Chapter Text
Kent doesn’t call himself a lightweight, because he’s not. Not really. In fact, after two shots he can claim with so much certainty that he’s had eight shots that even a lie detector would have a difficult time proving him wrong. But that’s mostly because he’s so far gone that he believes literally whatever is coming out of his mouth.
The Aces have Kenny Patrol, to make sure Kent doesn’t make off with someone when he’s far too inebriated, and to make sure that someone doesn’t kidnap their captain and return him with both kidneys missing or something. It used to be Jeff, because he had a soft spot for Kent when he was first drafted, but after five times on Kenny Patrol, which he invented, he realizes that one does not actually want to be on Kenny Patrol for too long. Kent Parson drunk is funny, for sure, and he didn’t even know Kent could drop it that low. But after the dancing (Jeff’s pried Kent off a few people and once had to get in between this really grabby buff dude trying to grind and grope Kent at the same time), all he ever gets is the same story where Kent adopts his cat and almost gets his left cheek clawed off for the first month and a half, when he had been hoping for embarrassing blackmail stories about old hookups or the likes. (Jeff notices that, with each retelling, Kit Purrson’s scratches become more vicious, and Kent gets increasingly weepier: “Jeffffffff, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Jeff I love her so much she’s so amazing. A queen. Cat royalty. Jefffff—”).
But Jeff is a genius. Jeff decides to make Kenny Patrol seem like an honor and a privilege to the rookies. He says, “Oh man, the last time Parser was drunk, he said some of the craziest shit. Too bad you weren’t there.” There are rookies who idolize Kent fighting for Kenny Patrol that night. He congratulates himself and, after rounding up two of the rookies, Todd and Dom, tells them the steps and rules of Patrolling:
1. Never let Kent know that Kenny Patrol is a Thing. Stay near him, but not too close, or face the Kenny Wrath if he finds out.
2. Two beers = so far so good. Once Kenny is past the two drink threshold, he will begin to dance. Keep an eye on him.
3. Kent only gets to Stage Three after he’s all danced out. He will probably be at 4-5 drinks. Time to step in. He will retreat to the bar area and hit on people. Use this opportunity to regroup, meet up, and chat him up.
“The wildest stories,” Jeff promises. “He’ll say anything.” He doesn’t tell them that the anything pertains to cat-related business and only cat business. “And that’s about it. If anything goes wrong, you can always call me. And Parser has most of us on speed dial.” He claps both of them on the back.
The next week, the Aces win against the Falconers with a last second goal. After the screaming and cheering subsides, Jeff comes up behind the two rookies and pats their shoulders.
“Godspeed,” he says like he means it, and skates off.
And then they realize. Tonight they’re going out celebrating. And they’re going to be on Kenny Patrol. They look at Kenny in all his five foot ten glory and shrug at each other. They can do it.
In less than 45 minutes, they almost get into a fight trying to maneuver Kenny back to the lounge area. Dom swears up and down that he’s only seen Kent have one appletini the whole time, but they both know he just didn’t want to admit that they lost Kent for 15 of those 45 minutes. As of now, Kent has his arms all over Todd, and it’s right about when he’s saying something or the other about cat food that Todd and Dom knew that Jeff had conned them.
“Toddy,” Kent is whining. He is also smacking Todd’s chest with every other word. Why? Todd thinks, as he plucks the appletini out of Kent’s hands. “Todd, you were so great today. Incredible. That pass was so great.” He hiccups, then looks up with wide eyes. “Todd, you’re so great.”
Todd feels his face getting red, but he pushes it down when he notices Dom giving him the side-eye. “Thanks, Parse,” he says, then adds, because he’s feeling brave, “All because of you.”
Kent’s face is shoved between his collarbone and the chest hitting is slowing down, thank god. “Hey, Toddy,” Kent murmurs in a way that was definitely not a low, sexy purr, “wanna hear a secret?”
Dom looks like he’s about to have a convulsion. Todd sees him biting his lips and snorting like he’s enjoying it, and he vows that next practice he’s going to check Dom into the next dimension.
“Oh,” Todd says to their captain, who’s nosing against his collarbone. Todd digs his fingers into his thigh, because if he gets a boner right now, Dom may actually implode. “Um. Okay?”
Kent tries to pull himself upright and places a hand on Todd’s face to move his ear closer. “I really like tall people,” Kent whispers not very quietly. “I think they’re really hot.”
“Oh. Oh, wow.” What does one say at this point?
“How tall are you?” Kent asks. “Like 6’1?”
“Um, two. 6’2.” Dear Lord. Keep it cool man. It’s just Kent Parson. Captain of the Aces. Stanley Cup winner. His hair is really soft—wait.
“That’s tall,” Kent sighs, and settles into Todd’s arms. Todd prays to whatever deity that’s out there to have mercy and that Kent is too gone to hear his heartbeat trying to crack his ribcage. “Like my potato.”
What.
“Potato?” Dom asks. Todd throws him a dirty look, and Dom ignores him like he hadn’t been trying to scorch the last ten minutes into his memory bank for chirping material.
“Yeah. I was supposed to meet up with him,” Kent admits. “Supposed to go back early, haven’t seen him in forever…” Then he’s digging his pockets for his phone. He smacks his iPhone into Todd’s chest twice after unlocking it. “Call,” he demands, like he is six. “Call my Tayyyyytoooo.”
“Uhhhhh.” Todd scrolls through the contact list. “I can’t find a—do you mean ‘Tater’?”
“That’s what I said. Call!” Two more boob smacks. “Call him!”
“Okay, okay.” Dom gives him a bewildered look, and Todd just throws him back an equally confused one.
“Hello? Kenny?” says an accented voice.
“Uh, is this Tater?” Todd begins, but Kent swipes the phone back.
“Alyoooshaaa,” Kent says. “Could you come pick me up? Wanna go home now. Okay. I’m with Toddy and Dom! I’m sorrrrry, I forgot. Are you mad?” Pause. “I can make it up to you.” Another pause. He gives the location of the club, then, “Okay, bye!”
Kent sticks the phone back into his pocket. “He’s coming,” he says simply. Then, “Let me say another thing about Kit…”
Dom rolls his eyes.
Todd wasn’t sure what he expected this Tater to look like. A part of him thinks that he was seriously expecting an actual potato to roll up and not like, a real human, because his heart just about stops when he sees Alexei ‘Tater’ Mashkov navigate through the crowd and coming towards the three of them.
Dom, for once, is sitting ramrod straight. “Dude, is that—”
“Tayyyter!” Kent crows, reaching up with grabby fingers. “Taytoe. Tay. Toe. Heh.”
“Hello! Are you Todd and Dom?” Tater booms, all smiles, as he shakes both of their hands. First Todd has Kent draped on his shoulders, and now a Falconer legend is touching him. “Thank you for looking after him. Good game tonight, yes? Played hard, but guess not hard enough!” He turns to Kent and places a glass in his hands. “Drink this, Kenny,” he prompts gently.
“My big Russian stereotype,” Kent slurs, but accepts the drink. “Giving your vodka to me. So generous. I knew you loved me.”
“This is water,” Mashkov replies, just as Kenny downs it and says, “Wow, that’s a stiff drink.”
Two things Todd realizes tonight: one, Mashkov was huge on the ice, but in person, even without the hockey gear, still remains a sizeable opponent. Two, Mashkov and Kent Parson are apparently on friendly enough terms to be on nickname basis.
“I think we are going home, Kenny has enough for now,” Mashkov says as he collects Kent into his arms. He leans in and continues conspiratorially, “Good that he have you two for teammates. Not a lot of people want to be Kenny Patrol.”
“I heard that,” Kent says. Todd and Dom both simultaneously freeze, but then Kent places a huge kiss on Mashkov’s jaw. “You know you’re my Patrol forever. Good thing I married you.”
Something in Todd’s brain short-circuits.
“Yes, yes,” Mashkov says fondly. “All yours.”
When they leave, Todd and Dom stare at each other as reality settles back in.
“Holy shit,” Dom breathes, finally. “Kenny Patrol was amazing.”
Todd chugs the rest of Kent’s appletini and silently agrees.