Fic (Mighty Ducks, Fulton/Portman, PG)
While ruggerdavey was visiting two weekends ago, I made her watch Mighty Ducks 2 with me so I could fact-check this fic. I wish I were kidding.
Fandom=Mighty Ducks; Pairing=Fulton/Portman. Christmas-y fic written while listening to the song of the day on repeat.
~
Fulton would never admit it to the rest of the team, but he was sort of glad to see the end of winter break. It wasn’t that he missed classes, or that he hated being home. Home was…well, it was okay, but it wasn’t Eden Hall, and that meant no Portman. Sure, he spent his vacations skating with the guys, hanging out with Charlie and Goldberg and Banks and the rest of them. And he liked hanging out with those guys, but the way he felt about them was nothing compared to the way he felt when he was with Portman. So he wasn’t going to complain about the end of vacation, even if it meant going back to 6:00 am practices and double English classes.
He sighed at the thought and dropped his duffel bag on the bed, considered unpacking for a second or two before he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead he turned on the stereo and cranked up the volume, then shoved his bag over and threw himself down on the mattress. He was halfway through a killer drum solo when the door opened and Portman walked in, pausing long enough to grin at him before he kicked the door shut and dropped his stuff on the other bed.
"Hey."
"Hey," Fulton echoed, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. And he'd been thinking about this moment for two weeks, but now that it was actually here he wasn't sure what to do.
Maybe if he’d been standing up it would have been easier. If he’d just been standing when Portman walked in it would have been easy to wrap him in a hug, just a gesture of how much Fulton had missed hanging out with him. And then maybe things would have progressed naturally from there, although Fulton had never really hugged Portman off the ice before, so he couldn’t say for sure. At least he'd never done it while the lights were on, and he wasn't sure what would happen if he did.
And that was the thing, because they’d made out plenty of times and Fulton was pretty sure Portman felt the same way he did, but it always happened at night, so he wasn’t sure what to do in the middle of the afternoon. Part of him wanted to take a chance and just plant one on Dean, just to see what would happen. Because they’d been…whatever they were for a few months now, and he was getting tired of wondering what that was, exactly. But there was always the chance that Portman would push him away and look at him like Fulton had a contagious disease, and if that happened…well, Fulton would have to drop out of school and quit the team and go back to Stillwater.
“Brought you something,” Portman said, and Fulton blushed when he realized he’d been staring at Portman’s back. “My mom sent them.”
Portman shoved a container into his lap and turned away again, back to Fulton as he pulled more stuff out of his bag and tossed it on his bed. Fulton watched him for another second before he turned his attention to the tin in his lap, working the top off to discover at least two dozen chocolate chip cookies.
“Wow. Thanks,” he said, shoving a cookie in his mouth before he held the tin out toward Portman’s back. “You want one?”
“Nah,” Portman answered, but he didn’t even glance at Fulton. He hadn’t looked at Fulton since he showed up, really, and he was being a lot quieter than usual, too. Normally he’d have told Fulton at least three stories about his friends back home by now, including all the street hockey they’d played and every goal he’d scored.
“So how was Chicago?”
Portman just shrugged and kept unpacking, and Fulton’s stomach did something that made him wish he hadn’t eaten that cookie. “You know. The usual.”
And Fulton had pictured this a lot of different ways, but he’d never imagined this one. He’d never let himself think about the possibility that Portman would go home and change his mind about them, but maybe he should have. Maybe he should have known that Portman would take one look at his Chicago friends and remember why this was such a bad idea, why they could never be serious about hockey and still be…whatever they were.
He should have known all that - did know all that - but he’d been hoping they could ignore it for awhile longer. Like maybe until the end of high school. Or after college. Maybe they could have put it off until they got picked up by an NHL team, if only Portman hadn’t gone home to see his stupid friends. And Fulton knew he should say something, make it clear that he understood and he wasn’t going to be all weird about it, even if it felt weird. But he had no idea how to say any of that, so instead he just kept staring at the back of Portman’s head and hoping he’d say something so Fulton wouldn’t have to.
Then Portman did turn around, and Fulton’s heart lodged in his throat. He still wasn’t looking at Fulton; more like he was staring at the wall behind Fulton’s head, then down at the floor between them. His hand was clenched hard around something and Fulton found himself hoping that whatever he was going to say, he’d just forget it. They never had to talk about it; as long as Portman didn’t say the words, Fulton was pretty sure he could live through this.
“I…uh…I brought you something else.”
That was so far from what Fulton had been expecting to hear that it took him a second to respond, but when Portman shoved something else under his nose Fulton reached out automatically. “What is it?”
“Just open it,” Portman said, sinking onto the bed next to Fulton, and if he was trying to break up with him, he was going about it all wrong. But Fulton wasn’t going to complain about the pressure of Portman’s shoulder against his own, or the warmth seeping into him where their knees pressed together.
Fulton wasn’t sure how long he stared at the box, but finally he remembered how to work his fingers long enough to pull it open. When he looked inside he frowned and looked up again, his gaze drifting immediately toward Portman’s earlobe. There was a new earring there; a small diamond stud, not too flashy but definitely noticeable, and Fulton probably would have spotted it before now if Portman hadn’t had his back turned since he came in.
“I just figured, I’m only using one of them, so maybe…you know, if you wanted, you could wear the other one.”
It was just an earring. It didn’t have to mean anything; they were best friends, after all, and Portman had just said himself that he wasn’t using the other earring. But if it didn’t mean anything he wouldn’t have been so nervous about it, and when Fulton realized what it meant he felt his whole body flush. “I’ll have to get my ear pierced.”
“We can go to the mall this weekend,” Portman said, and when Fulton glanced at him this time Portman was grinning. The sight of that smile was such a relief that Fulton didn’t even try to stop himself from leaning forward, and when Portman’s hand landed on the back of his neck to drag him into a kiss, he sort of wanted to cry. Something he’d have plenty of time to think about later, but for right now he was going to concentrate on welcoming Portman home.
~
Song Of the Day: Kings Of Leon -- On Call
Kings of Leon were here with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club this fall and I had no one to go with. ::sad face:: I need to make some friends who share my taste in music.
Fandom=Mighty Ducks; Pairing=Fulton/Portman. Christmas-y fic written while listening to the song of the day on repeat.
~
Fulton would never admit it to the rest of the team, but he was sort of glad to see the end of winter break. It wasn’t that he missed classes, or that he hated being home. Home was…well, it was okay, but it wasn’t Eden Hall, and that meant no Portman. Sure, he spent his vacations skating with the guys, hanging out with Charlie and Goldberg and Banks and the rest of them. And he liked hanging out with those guys, but the way he felt about them was nothing compared to the way he felt when he was with Portman. So he wasn’t going to complain about the end of vacation, even if it meant going back to 6:00 am practices and double English classes.
He sighed at the thought and dropped his duffel bag on the bed, considered unpacking for a second or two before he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead he turned on the stereo and cranked up the volume, then shoved his bag over and threw himself down on the mattress. He was halfway through a killer drum solo when the door opened and Portman walked in, pausing long enough to grin at him before he kicked the door shut and dropped his stuff on the other bed.
"Hey."
"Hey," Fulton echoed, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. And he'd been thinking about this moment for two weeks, but now that it was actually here he wasn't sure what to do.
Maybe if he’d been standing up it would have been easier. If he’d just been standing when Portman walked in it would have been easy to wrap him in a hug, just a gesture of how much Fulton had missed hanging out with him. And then maybe things would have progressed naturally from there, although Fulton had never really hugged Portman off the ice before, so he couldn’t say for sure. At least he'd never done it while the lights were on, and he wasn't sure what would happen if he did.
And that was the thing, because they’d made out plenty of times and Fulton was pretty sure Portman felt the same way he did, but it always happened at night, so he wasn’t sure what to do in the middle of the afternoon. Part of him wanted to take a chance and just plant one on Dean, just to see what would happen. Because they’d been…whatever they were for a few months now, and he was getting tired of wondering what that was, exactly. But there was always the chance that Portman would push him away and look at him like Fulton had a contagious disease, and if that happened…well, Fulton would have to drop out of school and quit the team and go back to Stillwater.
“Brought you something,” Portman said, and Fulton blushed when he realized he’d been staring at Portman’s back. “My mom sent them.”
Portman shoved a container into his lap and turned away again, back to Fulton as he pulled more stuff out of his bag and tossed it on his bed. Fulton watched him for another second before he turned his attention to the tin in his lap, working the top off to discover at least two dozen chocolate chip cookies.
“Wow. Thanks,” he said, shoving a cookie in his mouth before he held the tin out toward Portman’s back. “You want one?”
“Nah,” Portman answered, but he didn’t even glance at Fulton. He hadn’t looked at Fulton since he showed up, really, and he was being a lot quieter than usual, too. Normally he’d have told Fulton at least three stories about his friends back home by now, including all the street hockey they’d played and every goal he’d scored.
“So how was Chicago?”
Portman just shrugged and kept unpacking, and Fulton’s stomach did something that made him wish he hadn’t eaten that cookie. “You know. The usual.”
And Fulton had pictured this a lot of different ways, but he’d never imagined this one. He’d never let himself think about the possibility that Portman would go home and change his mind about them, but maybe he should have. Maybe he should have known that Portman would take one look at his Chicago friends and remember why this was such a bad idea, why they could never be serious about hockey and still be…whatever they were.
He should have known all that - did know all that - but he’d been hoping they could ignore it for awhile longer. Like maybe until the end of high school. Or after college. Maybe they could have put it off until they got picked up by an NHL team, if only Portman hadn’t gone home to see his stupid friends. And Fulton knew he should say something, make it clear that he understood and he wasn’t going to be all weird about it, even if it felt weird. But he had no idea how to say any of that, so instead he just kept staring at the back of Portman’s head and hoping he’d say something so Fulton wouldn’t have to.
Then Portman did turn around, and Fulton’s heart lodged in his throat. He still wasn’t looking at Fulton; more like he was staring at the wall behind Fulton’s head, then down at the floor between them. His hand was clenched hard around something and Fulton found himself hoping that whatever he was going to say, he’d just forget it. They never had to talk about it; as long as Portman didn’t say the words, Fulton was pretty sure he could live through this.
“I…uh…I brought you something else.”
That was so far from what Fulton had been expecting to hear that it took him a second to respond, but when Portman shoved something else under his nose Fulton reached out automatically. “What is it?”
“Just open it,” Portman said, sinking onto the bed next to Fulton, and if he was trying to break up with him, he was going about it all wrong. But Fulton wasn’t going to complain about the pressure of Portman’s shoulder against his own, or the warmth seeping into him where their knees pressed together.
Fulton wasn’t sure how long he stared at the box, but finally he remembered how to work his fingers long enough to pull it open. When he looked inside he frowned and looked up again, his gaze drifting immediately toward Portman’s earlobe. There was a new earring there; a small diamond stud, not too flashy but definitely noticeable, and Fulton probably would have spotted it before now if Portman hadn’t had his back turned since he came in.
“I just figured, I’m only using one of them, so maybe…you know, if you wanted, you could wear the other one.”
It was just an earring. It didn’t have to mean anything; they were best friends, after all, and Portman had just said himself that he wasn’t using the other earring. But if it didn’t mean anything he wouldn’t have been so nervous about it, and when Fulton realized what it meant he felt his whole body flush. “I’ll have to get my ear pierced.”
“We can go to the mall this weekend,” Portman said, and when Fulton glanced at him this time Portman was grinning. The sight of that smile was such a relief that Fulton didn’t even try to stop himself from leaning forward, and when Portman’s hand landed on the back of his neck to drag him into a kiss, he sort of wanted to cry. Something he’d have plenty of time to think about later, but for right now he was going to concentrate on welcoming Portman home.
~
Song Of the Day: Kings Of Leon -- On Call
Kings of Leon were here with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club this fall and I had no one to go with. ::sad face:: I need to make some friends who share my taste in music.