Chapter Text
"Jack! Sorry to call so early on your day off—"
"It's fine. Who did we trade for Bittle?"
"Whoa," George says. "How do you know about that already? That's what I was calling to tell you."
"I was on the phone with him when you called," Jack says. "Uh, with Bittle, I mean. He called to tell me."
There's a pause. "He… already? He couldn't have found out more than twenty minutes ago, if that."
"Yeah, he called me right after he got off the phone with his agent."
"That's weird," George says slowly. "How did he even get your number? I was going to give it to him when I called him, but obviously not until I gave you a heads up."
Jack takes a deep breath. "George, there's something you need to know."
"That is never a good phrase."
"It's not bad. I mean, not really. It just—might make things complicated?"
"Not making me less nervous, Jack."
Jack decides to rip the bandaid off. "Bittle and I are dating."
There's a pause. "Excuse me?"
"We're dating," Jack repeats, knowing she heard him just fine but not sure what else to say.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"No."
"I mean, obviously there are no rules against it—I'm pretty sure even after Eric signed, the Governors were convinced there'd never be two gay players, let alone two on the same team. But still. How long has this been going on? Were you ever planning to tell me?"
"Um." Jack figures there's no point in lying; he'd probably just trip himself up eventually. "Well, technically we weren't in a committed relationship until just now when we found out we'd be living in the same city—"
"Jack—"
"But, we've been involved for a while now. We hooked up near the end of his first season, and by now basically any time we play each other we spend as much time together as we can."
George sighs. "So that's why you're always so busy in Toronto. Some of the boys were starting to think you had a secret girlfriend there, but here I thought they were crazy. I'd ask if this had anything to do with the trade, but I know full well that we were the ones trying to get our hands on him, not the other way around."
"Good. We could use his speed."
George snorts. "So. Is this going to be public knowledge?"
"Eventually. We'll have to talk about the details. Maybe not immediately? I don't know. We'll keep you in the loop, don't worry."
"How kind of you." She's quiet for a moment, and Jack can't think of anything to fill the silence. Bittle would be able to. "You're sure about this, Jack? It could be a mess not just for the team, but for you personally if it doesn't work out."
"I'm in love with him," Jack finds himself saying. "I think it'd be a lot worse for both the team and me if I tried to pretend I'm not, act like he's just another teammate. I'd probably be really bad at it."
She sighs again. "Okay, well. Thanks for telling me. And congratulations. I'm happy for you as a friend, even if I'm incredibly frustrated with you as your boss."
"Thanks. So who did we lose?"
"Right. That."
—
Jack knows the trade routine well enough to know that he won't get to see Bittle as soon as he'd like. The Falcs will send a "representative" to pick him up from the airport (no, Jack is not allowed to tag along; yes, he asked), he'll be driven straight to the practice facility to sign some more paperwork and get outfitted with his new equipment and locker, then to his new Falcs-supplied temporary apartment, where a rental car will be waiting for him to use until his car is brought down from Toronto within the next few days along with his other possessions. Then, finally, he'll be free to come over to Jack's—which he's already said he'd rather do than have Jack come over, because Jack actually has some baking supplies in his kitchen.
Jack seriously considers running to Sur La Table to buy more while Bittle is flying down, but he reasons that he should probably find out what Bittle already has so that they don't have too many duplicates when they combine their kitchens.
Instead, he calls Marty.
"Hey, kiddo. You heard about the trade?"
"Yeah, of course. That's what I was calling you about, actually." Jack grabs a throw pillow and twists a tassel around his finger as he speaks. He shouldn't be so nervous about this. Marty clearly isn't homophobic; he's always been happy to hang out with Bittle.
"Yeah, George said there was something you needed to talk to me about. There's no problem, is there? You and Bitty still get along okay, right? I figured you'd be happy to have him over Pauly."
Jack huffs a small almost-laugh. "Yeah, we get along great. He's my boyfriend."
There's a loaded pause on the other end of the line, and Jack's heart rate picks up. Surely it's just a surprise, that's all; it won't be a problem. He looks down at the silken threads digging into his skin. He thought the pillows were silly when his mom bought them, but Bittle likes them.
Marty finally gives a strained laugh. "Jack, euh… I gotta say, you're the last person I'd expect to make that kind of joke. We're captains, kiddo, we've got to lead by—"
"No!" Jack blurts out. "It's not a joke. We're dating. Me and Bittle."
"Oh!" There's another pause. "Oh, good, I mean, like I said, I didn't think you'd make a joke like that, but since we're going to have him as a teammate and all we have to be sure we're being welcoming to him and if anyone were making jokes like that it'd be a problem, so I'm glad you're not! Not joking. You're—" There's another pause, and Jack isn't sure if he should say something or not, so he doesn't. "Tabarnak. Really?"
—
He winds up Skyping with Marty and Thirdy at once, so they can all talk about how to deal with the situation. Jack feels a little weird that his love life is now a "situation" to be "dealt with," but he guesses he should have been prepared for that possibility the moment he decided to sleep with the only out player in the NHL.
They agree that getting Bittle integrated into the team is the top priority. Today is a rare day off, no game or practice at all, but they have a game tomorrow and two more within the following four days. At least they're all at home; they don't go on the road again for over a week. They'll get through these games, get everyone seeing Bittle as part of the team instead of as the new guy (or worse, the new gay guy), then they'll tell the rest of the team about Jack and Bittle, maybe at the team meeting on Monday. Marty and Thirdy then spend the rest of the call chirping Jack to hell and back, but it's the same chirps he'd get if he'd told them he had a girlfriend. Well, mostly. There'd probably be fewer admonishments not to have sex in the locker room ("Man, don't make us add a whole new list of fines").
There's only one other person on the team Jack should definitely tell now.
Jack: Did you hear about the trade?
Tater: Just saw on Twitter! This is great! We get faster forward AND pies!
Jack: Haha, yeah.
Tater: B is fun guy. We take him out this weekend after games, show him good time. Go to that club he likes?
Jack: Sure.
Tater: Now that he have his own apartment here maybe he finally let me play wingman, get him laid. Should take him to gay bar, every guy there will want to sleep with hockey player!
Jack: No wait
Jack: Don't do that
Tater: Just because you're no fun doesn't mean nobody else should go out, zimmboni. We get you laid, too, don't worry.
Jack: No I mean we can go to the club, that's fine.
Jack: But um
Jack: Neither Bittle or I will need any help getting laid this weekend.
Tater: Zimmboni.
Tater: I know being traded and moving is lots to deal with, but more reason for Bitty to need to blow out steam, yes?
Tater: And you have no excuse. When is last time you get some?
Jack: Last Tuesday.
Tater: Tuesday? In Detroit? Really?
Jack: No that was Thursday.
Tater: Oh right. Toronto?
Jack: Yeah
Tater: No in Toronto you say you tired and go back to hotel! You not even go out with us!
Jack: I didn't go to the bar but I also didn't go back to the hotel. You know who else didn't go out with you guys after?
Tater: Thirdy?
Jack: I have no idea what Thirdy did after the game. But I know that Bittle did not go to the bar with you guys.
Tater: You sure? Some Leafs were there.
Jack: I'm sure because I went back to his place.
Tater: Why you do that without rest of us? How you get laid if you're hanging out with Bittle at home?
Jack resists the urge to bang his forehead against his kitchen table as he eats his breakfast.
Jack: Oh my god, Tater.
Tater: ???????
Jack: I went back to Bittle's place after the game to have sex. With him. In his bed. And this weekend I will have sex with him again, probably in my bed. Or maybe my couch or in the kitchen or I don't know, on the pool table, because he's my boyfriend and he's moving here and now we can do it whenever and wherever we want.
Tater: Oh. Oh wow.
Jack: Yeah.
Tater: He really slumming it, huh? I will ask him about gay bar, I'm sure he find better there.
—
So here Jack is, waiting for Bittle to get to his condo. He's been to the grocery store to buy every baking ingredient he can ever remember seeing Bittle use, and several versions of some when he wasn't sure which was best. He also bought only a few pieces of baking equipment that Bittle has specifically mentioned as missing when he's baked in Jack's kitchen, like some parchment paper, a loaf pan, and a stand mixer. He's cleaned the whole place, not that it ever gets too messy with just him here and a cleaning lady coming in once a week.
He tries to watch some tape, but he can't concentrate, especially once Bittle texts him.
Bittle: Oh my goodness. Sophie is very nice and I really do appreciate all the help she's given me today but I thought she'd never leave!
Bittle: Like yes, thank you for your assistance, but I think I can find the nearest supermarket myself
Bittle: and yes I know how to set up a checking account at the local bank!
Jack: You'd be amazed at how many rookies can't do either of those things. I think they just have a standard list of things to try to do for you in case you don't know how to adult.
Bittle: When she offered me cooking classes I finally had to show her the door.
He's literally pacing the apartment when there's finally a knock on the door. He gave Bittle the code for the building so he doesn't have to get buzzed in to come up, but he hasn't gotten a chance to give him a key. Yet.
Jack barely gets the door open before Bittle nearly knocks him over with a fierce hug. He manages to close the door behind them as Bittle chatters away.
"Oh my God, Jack! I'm really here! I'm in Providence, where I live now can you even believe it and I'm at your house and you're really here and—"
Jack cuts him off with a kiss. Bittle wastes no time in dropping the bags he brought (a backpack and a gym bag; Jack wonders if it's everything he brought from Toronto) and wrapping himself around Jack.
"We have so much to talk about," Jack gasps between kisses, "later."
Bittle nods and suddenly Jack finds himself being pushed none too gently down the hall to his own bedroom.
The sex is as good as it always is, but there's a different tone to it now. As obvious as it's been that their feelings have been growing for months now, they've still pretended like these were just casual hookups, just a lot of individual one night stands between two friends and nothing more. Now they're free to stare as long as they please, heedless of the hearts in their eyes. They can tell each other how incredible and beautiful they are, without being careful to make it sound exclusively sexual.
Jack can finally find out how Bittle's come tastes against the back of his tongue.
Once they're cleaned up, Bittle tells Jack all about his day.
"The apartment's nice enough, I suppose, but kind of utilitarian, y'know? Not exactly very homey. And the kitchen is just dismal, honestly. They clearly don't expect a hockey player to need any counter space! I suppose I'd better start looking for a real apartment pretty quick."
"Move in here," Jack says suddenly. He'd been planning to wait until Bittle started looking for an apartment, but… "Move in with me. Please?"
Bittle blinks at him for a moment, clearly surprised, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, sweetheart!" he says, wrapping his arms around Jack's neck. "That's so sweet of you to ask, but that's a terrible idea." Jack must not do a very good job keeping the disappointment off his face, because Bittle's smile softens. "Jack, there's not a reason in the world for us to rush this."
"My kitchen's really nice, though," Jack tries.
"It is," Bittle allows.
"I just… I know I'm going to want to be with you all the time," Jack admits. "I'm going to want to sleep with you every night."
"I know," Bittle says softly. "Jack… I love you."
"I love you, too," Jack blurts out, almost ashamed he hadn't been the first to say it. It seems like he's messing this all up already.
Bittle just laughs again, but it's a gentle, sweet sound as he leans in to bump their noses together.
"I love you," Bitty continues, "and I think… I think we both know where we're hoping this winds up." Jack smiles at the shy look on his face and the blush on his cheeks, and manages not to blurt out anything else. "And that's why I don't want to rush it. I don't want to take any chances with this. The next few months are gonna be hard, sweetpea. Just me adjusting to moving and us adjusting to working together would be enough, but everything else on top of that… If we need a little of our own space now and then, we should have that and not feel bad about it. And if we don't, well great, nothing says I have to sleep at my place every night. Maybe we can talk about it again this summer, when we've got a lot less pressure on us from the hockey side of things."
Jack nods. It makes sense, he knows it does. Bittle's right, if they want this to last they shouldn't but more pressure on it than necessary right now. But that doesn't change the fact that all he really wants, deep down, is to integrate Bittle as fully into his life as possible.
"Can I give you a key, at least?" he asks. "So you can come here anytime—even if you just want to use the kitchen and I'm not home."
"Oh, honey, that'd be wonderful," Bitty says, snuggling closer. "You're welcome to have a key to my place, but I have no idea why on earth you'd ever want to be there when I'm not home."
—
Once their team and their families know, along with a few of Bittle's friends, they spend some time talking to the Falconers' PR department about next steps.
In the end, every option sounds awful to Jack. The idea of calling a press conference just to announce that they're dating makes him sick to his stomach; it would be like inviting the media to put his personal life under a microscope, which is basically the last thing he wants to do, for any reason, ever.
Keeping hidden, even until the summer, bothers him just as much, though. Having Bittle here, with him, every day—on his line, in his bed, as his partner—has been a dream come true. He's never been so happy in his life, but even after only a couple of weeks the one thing that's already grating on him is not being able to demonstrate any of that in public. He's never been big on PDA, but he has to catch himself every time he wants to take Bittle's hand or put an arm around him. It's a constant reminder that he can't quite have it all yet. And even if they stay out of the public eye until the season is over, then what? The press conference he's been avoiding?
Every time Bittle is slipped a phone number by some cute boy when they're making nice with fans after a game, he's given one more reason to not want to keep hiding. Jack doesn't seem to be alone in that—he doesn't miss the daggers Bittle glares at the back of a busty woman in a low-cut blouse who keeps finding reasons to bend over and give Jack a show.
"Why do we have to do either?" Bittle asks one night as they're going over these options (and their mutual distaste for them) in bed. "What if we just… do whatever the hell we want?"
Jack frowns. He'd been pretty sure the point of the conversation was that they don't know what they want. "Like what?"
"Like go on dates," Bittle says, eyes wide and earnest. "Hold hands when you're showing me the neighborhood. Put my head on your shoulder when we're sitting in a booth together at a restaurant. All the stuff we want to do but can't."
Jack feels like he's missing something here. "So… but… shouldn't we make the announcement first? Otherwise it's going to sound like we're scrambling to play catchup, like it's some scandalous secret that came out and we're desperate to get it under control. I don't want people to think I'm ashamed of this."
Bittle shakes his head. "No. If people publish photos, speculate, whatever—fine. Let 'em. We don't owe anyone an explanation of our private life. If someone asks, straight out, we don't have to lie, but we don't have to answer personal questions, either."
Jack stares. As what Bittle is saying sinks in, he can feel the tension he's been carrying since they've started dealing with this start to melt away. "So you're saying, we never have a press conference. Or put out a press release. Or any kind of official anything."
"I guess maybe we can eventually," Bittle says with a shrug. "I'm just saying we don't have to plan to. Who knows what'll happen over the next few months, there might come a time when it makes sense. Or there might not. Maybe we get to next Valentine's Day and some reporter asks if you have plans and you say yes and they ask who with and you're like, 'uh, duh? My boyfriend?' like anyone who's pretending not to know by then is an idiot."
Jack laughs as he pulls Bittle in close. "That's the official plan then, eh? If nobody figures it out by Valentine's Day I'll find the nearest camera to get in front of and go, 'By the way, I have dinner reservations tonight with my boyfriend, Eric Bittle, Number 15, who I've been dating for nearly a year now.'"
"Yes, exactly," Bittle says, wrapping his arms tight around Jack's middle. He sighs and relaxes, and Jack can tell he'll be falling asleep soon. "Or not. Maybe we just let 'em keep wondering until they see the wedding announcement. The old-fashioned kind in the society pages of the newspaper. Do newspapers still have society pages? I'm not sure what a society page is."
Jack smothers a smile in Bittle's soft hair at how casually he can mention something like a wedding announcement. "I have no idea, bud."
—
Jack hadn't been entirely sure what to expect when they got the blessing from the PR team and put their plan into action. Who would be the first to notice? How quickly would photos set the rumor mills buzzing? How long until some member of the press asked a prying question?
The very last thing he'd expected was for the answer to all of his questions to just be… no?
Oh, photos cropped up online, all right. Photos of him and Bittle sharing a romantic dinner at the trendiest restaurant in Providence. Them walking through the nearby farmer's market, Jack's arm slung around Bittle's shoulders.
But every one seemed to be accompanied by some inane caption about what good friends they are, what a mentor Jack must be to a relatively new player like Bittle, how well Bittle seems to be fitting in in Providence.
"I am sitting on your lap!" Bittle exclaims at the latest surreptitious cell phone photo taken when they went out to a bar with the team last night. "I mean, we're not making out, but come on! I did not get fined for that just so some idiot on Twitter can laugh about 'how great it is that you're secure enough in your manhood to not feel threatened by a gay teammate playing around'."
"It's true," Jack says. "I didn't feel threatened in the least." He kisses Bittle's cheek. "At least they're saying nice heteronormative things," he points out, using the word he learned from Shitty recently. "If they're going to assume I'm straight despite all the evidence, I'd rather they say it's good that I'm okay with my gay teammate doing things than that it's gross and I should beat you up."
"Sad but true," Bitty says with a sigh.
At first, Jack had felt like every time he held Bittle's hand someone was going to jump out from behind a bush yelling "Aha! So you ARE gay!" But as the weeks go by with little to no media interest in their relationship, he becomes more and more comfortable with small signs of affection, until he thinks nothing of putting an arm around Bittle's shoulders or resting a hand on his back almost anywhere. (Not when they're Officially Representing the Falconers, of course, whether in the locker room or in suits at a press event. They're professionals, after all, and they need to keep a clear line between work and personal life.)
He's taken by surprise when the first real negative attention he gets for it isn't from the press at all, but on the ice.
It's game seven of their first round of playoffs, and the Bruins are clearly pissed that they haven't won the series yet. Their season wasn't that much better than the Falconers', but a segment of the hockey press has for some reason pre-ordained them to win the conference title and apparently they've bought into their own hype.
It starts almost immediately, with the guy Jack faces off against for the puck drop.
"How's your boyfriend?" he taunts, nodding in Bittle's direction. Jack just rolls his eyes; it's a stale chirp that's been leveled at half the team by this point.
By the time they're up by two at the second intermission, though, it's clear that some of the guys on the Bruins have seen the photos or heard rumors and are intent on targeting Jack specifically.
"He any good at giving head?" the same guy says during a later face-off.
After Bittle runs a big guy into the boards, when Jack passes by the guy grunts out, "He must fuck you pretty hard, eh, Zimmermann?"
"Your daddy know about you and Bittle?" a D-man says as he slams into Jack.
"Yeah, he can't wait for grandkids," Jack replies. He doesn't wait for the guy's reaction before skating away.
It's gotten bad enough that before he goes back out for the third period, Jack asks to be mic'd up. Tater gladly gives up the mic he's wearing, and Jack scrambles to get it in place.
Afterward, Jack doesn't really give a shit about the rampant speculation regarding what the NHL will do since they can't suspend the Bruins player for a game when the team won't be playing any more this season. Nor does he care to even find out whether anyone is questioning why the guy said what he said to Jack and not to the openly gay player on the team.
All he cares about is that his boyfriend is warm and naked in his bed, and their season isn't over yet.
—
As it turns out, nobody does question why the Bruins player chose Jack to press up against the wall and growl threatening slurs at.
Well, almost nobody.
Bittle discovered a few weeks ago that exactly one small corner of the internet has drawn accurate conclusions from the many photos of them together—people on some social media site Jack's never heard of called Tumblr. The funny thing is, people there seem to be thrilled about it. There are a lot of LGBT hockey fans there, who think that Jack and Bittle are adorable together and can't wait for them to be "gay hockey royalty" once they're officially out publicly.
Jack is pretty sure they are going to gather en masse and attack the Bruins player in his sleep on Jack's behalf. It's kind of sweet, but also kind of scary.
Other than that, the media moves on quickly. After they win the next round of playoffs in a sweep, Jack and Bittle stay in Montreal an extra night, getting the most expensive hotel room they can find and having as much sex in it as possible, then getting lunch with Jack's parents the next day.
Somehow, even photos of them leaving the hotel together and eating with the Zimmermanns fail to convince anyone of anything other than that Jack has really taken Bittle under his wing, going so far as to introduce the younger player to his famous father for further mentoring, and that theirs is clearly a bromance for the ages.
—
It's Game 6 of their conference finals, and the Falconers are up three games to two against the Caps. Regulation ends and it's all tied up 2-2.
Jack knows without looking where Bittle will be, and he'll have a clear shot to the goal. Jack fakes like he's going to take the shot himself, but passes to Bittle instead at the last second, not looking in that direction until the puck has left his tape. Bittle one-times it right under the goalie's leg, and the game is over.
Jack crashes into him from behind, only to have Tater crash into him from the side. Within seconds, half the team is involved in the celly.
"I bet someone's getting laid tonight!" Thirdy shouts, cuffing Bittle in the head as Jack pulls his own helmet off.
"I better be!" Bittle responds with a sly look toward Jack. He grabs Jack's sweater down where no one can see through the throng of players surrounding them, and Jack wraps one arm around his waist and squeezes.
"Forget laid, I'll fucking fly you to Vegas and marry you tonight after that shot," he yells, making Bittle throw his head back with laughter.
"Oh no, you're not getting away with that as a proposal!"
Before either of them can say anything else, someone slips and falls into someone else who bumps Poots so he winds up in between them.
They don't notice that they're close enough to the glass for the fans in the front row to hear some of it. A video winds up online, and between what's caught on audio and fans who have become skilled at lip-reading hockey players, the exchange is pretty clear.
It doesn't matter. Only two groups of people don't dismiss it as friendly banter: Tumblr, and a small contingent of mostly Bruins fans who wonder loudly whether Jack might have been making fun of Bittle for being gay, and shouldn't the NHL do something about that? Luckily, the idea that Jack would insult his teammate who just won the game for them, and who had hugged him again not thirty seconds later, is not one anybody takes seriously.
—
It's almost too easy, when they've won the Cup, to immediately tear off his helmet and kiss Bittle with no concern for who might be watching.
—
When Jack groggily blinks his eyes open the next morning, Bittle is already sitting up in bed, scrolling through his phone. Jack grunts and snuggles his head into Bittle's lap.
"Mornin', sweetheart," Bittle says as he reaches over to the nightstand for something. Suddenly a few pills and a glass of water appear in Jack's field of vision. Jack grunts again as he pushes himself up to sitting to take them. "I'm not near as hung over as I thought I might be," Bitty says as Jack downs the painkillers. "We did a good job of staying hydrated, I guess."
Jack grunts one more time, this time in agreement, and reaches over Bittle to put the glass back. On his way back to his pillow, he's distracted by the sight of the soft skin just behind the tiny bit of playoff scruff on Bittle's jaw, and he has to lean in to kiss it. And maybe lick it and nibble at it.
"Oh, honey," Bittle breathes, "I'm pretty sure we've still got a houseful of guests spread across your living room."
"That's their problem," Jack grumbles, but he pulls back.
Bitty holds up his phone. "So," he says. "The good news is that when we made out on the ice last night, there was a bit too much tongue involved for some people to write it off."
"Is the bad news that it's only some?" Jack asks as he reaches back to prop up a pillow so he can lean back against the headboard.
"Yup," Bittle says with a sigh. "There's a long enough history of straight hockey players kissin' each other platonically on the ice that most people are ignoring it at best, or at worst, attacking anyone who dares to malign your heterosexuality."
Jack groans. "Great. If people are getting attacked for the truth, we can't just ignore it anymore."
"My thoughts exactly," Bittle says. He doesn't sound happy about it. "But that still doesn't have to mean a press release."
"It doesn't," Jack agrees, and grabs his own phone. He opens up the Twitter app, and Bittle fakes a scandalized gasp.
"Jack Laurent Zimmermann, do you even know how to use that? I know you have a Twitter, but I think I've seen one tweet from you in the past year, and that was welcoming me to the Falconers."
"I tweeted once at the start of the season, too," Jack says as he hits the button to write a new tweet. "Come here."
He's never put a picture in a tweet, so it takes him a second to find the right button. Bitty giggles when he sees what Jack is doing, but squeezes in close for a selfie. They both look rumpled, but Bittle's bed-head has always been adorable and Jack doesn't have any pillow creases on his face. It's clear, though, that they're still in bed—together—which is the main point.
Jack types out a caption, then tilts the phone toward Bitty so he can read it.
"It's not every day I get to wake up with a Stanley Cup Champion in my bed," Bittle reads, then he pauses, thinking. He looks at Jack, biting his lip, then pushes down Jack's hand with the phone in it. "Y'know," he says, resting his chin on Jack's shoulder, "I think maybe it should be."
It takes Jack a second to figure out what he means, but when he does, he grins so hard his cheeks hurt. "Yeah? You know it's what I want."
Bitty sits up straight and takes both of Jack's hands in his, making Jack drop the phone in his lap. He gazes up at Jack with his wide brown eyes, still chewing his lip.
"Jack," he starts, but then stops and takes a deep breath, squeezing Jack's hands. Jack is a little confused, but squeezes back. "Jack," Bitty tries again, "I was in love with you way before I got to Providence. Gettin' to see you every day, at work and at home, getting to really share my life with you instead of just texting you about it—it's been a dream come true, and I know I'm never gonna want to give this up. I don't have a ring or anything yet, but… will you marry me?"
Jack eyes widen and he lets out a surprised laugh. He doesn't have to feel bad about it, though, because Bittle laughs, too.
"So my proposal wasn't good enough, but you get to propose in bed?" Jack asks, still laughing.
"Yours was a joke!" Bittle exclaims.
"I was only half joking at most," Jack insists. "What happened to not wanting to rush things? That was your idea, not mine."
"I know," Bittle says. He snakes his arms around Jack's waist and pulls in close. "And I am glad I didn't move in with you back in February. If nothing else, not living together for four months has left me totally confident that it sucks. I never want to do it again."
"Me neither," Jack says softly, and leans in the last couple of inches to kiss him deeply.
When Bittle had told Jack that he was coming to Providence, Jack's brain and heart had both jumped right to this. Once Bittle declined his invitation to move in immediately, Jack had made both of those organs take a step back. Not that he didn't still want it, every single day, but he made himself think of it as a possibility—the goal if things went well. Who knew, maybe seeing each other every day would be too much, maybe they'd get on each other's nerves.
But as the people who matter have been nothing but loving and supportive of them, one after another; as they've tackled each minor relationship issue that's come up (like how to handle it when they lose a big game and are both in a foul mood); as they've grown closer and closer and only enjoyed each other's company more by the day, Jack has found it harder and harder to think of marriage as a hypothetical rather than a solid plan to build his life on.
He pulls back from the kiss just far enough to speak. "Mon coeur, nothing could make me happier than marrying you."
They kiss again, and then he picks his phone back up. He deletes the old caption and types in a new one—not easy while he's trying to keep Bittle from reading over his shoulder. He hands the phone over when he's done.
"Excited to wake up next to a Stanley Cup Champion every day for the rest of my life," Bittle reads. He kisses Jack on the cheek and Jack hits post. "Me too, sweetpea."
Bittle grabs his own phone and immediately retweets the photo, adding the caption He said yes! Looks like a Cup ring isn't the only one in our future! "There. Just in case it was still even a tiny bit ambiguous."
They kiss some more, but when Jack tries to pull Bittle onto his lap to take things further, he pulls away. "Huh-uh. Living room full of people, remember? Passed out people, but still. If we're awake, some of them are waking up, and I need to go get some food started. Brunch, shower, kick 'em all out, and then we'll deal with the epic engagement sex."
"Deal with?" Jack says with a smirk. "Don't sound too excited there, Bittle."
"Oh please," Bitty starts, but before he can chirp Jack back he's interrupted by a loud yelp from the living room.
"What the hell is this?" Shitty yells. "I have to find this out via Twitter?"
"What?" Tater asks. "Oh!" There are his heavy steps in the hall, followed by him shouting, "Zimmboni! Little B! Why you not tell us?"
Jack and Bittle look at each other with wide eyes.
"Shit," Jack says, just as Bittle grabs his phone.
"Oh no, I gotta call my Mama before—" his phone rings just as he says it. "Damn it. I'll never hear the end of this."
On the up side, they appear to be officially and definitively out as a couple. Finally.