what he’ll say now, but Jack surges up with a speed that surprises both him and Dylan. He throws a leg over Connor, straddling his midsection, and presses him back.
“Don’t say a fucking word.” Jack jabs his fingers at Connor’s chest.
“Whoa,” Dylan says and chuckles. “There we go.”
Connor’s chest heaves, as caught off guard as they are. He clutches Jack’s thigh but when starts to reach higher, toward Jack’s face, Jack slaps his arm down.
“Do you want in?” Jack asks, vicious. Connor works his jaw, like he’s tempted to say something, but he only nods. He tries to spread his legs but his pants are tying him up.
Dylan says, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you, Davo.”
He yanks at Connor’s pants, clearing them completely as Jack reaches back for Connor’s cock, carefully sinks down.
Noah has no idea what to do but stare, sitting back on his knees. Dylan sprawls along the foot of the bed, blatantly watching Connor sink inside. Jack tries to work his hips, but Connor’s cock slips out two different times.
“Is he wet enough?” Dylan asks. Connor sighs shakily, nodding again.
“Eich, put your hands on the wall,” Noah says. Connor shifts down, too, bending his legs to get his feet flat.
With Jack’s hands on the plaster, Connor grabs his hips and bucks, fucking in from below. It works a lot better, Dylan giving Noah an actual thumbs up from where he’s watching. They’re both soft, but Dylan’s idly tracing the head of his cock while he looks, watches Connor fuck Jack with an expression that’s almost fond.
“Fff, I--” Jack’s saying, nothing babble spilling from him. “Like that. Right there.” He sinks his teeth into his own bicep, moaning.
Connor looks like he’s falling to pieces, face pinched and staring right at Jack. One hand on Jack’s waist, he uses the other to slide along Jack’s chest, rub his thumb over Jack’s nipple. Their fucking makes a soft squelching sound, Dylan’s come slicking the way for Connor.
“Okay,” Noah says. “Maybe sort of slutty.”
“I’m impressed,” Dylan says.
Jack spits out, “Fuck you both,” but he’s not stopping. He tells Connor, “Harder,” and then mewls for it when Noah thinks to touch Jack’s cock. He pulls in short strokes, counter to Connor’s hips crashing up. Jack lasts another minute and finally comes all over Connor’s chest and abs.
Connor curves his arm around Jack’s back, slams in as hard as he can. The slap of skin is obscene, but Jack rides through it, lets Connor take what he wants until he comes inside him, too, groaning but not speaking at all.
Jack tumbles off of him, falling on the blankets. He takes deep breaths and exhales loudly.
“You’re gonna get jizz all over the bed,” Dylan says, but he lets his thumb sneak between Jack’s cheeks, probably feeling where he’s still sloppy.
“Noah, oh, you’ve,” Dylan says and motions him closer with his other hand. “You’ve gotta.”
He shifts and drags his finger down the cleft. Dylan drops his hand to the bed and Noah swipes the pad of his finger over Jack’s rim, pressing slightly -- very carefully -- to hear his breath hitch.
“Wait, stop,” Jack says. “It’s too much now.”
“Need anything?” Noah asks, moving back to bump his knuckles along Jack’s shoulder.
Jack looks down at his body and wipes his hands over his face. “I’m okay. Worn out.”
“I’ll say.” Dylan giggles.
Noah drops down to kiss Jack’s forehead. He’s a wild kid, but Noah likes it.
“I can’t believe how gross this bed is now,” Dylan says.
Jack kicks at him. “Go to the other one if you’re so worried about it.”
“Maybe I will.”
Jack starts to drift off pretty quickly, serious about being worn out. Connor’s still lying with his head pushed back into a pillow, breathing delicately with come all over his front. Yeah. They’ve made a pretty good mess.
“I get first shower,” Noah says. He taps Dylan’s ankle as he walks around the bed to get to the bathroom. “Next?”
“Yes.”
Noah isn’t that wrecked. He mostly feels tacky in his t-shirt, glad to fling it aside and climb under the shower spray. Even seeing everything was a lot, and he wonders idly if Charlie would be surprised if Noah told him. Maybe he’d see Noah as more mature. He’s the kind of guy who’s had experiences now. Charlie can stop treating him like he’s a kid who can’t handle anything. Maybe.
He thinks about everything, reviewing to savor it. Dylan was devastated being inside Jack, and Jack took it so well. Noah starts to get hard again replaying it, and he braces a hand on the shower wall and works his cock while he thinks about both sides, wondering what it would be like to get fucked, to be fucked by Charlie. He wonders if Charlie would look like Dylan while he split Noah open, all shattered, or if he’d be more like Connor, on overload but determined.
It feels good to come again, like relaxing after the intensity of being in the same bed with Jack, Dylan and Connor. Noah uses the shampoo resting on the ledge and rinses off.
When he leaves the shower, Dylan has the TV on, volume low. Jack’s already out on the bed, still lying on his back with one hand bent above his head and the other arm across his stomach. Connor’s ditched his shirt and shifted to his side, but his eyes are shut, too. He’s curved toward Jack but not quite touching, the two of them naked and falling asleep.
“That was quick,” Noah says.
Dylan peeks behind him. “Yeah. Some people aren’t strong enough to hang, I guess.”
He seems amazingly composed. Noah bumps him, saying, “That was your first time?”
That makes Dylan finally look sort of shy. He smiles but then wipes it from his face and nods, clears his throat. “Pretty good story for the future.”
“Jack would kill you if you told anyone.”
“I don’t have to name him,” Dylan says. He hands Noah the remote. “Finished with the shower?”
“All yours.”
He assesses the room while Dylan ducks into bathroom. The bed by the window is completely fine. Noah takes the comforter from that bed and tosses it over Connor and Jack. He’ll be comfortable with only sheets.
Dylan’s quick in the shower. After, he comes and watches TV with Noah on the bed until they doze off, too.
**
Running water wakes him the next morning. He blinks at the dim light in the room, a sliver of sun cutting through the gap in the curtains. The bathroom light is on, someone moving around in there. Noah looks to the side and sees Jack standing naked at the sink.
Dylan stirs beside Noah, groaning as he rouses. “Ugh. What time is it?”
Noah’s cell phone is on the nightstand. He reaches for it and reads the time. “5:30. A little after. 5:36.”
“That’s too early,” Dylan complains.
Noah can’t manage to fall asleep again. He lies there, staring at nothing until restlessness forces him out of bed. He opens the curtains part-way, letting more light into the room.
Dylan says, “Noooo,” but gives into being alert. He rubs his eyes and props up on an elbow. “What time does the kitchen open, do you think?”
“Your parents aren’t gonna want to have breakfast with you?”
“Oh -- Noah, shit, draft day. It’s here.” He sits up completely. “No, we’ve got time. You’re right, though. But I didn’t eat last night, so I’m starving.”
Noah looks at the desk for the menus. He could eat, too, honestly. “Breakfast starts at six.”
“Pass that over here, so I can decide what I’m ordering right when it’s time.”
He does and then gets up to turn on the TV, flipping around until the first person he sees talking about the weather. It’s summertime. Surely it’ll be hot today, but the harmless chatter of the report makes for decent background noise.
“Oatmeal, no. Eggs, probably,” Dylan’s saying, going through all the menu items out loud. “You want waffles?”
“Are they Belgian?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“It’s gonna be humid out,” Noah says. Dylan looks over and watches the TV for a minute.
He says, “It’s Florida,” and goes back to picking through the menu. Jack comes into the room to dig for something in his bag, still totally naked and uncaring. He grabs whatever it is -- a toiletry bag, it looks like -- and returns to the bathroom, not quite shutting the door behind him.
Noah notices Connor wake while Dylan’s discussing the merits of waffles versus pancakes versus French toast. “Obviously,” he says. “If you hate that eggy taste on the toast, that’s immediately out. Maybe the biggest difference between all three.”
“You’re ordering food?” Connor’s voice is even lower than usual, groggy.
“Soon,” Dylan says without turning his head.
Noah gives Connor a good morning wave. Connor raises his hand in acknowledgement and takes a moment to get his bearings, surveying the scene. Noah starts flipping channels again, but he catches it in his periphery when Connor slips out of bed and touches his fingers to the bathroom door, nudging.
He ducks inside. Noah doesn’t have a perfect view, but he can see reflections in the giant bathroom mirror. He sees how Connor approaches with caution, sliding in between Jack and the counter while Jack wipes his face.
“Actually, maybe I do want oatmeal,” Dylan says. “And juice. Lots of orange juice.”
Noah can’t tell what they’re saying in the bathroom, but he sees Connor lean in and Jack turn his head to one side. Connor doesn’t seem deterred, standing with his body still sort of curved toward Jack, speaking again. When he cranes in a second time, Jack’s hesitant but lets him, their foreheads touching first. Jack gradually lowers his arm with the washcloth and allows Connor to get closer, catch his mouth.
When Connor’s hand moves to Jack’s face, Noah turns away, back to the television. He tries to tune into what Dylan’s saying.
“I do want waffles,” he says. “Do they come with something on them?”
“You can get them with strawberries.” The shower comes on and someone pushes the bathroom door closed entirely, the click audible. Dylan glances to his left. “Where’d Connor go?” He furrows his brow. “Is he in there?”
“Yeah,” Noah says.
Dylan looks sort of scandalized and then impressed. “Go for it, Davo.” He reaches for Noah’s phone on the bed, waking the screen. “Still a few minutes. Noah, fuck, I’m so impatient.”
“You’ll get your oatmeal or whatever. Calm down,” Noah says, unable to stop his eyes from drifting back to the bathroom door.
“I can’t. My stomach’s angry,” Dylan says and pats his belly. He follows Noah’s line of sight, peering over his shoulder again. “Man.” He smirks at Noah. “Imagine, huh?”
Noah shakes his head and turns up the volume on the TV. He’s trying not to imagine anything. He’s got enough to think about today.
**
Getting drafted is the best moment of Noah’s life. Nothing even comes close. Winning the Stanley Cup could top it, but that’s a dream for down the road. Up to this moment, this is it. Everything pales in comparison.
The first day of the draft is exactly as insane as he expects. Having his family there with him helps a ton, makes the whole event that much cooler.
Once Dylan and Connor left their room that morning, everything felt like it went into hyperdrive.They hadn’t really had time left for Noah to try to talk to Jack about much other than running through their next steps out loud. Meeting family, getting on the bus over to the arena, and so on. Jack hugged him before they left, saying, “Good luck, buddy,” and Noah hasn’t had more than quick exchanges with him since with all the cameras around.
Noah finally catches up to Jack away from the commotion backstage, in the tunnels of the arena, a couple hours after they’ve both put on the new jerseys. Tapping Jack’s arm, Noah says, “Are you hanging in there?”
“I’m floating today,” Jack says. “This is the most energy I’ve had in my life.”
“That’s impressive.” Noah eyes him, and Jack shrugs at him, not giving into the bait. “Really. Feel good?”
Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“I’m making sure,” Noah says. “I didn’t earlier.”
“Don’t worry about me, man. I’m great.” Jack indicates his logo. “I’m a Sabre now.”
“What about the Terriers?”
“Both,” Jack says. “One and the same for the moment.”
“This is blowing me away,” Noah says, the two of them leaning back against a wall together. He folds his hands behind his back, using them to spring and fall back, unable to hold still.
“My mom keeps taking pictures of every single thing on her phone. Every piece of paper -- all of it. It’s so embarrassing.”
“You love it.”
“Hell, yeah, I do.” Jack beams, and Noah gets it. He’s right there, too.
They take it in, both grinning at nothing as people pass. A couple strangers say hello and guys they know shout them out as they walk by, the same dopey grins on their faces. Noah can’t get enough. He wishes he was recording every part.
Jack’s idly worrying at the inside of his lip, quieter than he’s been around Noah without prompting or distraction in a long time.
Noah says, “So, you and McDavid.”
Jack winces. He says, “It’s weird,” but Noah watches his mouth flatten and edge toward something almost lifted before the look disappears. He says, “I don’t know.”
Noah lowers his voice. “Dude, you let him kiss you.”
“You saw that?” The horror on Jack’s face is comical. “He said you guys were asleep.”
“Last night? I was talking about this morning.”
“How did you -- fuck, it doesn’t matter.” Horrified and blushing is an even better look. “Everybody else in that room had kissed me before.”
“Everybody else didn’t shower with you.”
“God.” Jack makes a strangled noise and exhales roughly. “Enough of that. I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
That’s new.
“Wow,” Noah says. “I mean. Alright.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “When you want to, though.”
“I know.” Jack turns to face Noah, perkier as he asks, “Did you see Coyle at all this month?”
Noah laughs, mouth pulling to the side. Okay, sure, he set himself up to have the tables turned. “Uhh, no, not yet.”
Charlie sent him a quick text to wish Noah the best before he flew to Florida, but that’s it so far. He’s trying not to anticipate what might happen when he gets back to Massachusetts.
“Well, I was thinking about it,” Jack says. “When you do see him, you should tell him what you want. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I can think of a couple things.” Noah’s envisioning his humiliation, first of all.
Jack scoffs. “If he’s not dumb, he’ll hear you out. Adults get right to the point, I’ve heard. We’re adults now. You’re one of the best people I know -- pretty good-looking, not bad.” He wobbles his hand. So-so. Noah swats it away. “I think you’ve got a shot. You never know.” He shrugs, slipping into a contemplative pause. He fusses with his hat and starts again. “And if he is an idiot, at least you’ll find it out early. Then you have a whole new city to get acquainted with soon. Plenty of people in Raleigh.”
“If I make it out of camp.”
“You’re gonna.”
“You have a lot of insight all of a sudden.”
“It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do,” Jack says, leering, and Noah laughs at him.
“It sounds like you weren’t out that whole time.”
“Rumors.” Jack looks pleased, smiling at him, and opens his arms for Noah. “Alright, I need to figure out where my folks went. Hanny, I love you, buddy. Congratulations.”
“Same here,” Noah says, pulling him in. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you.” Jack steps back and holds his fist out. “I’ll talk at you later?”
“Of course.” Noah bumps him, one final goodbye. “You know how to find me.”