Molly, you know what I like. :DDD which is, you know. That. :DDD
I keep wanting to tell stories about them getting surprise-married or, you know, the classic drunk-married, because those are all things which I am super, super pro in fiction, but maybe for a change I can try to tell you about the time that they just... got married, because it was legal and they could and it was about bloody time, eh? Like, fuck, they'd won a Cup together and Olympic Gold and it wasn't exactly like anyone was going to be able to line up to tell them they weren't good enough -- and not that that should've been a reason not to do it, but it made it so fucking much easier.
The Hawks front office just told them congratulations on their engagement and then asked whether they'd rather talk to the Advocate or Sports Illustrated first, at which point Duncs semi-seriously suggested instead they could maybe run away to Hawaii, or at least a cabin somewhere far enough in the middle of fucking nowhere Ontario that didn't have the internet.
"Suck it up," Jenny from PR advised them cheerfully, and spun her pen through her fingers at high speed. Seabs was a little concerned it was going to go flying and possibly cause some kind of horrible injury, but it turned out she did have everything under control.
She also gave them a set of notes for talking to major publications, because while Seabs had absolutely no problems whatsoever talking about his game or even - as much as it fucking sucked more than anything aside from maybe getting injured - even dealing with the press after they'd gotten dumped out of the playoffs in the first round for the second year in a row, but he really wasn't sure he was ready to be some kind of spokesperson; to stand up and be the first guy who decided he wanted to actually take that leap as a professional athlete in the US.
"I think you'd be second," Duncs had said when they were discussing it at home, at first, "Because Keith comes first alphabetically, so unless you're also planning on changing your last name--"
"Oh fuck you," Seabs had said, shoving Duncs, "You change your last name."
Brent comes before Duncan, anyway, so Seabs would get ahead of him there. And they couldn't hyphenate, because that'd just make Seabs think about his brother every time and... ew. No.
And even though he knew he shouldn't, Seabs did kind of like the idea of putting his name on Duncs that literally, that blatantly.
"Probably not gonna happen," Duncs had said after a few seconds, but it was long enough that Seabs was pretty sure that he did actually think about it, and it's not like he was really set on it, but he liked that Duncs considered it. No one would ever let them fucking live it down, though, and as much as the league had improved for the types of shit people will say out on the ice, he didn't exactly want to give anyone that obvious an opening.
"Maybe we could get tattoos instead," Seabs had said after a second, and that time he really wasn't serious, he just wanted to see Duncs' reaction.
"See if you don't wake up with my name on your ass sometime soon," Duncs threatened cheerfully, and Seabs just swatted at him and then climbed into his lap, shoving him back against the couch and kissing him messily. They've got, like. Three whole days before they need to talk to anyone else about this, that's plenty of time for details and for fooling around.
If anyone had been keeping score (which they both sort of were, they always were) ... that time, Duncs came first.
I keep wanting to tell stories about them getting surprise-married or, you know, the classic drunk-married, because those are all things which I am super, super pro in fiction, but maybe for a change I can try to tell you about the time that they just... got married, because it was legal and they could and it was about bloody time, eh? Like, fuck, they'd won a Cup together and Olympic Gold and it wasn't exactly like anyone was going to be able to line up to tell them they weren't good enough -- and not that that should've been a reason not to do it, but it made it so fucking much easier.
The Hawks front office just told them congratulations on their engagement and then asked whether they'd rather talk to the Advocate or Sports Illustrated first, at which point Duncs semi-seriously suggested instead they could maybe run away to Hawaii, or at least a cabin somewhere far enough in the middle of fucking nowhere Ontario that didn't have the internet.
"Suck it up," Jenny from PR advised them cheerfully, and spun her pen through her fingers at high speed. Seabs was a little concerned it was going to go flying and possibly cause some kind of horrible injury, but it turned out she did have everything under control.
She also gave them a set of notes for talking to major publications, because while Seabs had absolutely no problems whatsoever talking about his game or even - as much as it fucking sucked more than anything aside from maybe getting injured - even dealing with the press after they'd gotten dumped out of the playoffs in the first round for the second year in a row, but he really wasn't sure he was ready to be some kind of spokesperson; to stand up and be the first guy who decided he wanted to actually take that leap as a professional athlete in the US.
"I think you'd be second," Duncs had said when they were discussing it at home, at first, "Because Keith comes first alphabetically, so unless you're also planning on changing your last name--"
"Oh fuck you," Seabs had said, shoving Duncs, "You change your last name."
Brent comes before Duncan, anyway, so Seabs would get ahead of him there. And they couldn't hyphenate, because that'd just make Seabs think about his brother every time and... ew. No.
And even though he knew he shouldn't, Seabs did kind of like the idea of putting his name on Duncs that literally, that blatantly.
"Probably not gonna happen," Duncs had said after a few seconds, but it was long enough that Seabs was pretty sure that he did actually think about it, and it's not like he was really set on it, but he liked that Duncs considered it. No one would ever let them fucking live it down, though, and as much as the league had improved for the types of shit people will say out on the ice, he didn't exactly want to give anyone that obvious an opening.
"Maybe we could get tattoos instead," Seabs had said after a second, and that time he really wasn't serious, he just wanted to see Duncs' reaction.
"See if you don't wake up with my name on your ass sometime soon," Duncs threatened cheerfully, and Seabs just swatted at him and then climbed into his lap, shoving him back against the couch and kissing him messily. They've got, like. Three whole days before they need to talk to anyone else about this, that's plenty of time for details and for fooling around.
If anyone had been keeping score (which they both sort of were, they always were) ... that time, Duncs came first.
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