Five Times Douglas Told Evgeni He Loved Him... (Evgeni Nabokov/ Douglas Murray)
Title: Five Times Douglas Told Evgeni He Loved Him, and One Time He Didn't
Author: sherlockelly & revuko
Pairing: Evgeni Nabokov / Douglas Murray; San Jose Sharks
Rating: R, but it varies. Overall, there is swearing.
Disclaimer: Real people, fake story.
Summary: Title is pretty much exactly the summary.
1) Blush
They haven’t started dating yet, and they’re still around five months removed from their first kiss, but Douglas has been fishing hard to catch the goaltender’s attention. It started innocently enough, flirting in the locker room, innocuous teasing. But the excited bubbling in Dougie’s stomach whenever Evgeni is around has starting to become painfully obvious.
His techniques are all calculated, and Dougie is pretty sure that Evgeni is responding to his affections. But being as shy as he is, it’s often hard to tell.
Douglas loves to watch Evgeni blush, makes it his goal at least once a day. It’s not exactly hard. He usually tries to get to practice early, after Evgeni but before everyone else. The first thing he does when he gets there is strip down to his underwear, put his jock on, and wait: shuffling around in next to nothing, pretending to get all of his equipment ready, studying his jersey carefully.
He’ll watch out of the corner of his eye as Evgeni, in his UnderArmour, socks pulled up high, does he stretches on the floor, averting his eyes each time Douglas struts by, wiggling his ass.
“How do ya get so low?” Douglas likes to comment, let Evgeni know he’s watching.
“Iya--.” Evgeni can never finish a sentence in response.
“You oughta teach me that sometime.” Douglas winks and glows inside when it sends the goaltender into a nervous fit, deep red blush filling out his face and ears.
Once the rest of the team starts filing in, Douglas tones it down only a bit. He throws on a shirt only when Joe starts razzing him, and gets his own UnderArmour on just moments before the coach will start getting on his case, but he still steals glances at the netminder.
And nine times out of ten, Evgeni is looking back at him. The thrill spirals through him whenever their eyes meet, and something inside of Douglas just knows that this is worth pursuing.
When the game is over and they are all piling back into the locker room, it really depends on Evgeni’s mood, win or loss, how the rest of the guys are feeling. But tonight, things went well, and Evgeni is laughing and joking with the rest of them.
Patrick says something ridiculous and Clowie continues it, the room is filled with laughter. Douglas doesn’t even hear what Evgeni says, he’s too busy listening to the rush of blood in his head as he watches the goaltender laugh in his unguarded way, cheeks shiny and beaming.
And it should be embarrassing the way that Douglas’ laugher erupts loudly in the echoing room at the comment that he didn’t even hear.
“See, Nabs! Thass why I love you!” And his admission should probably make it worse.
But then Evgeni’s face is turning red as the bars around his net, and Douglas just feels happy.
2) Wake-Up Call
It is seven on the dot when Douglas knocks on Evgeni’s door. His weight shifts from leg to leg and he looks down the empty hotel hallway, bringing his arms closer around himself.
It’s been six months or so since he and Evgeni began their relationship, and by now he knows some of the quirks that Evgeni keeps hidden, including the fact that the goaltender often has to set four or five alarms to wake himself up in the morning.
Douglas volunteered to wake him up in person, if Evgeni wanted, and the man had smiled and nodded, agreeing that is was a good idea. Now, whenever they are on the road, Evgeni will secretly hand Douglas his extra room key, grinning as the defenseman pockets it discreetly.
“Wake me up at seven? If you dhon’t see me down at breakfast.”
Douglas has always been an earlier riser, waking himself up sometimes as early as 5:30 and walking down to the lobby for coffee and the newspaper. When he’s not completely unconscious with sleep, Evgeni himself can be up by 6. But rarely is that the case.
This particular morning, Douglas had scanned the lobby quickly and found it devoid of teammates. Around 6:45 he headed back upstairs, planting his feet outside the goaltender’s door, his eyes on his watch.
By 6:57 Douglas was ready to jump out of skin. Finally, it turned seven and Douglas tapped on the door.
Predictably, there is no answer, so Douglas slips the key from his pocket and waits for the green light to flash, granting him entrance.
Evgeni keeps the blinds closed tight and the air on full blast. The room is freezing when Douglas steps inside the thick blackness, a chill shooting up his spine. He spots the lump buried under a mountain of blankets and loose pillows, and he smiles to himself.
The only part of Evgeni visible above the stark white comforter is a spout of messy hair peeking up from the soft cotton. Douglas pads over to the bed and toes his shoes off from the heel.
“Yevi,” Douglas whispers it like a question, testing to see how awake the man is. He lifts the blankets enough to slip under into the heady heat. The trapped air is warm from Evgeni’s body and smells like skin and soap and sweat and him. Douglas’ stomach flips pleasantly and the butterflies are fluttering like mad.
Evgeni stirs as the bed sinks under the added weight, grunting unhappily before his breathing evened back out.
“Yevi, it’s time t’wake up, yeah?” Douglas can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watches the man’s brow furrow in displeasure.
“Nyet,” the goaltender turns his face enough to burry his head in the pillows. Douglas laughs, curling himself against the warm skin. Evgeni sleeps in only boxer-briefs, often hiked up around his bellybutton by morning as a result of all his tossing and turning.
For such a heavy sleeper, Douglas was alarmed to find how much thrashing the man did in his state of unconscious. The first time they’d shared a bed, he’d woken up in the middle of the night when Evgeni had wiggled himself around enough to kick Douglas in the side, all while entirely asleep.
“C’mon babe, you haff to have time to eat sumthin’,” the larger man pleads, a grin still plastered to his face.
“I hate yhou,” Evgeni’s voice is gruff, but he allows Douglas to pull his form closer, cuddling into the larger body. “You ahren’t making it easier,” he sighs as he feels Douglas’ hair brushing against his bare shoulders.
“Wan’ me to go?”
“No.”
“Wan’ me to call in sick for you?”
Evgeni laughs. “Tempting. Bhut no.”
They lie still in the silence of the room for a bit, Evgeni slowly beginning to stir as Douglas continues to stroke long, curling patterns over his biceps with his fingertips.
The quiver in Douglas’ stomach hasn’t gone away yet, and the man can hear his own swallow. “I was-am, I guess-a little nervous this morning.”
“’Bhout what? The game?” Evgeni’s voice is still raspy with sleep, and he doesn’t seem to notice the odd change in subject.
“No. Not really.” Douglas lets himself really consider for a moment. His fingers quiet themselves and Evgeni wiggles back against him. “I s’pose I dunno.” But he really thinks that he does. “Jus’ coming here to getja, maybe.”
“Rheally? But you ahlways wake me up.”
“I know.”
Douglas can feel the prickle of sweat under his skin and suddenly the freezing room feels a million degrees and he can’t breathe, can’t swallow, but his voice is spilling out of him.
“I think-I think that I, uh. That I might love you.”
He swallows thickly around his tongue, too big now for his mouth, while he waits, ears ringing in the impossible silence.
“Oh.” He can feel Evgeni’s eyes on him, hear the smile in his one simple syllable. But he doesn’t look, training his own instead on a very interesting speck of something on the ceiling above his head. “Iya think that I might love you, too.”
Douglas notices the ease with which Evgeni answers. Knows without a doubt that Evgeni has been waiting for him to say it first. But none of that changed the fact that Evgeni was the first person Douglas had felt this way about since before he’d even come to America for college. And he knew that once he had said those words, all power he had over the situation was gone.
Douglas remembers the first time he’d told Nils that he loved him, when they were both sixteen and stupidly exposed; and also how horrendously his heart had been broken not four months later when the boy had decided he had other things, other people, that he wanted to do.
Handing over that control had been Douglas’ biggest mistake. And now the whole situation just scared him so thoroughly.
“Dougie?” Evgeni prods just enough to convey his worry, and the sound breaks the bubble trapping Douglas in his head.
“‘M really glad.” It’s all he can think to say. But it is the absolute truth.
3) Butterfly
Douglas is in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee for Evgeni and himself. He yawns, his actions pausing as he let the exhale shake through his entire body. Sniffing and blinking his watery eyes, Douglas grabs a toasty cup in each hand and heads out to the living room.
Last night, the Sharks had one of their rougher games of the season, Douglas sore from both his muscles, and the yelling they got from Ron in the locker room. If it wasn’t for the man currently curled up on Douglas’ couch, they would have lost for sure.
The room is drafty and cold, Douglas thoughtlessly forgetting to close the windows when the two came back to his home, tired and grumpy. The piled blankets smother the man sitting on the couch, Evgeni insisting that Douglas bring all five of them out so he wouldn’t catch a cold. He had rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s complaining, but he dutifully retrieved them. He was rewarded with a thankful smile, and it warmed Douglas from the inside out, far more than any blanket could.
He hands the man his coffee, laughing as a mass of blankets accept the offered mug, Evgeni unwilling to leave his protective layers of heat for even a second. “Thank yhou,” he sing-songs, bringing the warm drink up to his lips instantly, eyes closing with delight as the burning hot liquid travels down his throat.
He catches Douglas’ stare, the other unable to look away, or rather move at all, as he watched the bliss that crossed Evgeni’s face at the simple action. Cocking his head with a raised eyebrow at the man when he was caught red-handed, Douglas can only blush and shrug, plopping himself down on the couch.
Evgeni has this strange ability to entrance Douglas with every little thing that he does. He can’t explain it, but everyday, Douglas finds something more about the man: something that he is accustom to say, involuntary things he does with his eyebrows when he’s talking, his pet peeves and his aspirations.
The nuances make Evgeni the man that Douglas has come to know very well, but at the same time, he knows that he hasn’t even scratched the surface. He’d really like to know more though, he really did.
One thing that he knew about Evgeni for a fact, is that the man cannot stand the cold. “You can’t share?” he asks, laughing, after he tugged at a corner of a blanket, only to receive a protesting grunt. “I’m cold too, y’know.”
Evgeni blinks away from the television, currently paused on a commercial for weight-loss pills, and sends a pout in Douglas’ direction.
“I got you coffee, after all,” he smirks, seeing the way Evgeni’s eyebrows crease with frustration before they twitch to keep the disgruntled look, the telltale sign that Evgeni knew that he couldn’t win.
“Fine,” he replies shortly, handing his cup to Douglas to hold as he shifts the blankets around, scooting in closer and tucking the blanket under Douglas’ chin. He flinches as he leans over to take back his cup. His body is warm as it presses flush against Douglas’ side, the contact sending shivers up and down his spine.
“Yhou’re too cold!” Evgeni complains, grumbling and shifting his body around to try and get away from Douglas’ admittedly chillier body. But Douglas holds fast, stretching his arm over the man’s shoulder and burying his nose behind Evgeni’s ear.
The man shivers again, but this time Douglas knows it’s not fully from the cold.
“I’ll be warm soon,” he promises, pulling back to right himself, but not before he presses a kiss to the man’s temple. He turns back to the television, questioning the choice of commercial. “What-?” he drifts off, indicating the screen with the hand holding his drink.
Evgeni just smiles coyly, Douglas seeing the man’s haughty look out of the corner of his eye and waiting. “You’ll see.”
Pressing play after a bit of fumbling with the remote through the blankets, Evgeni settles back into Douglas’ larger, and rapidly warming, body.
Douglas is both surprised and not at all as he watches the highlights from last night’s game flash across the screen, Randy’s voice picking up in pitch as the opposing team sped down the ice. It wasn’t that bad… okay, maybe three on one with Douglas the only one back besides Evgeni, at least five feet out of the paint, wasn’t exactly stellar hockey playing.
Douglas watches his miniature self as he committed to check the one coming up the middle of the ice, only to have him pass the puck just before he was checked, leaving the goaltender against two forwards with no support for himself.
Miraculously, after a series of passing back and forth between the two on the other team, Evgeni sprawled out to catch the initial shot, and snatched the puck of the air on the rebound attempt. The camera pans to the other players, their faces frozen with disbelief, Randy screaming “Robbery, pure robbery!” in the background.
Douglas is staring in shock as well now. He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it for himself. Though slightly embarrassed by his poor defensive play, Douglas can only smile with gratitude. “God, I love you so much.”
Evgeni’s laugh makes Douglas smile even more, the two of them curling up even closer to share their combined warmth. “Iya know.”
4) 129 Minutes
When the last player slams his way through the door and slinks over to his stall, Douglas finally looks up from the hideous green carpet and scans the room. A couple heavy black stares catch with his; a couple more red-rimmed eyes dart quickly away. Some of the younger guys have tear tracks on their cheeks; some of the older ones too.
He hates this. Absolutely despises this moment in time and everything about it. The hatred bubbles in his gut and rises in his throat like acid, burning bitter in his mouth. His autopilot switches on not long after, and Douglas doesn’t snap back until the robustly gritty smell of Barbasol fills his nose.
He will wait to shave when he’s home. The plane will smell bad enough, like old men and failure, without him needing to rub it all over his face. Literally, he adds to himself as he watches Jumbo lather up next to him.
Douglas has been looking for Evgeni since they walked off the ice. His forehead is still vibrating from the collision of their helmets and his skin buzzes with nervousness and defeat. He doesn’t know where this apprehension came from; sadly, they’ve been in this position before.
It isn’t until Douglas boards the plane that he finally sees Evgeni, and his damp tufts of dirty blonde hair that poke up over the top of the seat. The other guys know to leave Evgeni well enough alone after any loss, but tonight they keep about a 10 foot distance all around. It is hard to do on a small plane, but somehow they manage.
Douglas never was one for avoiding his anxiety, especially not with Evgeni, and when he passes the slumped man, forehead plastered to the window, Douglas slips into the empty seat next to him.
He ignores the wide-eyed stares from other guys as they walk by; he ignores the defeated grunt from Evgeni when the goaltender opens his eyes, just a sliver, and takes in Douglas’ tired expression.
He doesn’t tell Douglas to leave, and that is enough.
Neither of them speak until the plane is somewhere over Nevada, glittering lights across the horizon, the hum of the engine drowning out the last of the quiet sniffles and gentle snores from their teammates.
“Ehverything hurts,” Evgeni whispers, the timbre in his voice making Douglas’ chest ache. He can feel Evgeni’s muscles quaking, his whole body vibrating as after hours of activity, his body sits atrophying in the cramped plane seat.
Douglas’ muscles are burning from 32 minutes of play; he can’t even begin to imagine how broken Evgeni must feel after 129. The man looks up at him through dark eyelashes, damp hairs clinging together like spiders’ legs as his eyes water with the strain.
Evgeni turns his body to lean on the larger man, his neck popping loudly, spine creaking as his head lulls to rest on Douglas ’ shoulder.
Not long after, Evgeni finally falls asleep. His body trembles through his breaths, his nose whistling every so often. Douglas tips his head back and looks up at the soft glow from the cabin lights. He can feel Evgeni twitch as he undoubtedly dreams about the game, muscles fighting to make an imaginary save.
The movement causes the goaltender to whine in his throat, the protestation drowning in the ambient noise.
“Ya air ledsen fur allt. Iag elscar dei,” Douglas turns enough to press his lips to Evgeni’s damp hair, this time from a cold sweat.
It is seven hours after the game has ended; and Douglas finally cries.
5) Snow Showers
He knows that this is a part of a game, the vestiges of a rush to the net turning into a dusting of snow in the netminder’s face. But he also knows that he is expected to retaliate for it. And not only for the fact that he happens to be currently dating the man in the mask, now spitting and cursing as he wipes the ice crystals from his eyes.
It certainly doesn’t help that it’s Corey Perry; Douglas has had this guy’s number since he accused Evgeni of trying to kick him. Douglas knew Evgeni had a temper on the ice, but not one bad enough to do that. Or, well, at least not hard enough to really hurt them. But then there was the crosscheck to the back of Evgeni’s legs. Douglas had been trying to get up from behind the net when the rival’s stick came up and back down in the crease behind Evgeni’s knees.
Next he remembered was trying to shove Milan out of the way to reach either man at the bottom of the pile. The best he could do was throw the remaining players off the man as the referee’s whisked Perry away from the scrum. He hadn’t even been too upset at the time, having missed most of the action, until he saw the replay on the screen.
That night, Evgeni was sore as hell, and Douglas recalled having to help him ice the backs of his thighs, the goaltender splayed out on his belly across the bed.
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” Douglas was infuriated that he hadn’t done just that right there on the ice.
Douglas is on him faster than he knew he could move and digging the length of his stick into the man’s back.
“Stay the fuck away from him,” he spits, grinding the wood deeper into Perry’s spine. “Nex’ time ya do somethin’ ta ‘im, I’m gunna do it right back. Got it?” Perry grunts. “‘N ‘m not gunna take it easy.”
He’s being pulled off by a ref and yelled at, but the only thing Douglas can hear is the pounding of his own heart. The penalty is assessed and he’s being shoved toward the box, skated by a grateful Evgeni.
He winks at the man as he’s manhandled over to the other side of the rink, two for roughing the call.
“Love ya, babe.” It’s quiet and under his breath, and he isn’t sure that Evgeni actually heard the words, but the blush in his cheeks tells Douglas that he’s at least read his lips.
1) First Night
It is Abigail’s first night home, and neither of them can stop from fussing over her. Evgeni stands at the side of the crib with a baby book open his arms, checking for hundredth time to see that sleeping on her back is okay.
“Babe, it’s okay, she’s fine like that.”
“They change the rheccomendation all the time! What if she’s supposed to be on her stomach?”
“She’s not! The pediatrician said!”
Evgeni flips through a few more pages before finally allowing Douglas to take the book from his arms. Abigail’s legs flail wildly, her eyes blinking owlishly against the light.
Douglas winds the mobile and sets the baby monitor on the diaper table. He has to pull Evgeni away from the side of the crib after they both kiss Abigail goodnight. The infant starts to settle down when the lights finally flick off, and soft tinny notes resonate in the small, pale yellow nursery.
They drift off quickly into a much-needed sleep of their own not long after. Evgeni rises to prepare Abigail’s bottle first, the child’s cries waking both of them not a few hours later.
She is comforted back into silence by a quiet song from Evgeni, a sad-sounding Russian lullaby that Douglas hears through a thin layer of static on the monitor at his bedside. His own eyes grow heavy and he is back asleep before Evgeni returns to bed.
The piercing cries wake them both once more, again after only a few hours. Douglas rises dutifully, kissing Evgeni once on the forehead before he heads down the kitchen to prepare the formula.
Evgeni can hear him fussing around, the microwave buzzing and beeping. He watches the shadows on the ceiling, waiting for Douglas to return to bed. He closes his eyes for what feels like only a moment before shouting wakes him.
“Fuck! Yevi! Look!” The frightened sound in Douglas’ voice brings the other man darting into the room in seconds flat, all traces of sleepiness overtaken by adrenaline. Abigail is cradled tightly in Douglas’ arms, dwarfed by his massive size. Her cheeks are tinged a deep purpley-red as she sucks helplessly on her bottle.
“Why duz she look like that?! Yevi, she’s turning purple!” Douglas’ voice breaks, his brow glittering with sweat in his panic.
“Dougie, it’s okay!” Evgeni presses his hand calmingly on Douglas’ shoulder, pulling the bottle away from their daughter’s mouth. The color in her cheeks begins to even out almost instantly. “The nipple mhust be blocked or something,” Evgeni squints at the tiny opening at the tip of the bottle, relaxing instantly when he sees the tiny clump of formula clogging the tip.
With a soft squeeze, the blob pops free onto Evgeni’s fingers, a dribble of milk following behind it. When Evgeni hands the bottle back over, he notices how badly Douglas is shaking. The larger man is pushing the infant toward him before Evgeni can even process it.
Next thing he knows, Abigail is mewling and squirming in his arms, Douglas slipping out of the nursery. Abigail sucks calmly on the bottle when it is returned to her mouth, cheeks remaining a happy pink. Before long, she presses the tip from her mouth with her tongue and yawns contentedly. Evgeni calmly returns the girl to her crib and pads back to the master bedroom.
He is surprised to find Douglas sitting on the floor instead of on the bed. Evgeni is about to make a joke when he hears the stifled sobs.
“Dougie? What’s wrong?” Evgeni practically throws himself on the floor, face curling up in concern. Douglas’ face is buried in his hands, shoulders shaking as his body responds to the tears.
Evgeni’s hand is shaking as he reaches out to pet Douglas’ hair, smoothing it back behind his ear, fingers combing loose tangles away. He’s never seen Douglas cry, heard him only once, but even then wasn’t exactly sure he could trust his ears.
“Baby, please,” he is begging for some response, but what he gets is inaudible. The larger man sags against him, fingers reaching blindly, finally wrapping Evgeni in a tight hug.
The goaltender can feel the hot wetness seeping through his shirt.
“Please talk to me,” Evgeni’s stomach feels like liquid, sloshing around inside of himself unstably.
He can feel Douglas finally relax. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his breathing before sitting back against the bed, red-eyes not meeting Evgeni’s.
Finally his mouth opens, a tiny voice escaping.
“I-I don’t even. Yevi, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“What do you mhean?” And just for a moment, he’s scared.
“I ‘ave no idea how to be a dad! I-I don’t-there’s jus’ a million things that I don’t-,” his words trip over themselves out of his mouth.
“Shh, I dhon’t either.”
“I’ve never felt so fucking ‘elpless.”
“I’m nhot an expert, but I think that means we’re dhoing it right,” Evgeni tries to crack a smile, but a weird pit in his stomach alerts him to the truth of his words.
“What if she gets hurt?”
“She probhably will.”
“What if she gets sick?”
“Definitely will. And, my Ghod, Douglas! Just think! What if she actually wants to play hockey?” Evgeni laughs abruptly and Douglas finally cracks a smile.
“‘M being neurotic, I know.”
Evgeni scoots in impossibly closer, wrapping his arms as far around Douglas as they will go, placing a kiss to the soft cotton covering the large shoulder before resting his head on it.
“You’re going to be an ahmazing father. You ahlready are.”
“I-I,” Douglas swallows his shaky breath, turning to Evgeni and sighing vulnerably. His eyes look questioning and scared and reassured all at once. But Evgeni has been able to read Douglas for years, even his silence.
“I love yhou, too.”
Author: sherlockelly & revuko
Pairing: Evgeni Nabokov / Douglas Murray; San Jose Sharks
Rating: R, but it varies. Overall, there is swearing.
Disclaimer: Real people, fake story.
Summary: Title is pretty much exactly the summary.
1) Blush
They haven’t started dating yet, and they’re still around five months removed from their first kiss, but Douglas has been fishing hard to catch the goaltender’s attention. It started innocently enough, flirting in the locker room, innocuous teasing. But the excited bubbling in Dougie’s stomach whenever Evgeni is around has starting to become painfully obvious.
His techniques are all calculated, and Dougie is pretty sure that Evgeni is responding to his affections. But being as shy as he is, it’s often hard to tell.
Douglas loves to watch Evgeni blush, makes it his goal at least once a day. It’s not exactly hard. He usually tries to get to practice early, after Evgeni but before everyone else. The first thing he does when he gets there is strip down to his underwear, put his jock on, and wait: shuffling around in next to nothing, pretending to get all of his equipment ready, studying his jersey carefully.
He’ll watch out of the corner of his eye as Evgeni, in his UnderArmour, socks pulled up high, does he stretches on the floor, averting his eyes each time Douglas struts by, wiggling his ass.
“How do ya get so low?” Douglas likes to comment, let Evgeni know he’s watching.
“Iya--.” Evgeni can never finish a sentence in response.
“You oughta teach me that sometime.” Douglas winks and glows inside when it sends the goaltender into a nervous fit, deep red blush filling out his face and ears.
Once the rest of the team starts filing in, Douglas tones it down only a bit. He throws on a shirt only when Joe starts razzing him, and gets his own UnderArmour on just moments before the coach will start getting on his case, but he still steals glances at the netminder.
And nine times out of ten, Evgeni is looking back at him. The thrill spirals through him whenever their eyes meet, and something inside of Douglas just knows that this is worth pursuing.
When the game is over and they are all piling back into the locker room, it really depends on Evgeni’s mood, win or loss, how the rest of the guys are feeling. But tonight, things went well, and Evgeni is laughing and joking with the rest of them.
Patrick says something ridiculous and Clowie continues it, the room is filled with laughter. Douglas doesn’t even hear what Evgeni says, he’s too busy listening to the rush of blood in his head as he watches the goaltender laugh in his unguarded way, cheeks shiny and beaming.
And it should be embarrassing the way that Douglas’ laugher erupts loudly in the echoing room at the comment that he didn’t even hear.
“See, Nabs! Thass why I love you!” And his admission should probably make it worse.
But then Evgeni’s face is turning red as the bars around his net, and Douglas just feels happy.
2) Wake-Up Call
It is seven on the dot when Douglas knocks on Evgeni’s door. His weight shifts from leg to leg and he looks down the empty hotel hallway, bringing his arms closer around himself.
It’s been six months or so since he and Evgeni began their relationship, and by now he knows some of the quirks that Evgeni keeps hidden, including the fact that the goaltender often has to set four or five alarms to wake himself up in the morning.
Douglas volunteered to wake him up in person, if Evgeni wanted, and the man had smiled and nodded, agreeing that is was a good idea. Now, whenever they are on the road, Evgeni will secretly hand Douglas his extra room key, grinning as the defenseman pockets it discreetly.
“Wake me up at seven? If you dhon’t see me down at breakfast.”
Douglas has always been an earlier riser, waking himself up sometimes as early as 5:30 and walking down to the lobby for coffee and the newspaper. When he’s not completely unconscious with sleep, Evgeni himself can be up by 6. But rarely is that the case.
This particular morning, Douglas had scanned the lobby quickly and found it devoid of teammates. Around 6:45 he headed back upstairs, planting his feet outside the goaltender’s door, his eyes on his watch.
By 6:57 Douglas was ready to jump out of skin. Finally, it turned seven and Douglas tapped on the door.
Predictably, there is no answer, so Douglas slips the key from his pocket and waits for the green light to flash, granting him entrance.
Evgeni keeps the blinds closed tight and the air on full blast. The room is freezing when Douglas steps inside the thick blackness, a chill shooting up his spine. He spots the lump buried under a mountain of blankets and loose pillows, and he smiles to himself.
The only part of Evgeni visible above the stark white comforter is a spout of messy hair peeking up from the soft cotton. Douglas pads over to the bed and toes his shoes off from the heel.
“Yevi,” Douglas whispers it like a question, testing to see how awake the man is. He lifts the blankets enough to slip under into the heady heat. The trapped air is warm from Evgeni’s body and smells like skin and soap and sweat and him. Douglas’ stomach flips pleasantly and the butterflies are fluttering like mad.
Evgeni stirs as the bed sinks under the added weight, grunting unhappily before his breathing evened back out.
“Yevi, it’s time t’wake up, yeah?” Douglas can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watches the man’s brow furrow in displeasure.
“Nyet,” the goaltender turns his face enough to burry his head in the pillows. Douglas laughs, curling himself against the warm skin. Evgeni sleeps in only boxer-briefs, often hiked up around his bellybutton by morning as a result of all his tossing and turning.
For such a heavy sleeper, Douglas was alarmed to find how much thrashing the man did in his state of unconscious. The first time they’d shared a bed, he’d woken up in the middle of the night when Evgeni had wiggled himself around enough to kick Douglas in the side, all while entirely asleep.
“C’mon babe, you haff to have time to eat sumthin’,” the larger man pleads, a grin still plastered to his face.
“I hate yhou,” Evgeni’s voice is gruff, but he allows Douglas to pull his form closer, cuddling into the larger body. “You ahren’t making it easier,” he sighs as he feels Douglas’ hair brushing against his bare shoulders.
“Wan’ me to go?”
“No.”
“Wan’ me to call in sick for you?”
Evgeni laughs. “Tempting. Bhut no.”
They lie still in the silence of the room for a bit, Evgeni slowly beginning to stir as Douglas continues to stroke long, curling patterns over his biceps with his fingertips.
The quiver in Douglas’ stomach hasn’t gone away yet, and the man can hear his own swallow. “I was-am, I guess-a little nervous this morning.”
“’Bhout what? The game?” Evgeni’s voice is still raspy with sleep, and he doesn’t seem to notice the odd change in subject.
“No. Not really.” Douglas lets himself really consider for a moment. His fingers quiet themselves and Evgeni wiggles back against him. “I s’pose I dunno.” But he really thinks that he does. “Jus’ coming here to getja, maybe.”
“Rheally? But you ahlways wake me up.”
“I know.”
Douglas can feel the prickle of sweat under his skin and suddenly the freezing room feels a million degrees and he can’t breathe, can’t swallow, but his voice is spilling out of him.
“I think-I think that I, uh. That I might love you.”
He swallows thickly around his tongue, too big now for his mouth, while he waits, ears ringing in the impossible silence.
“Oh.” He can feel Evgeni’s eyes on him, hear the smile in his one simple syllable. But he doesn’t look, training his own instead on a very interesting speck of something on the ceiling above his head. “Iya think that I might love you, too.”
Douglas notices the ease with which Evgeni answers. Knows without a doubt that Evgeni has been waiting for him to say it first. But none of that changed the fact that Evgeni was the first person Douglas had felt this way about since before he’d even come to America for college. And he knew that once he had said those words, all power he had over the situation was gone.
Douglas remembers the first time he’d told Nils that he loved him, when they were both sixteen and stupidly exposed; and also how horrendously his heart had been broken not four months later when the boy had decided he had other things, other people, that he wanted to do.
Handing over that control had been Douglas’ biggest mistake. And now the whole situation just scared him so thoroughly.
“Dougie?” Evgeni prods just enough to convey his worry, and the sound breaks the bubble trapping Douglas in his head.
“‘M really glad.” It’s all he can think to say. But it is the absolute truth.
3) Butterfly
Douglas is in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee for Evgeni and himself. He yawns, his actions pausing as he let the exhale shake through his entire body. Sniffing and blinking his watery eyes, Douglas grabs a toasty cup in each hand and heads out to the living room.
Last night, the Sharks had one of their rougher games of the season, Douglas sore from both his muscles, and the yelling they got from Ron in the locker room. If it wasn’t for the man currently curled up on Douglas’ couch, they would have lost for sure.
The room is drafty and cold, Douglas thoughtlessly forgetting to close the windows when the two came back to his home, tired and grumpy. The piled blankets smother the man sitting on the couch, Evgeni insisting that Douglas bring all five of them out so he wouldn’t catch a cold. He had rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s complaining, but he dutifully retrieved them. He was rewarded with a thankful smile, and it warmed Douglas from the inside out, far more than any blanket could.
He hands the man his coffee, laughing as a mass of blankets accept the offered mug, Evgeni unwilling to leave his protective layers of heat for even a second. “Thank yhou,” he sing-songs, bringing the warm drink up to his lips instantly, eyes closing with delight as the burning hot liquid travels down his throat.
He catches Douglas’ stare, the other unable to look away, or rather move at all, as he watched the bliss that crossed Evgeni’s face at the simple action. Cocking his head with a raised eyebrow at the man when he was caught red-handed, Douglas can only blush and shrug, plopping himself down on the couch.
Evgeni has this strange ability to entrance Douglas with every little thing that he does. He can’t explain it, but everyday, Douglas finds something more about the man: something that he is accustom to say, involuntary things he does with his eyebrows when he’s talking, his pet peeves and his aspirations.
The nuances make Evgeni the man that Douglas has come to know very well, but at the same time, he knows that he hasn’t even scratched the surface. He’d really like to know more though, he really did.
One thing that he knew about Evgeni for a fact, is that the man cannot stand the cold. “You can’t share?” he asks, laughing, after he tugged at a corner of a blanket, only to receive a protesting grunt. “I’m cold too, y’know.”
Evgeni blinks away from the television, currently paused on a commercial for weight-loss pills, and sends a pout in Douglas’ direction.
“I got you coffee, after all,” he smirks, seeing the way Evgeni’s eyebrows crease with frustration before they twitch to keep the disgruntled look, the telltale sign that Evgeni knew that he couldn’t win.
“Fine,” he replies shortly, handing his cup to Douglas to hold as he shifts the blankets around, scooting in closer and tucking the blanket under Douglas’ chin. He flinches as he leans over to take back his cup. His body is warm as it presses flush against Douglas’ side, the contact sending shivers up and down his spine.
“Yhou’re too cold!” Evgeni complains, grumbling and shifting his body around to try and get away from Douglas’ admittedly chillier body. But Douglas holds fast, stretching his arm over the man’s shoulder and burying his nose behind Evgeni’s ear.
The man shivers again, but this time Douglas knows it’s not fully from the cold.
“I’ll be warm soon,” he promises, pulling back to right himself, but not before he presses a kiss to the man’s temple. He turns back to the television, questioning the choice of commercial. “What-?” he drifts off, indicating the screen with the hand holding his drink.
Evgeni just smiles coyly, Douglas seeing the man’s haughty look out of the corner of his eye and waiting. “You’ll see.”
Pressing play after a bit of fumbling with the remote through the blankets, Evgeni settles back into Douglas’ larger, and rapidly warming, body.
Douglas is both surprised and not at all as he watches the highlights from last night’s game flash across the screen, Randy’s voice picking up in pitch as the opposing team sped down the ice. It wasn’t that bad… okay, maybe three on one with Douglas the only one back besides Evgeni, at least five feet out of the paint, wasn’t exactly stellar hockey playing.
Douglas watches his miniature self as he committed to check the one coming up the middle of the ice, only to have him pass the puck just before he was checked, leaving the goaltender against two forwards with no support for himself.
Miraculously, after a series of passing back and forth between the two on the other team, Evgeni sprawled out to catch the initial shot, and snatched the puck of the air on the rebound attempt. The camera pans to the other players, their faces frozen with disbelief, Randy screaming “Robbery, pure robbery!” in the background.
Douglas is staring in shock as well now. He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it for himself. Though slightly embarrassed by his poor defensive play, Douglas can only smile with gratitude. “God, I love you so much.”
Evgeni’s laugh makes Douglas smile even more, the two of them curling up even closer to share their combined warmth. “Iya know.”
4) 129 Minutes
When the last player slams his way through the door and slinks over to his stall, Douglas finally looks up from the hideous green carpet and scans the room. A couple heavy black stares catch with his; a couple more red-rimmed eyes dart quickly away. Some of the younger guys have tear tracks on their cheeks; some of the older ones too.
He hates this. Absolutely despises this moment in time and everything about it. The hatred bubbles in his gut and rises in his throat like acid, burning bitter in his mouth. His autopilot switches on not long after, and Douglas doesn’t snap back until the robustly gritty smell of Barbasol fills his nose.
He will wait to shave when he’s home. The plane will smell bad enough, like old men and failure, without him needing to rub it all over his face. Literally, he adds to himself as he watches Jumbo lather up next to him.
Douglas has been looking for Evgeni since they walked off the ice. His forehead is still vibrating from the collision of their helmets and his skin buzzes with nervousness and defeat. He doesn’t know where this apprehension came from; sadly, they’ve been in this position before.
It isn’t until Douglas boards the plane that he finally sees Evgeni, and his damp tufts of dirty blonde hair that poke up over the top of the seat. The other guys know to leave Evgeni well enough alone after any loss, but tonight they keep about a 10 foot distance all around. It is hard to do on a small plane, but somehow they manage.
Douglas never was one for avoiding his anxiety, especially not with Evgeni, and when he passes the slumped man, forehead plastered to the window, Douglas slips into the empty seat next to him.
He ignores the wide-eyed stares from other guys as they walk by; he ignores the defeated grunt from Evgeni when the goaltender opens his eyes, just a sliver, and takes in Douglas’ tired expression.
He doesn’t tell Douglas to leave, and that is enough.
Neither of them speak until the plane is somewhere over Nevada, glittering lights across the horizon, the hum of the engine drowning out the last of the quiet sniffles and gentle snores from their teammates.
“Ehverything hurts,” Evgeni whispers, the timbre in his voice making Douglas’ chest ache. He can feel Evgeni’s muscles quaking, his whole body vibrating as after hours of activity, his body sits atrophying in the cramped plane seat.
Douglas’ muscles are burning from 32 minutes of play; he can’t even begin to imagine how broken Evgeni must feel after 129. The man looks up at him through dark eyelashes, damp hairs clinging together like spiders’ legs as his eyes water with the strain.
Evgeni turns his body to lean on the larger man, his neck popping loudly, spine creaking as his head lulls to rest on Douglas ’ shoulder.
Not long after, Evgeni finally falls asleep. His body trembles through his breaths, his nose whistling every so often. Douglas tips his head back and looks up at the soft glow from the cabin lights. He can feel Evgeni twitch as he undoubtedly dreams about the game, muscles fighting to make an imaginary save.
The movement causes the goaltender to whine in his throat, the protestation drowning in the ambient noise.
“Ya air ledsen fur allt. Iag elscar dei,” Douglas turns enough to press his lips to Evgeni’s damp hair, this time from a cold sweat.
It is seven hours after the game has ended; and Douglas finally cries.
5) Snow Showers
He knows that this is a part of a game, the vestiges of a rush to the net turning into a dusting of snow in the netminder’s face. But he also knows that he is expected to retaliate for it. And not only for the fact that he happens to be currently dating the man in the mask, now spitting and cursing as he wipes the ice crystals from his eyes.
It certainly doesn’t help that it’s Corey Perry; Douglas has had this guy’s number since he accused Evgeni of trying to kick him. Douglas knew Evgeni had a temper on the ice, but not one bad enough to do that. Or, well, at least not hard enough to really hurt them. But then there was the crosscheck to the back of Evgeni’s legs. Douglas had been trying to get up from behind the net when the rival’s stick came up and back down in the crease behind Evgeni’s knees.
Next he remembered was trying to shove Milan out of the way to reach either man at the bottom of the pile. The best he could do was throw the remaining players off the man as the referee’s whisked Perry away from the scrum. He hadn’t even been too upset at the time, having missed most of the action, until he saw the replay on the screen.
That night, Evgeni was sore as hell, and Douglas recalled having to help him ice the backs of his thighs, the goaltender splayed out on his belly across the bed.
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” Douglas was infuriated that he hadn’t done just that right there on the ice.
Douglas is on him faster than he knew he could move and digging the length of his stick into the man’s back.
“Stay the fuck away from him,” he spits, grinding the wood deeper into Perry’s spine. “Nex’ time ya do somethin’ ta ‘im, I’m gunna do it right back. Got it?” Perry grunts. “‘N ‘m not gunna take it easy.”
He’s being pulled off by a ref and yelled at, but the only thing Douglas can hear is the pounding of his own heart. The penalty is assessed and he’s being shoved toward the box, skated by a grateful Evgeni.
He winks at the man as he’s manhandled over to the other side of the rink, two for roughing the call.
“Love ya, babe.” It’s quiet and under his breath, and he isn’t sure that Evgeni actually heard the words, but the blush in his cheeks tells Douglas that he’s at least read his lips.
1) First Night
It is Abigail’s first night home, and neither of them can stop from fussing over her. Evgeni stands at the side of the crib with a baby book open his arms, checking for hundredth time to see that sleeping on her back is okay.
“Babe, it’s okay, she’s fine like that.”
“They change the rheccomendation all the time! What if she’s supposed to be on her stomach?”
“She’s not! The pediatrician said!”
Evgeni flips through a few more pages before finally allowing Douglas to take the book from his arms. Abigail’s legs flail wildly, her eyes blinking owlishly against the light.
Douglas winds the mobile and sets the baby monitor on the diaper table. He has to pull Evgeni away from the side of the crib after they both kiss Abigail goodnight. The infant starts to settle down when the lights finally flick off, and soft tinny notes resonate in the small, pale yellow nursery.
They drift off quickly into a much-needed sleep of their own not long after. Evgeni rises to prepare Abigail’s bottle first, the child’s cries waking both of them not a few hours later.
She is comforted back into silence by a quiet song from Evgeni, a sad-sounding Russian lullaby that Douglas hears through a thin layer of static on the monitor at his bedside. His own eyes grow heavy and he is back asleep before Evgeni returns to bed.
The piercing cries wake them both once more, again after only a few hours. Douglas rises dutifully, kissing Evgeni once on the forehead before he heads down the kitchen to prepare the formula.
Evgeni can hear him fussing around, the microwave buzzing and beeping. He watches the shadows on the ceiling, waiting for Douglas to return to bed. He closes his eyes for what feels like only a moment before shouting wakes him.
“Fuck! Yevi! Look!” The frightened sound in Douglas’ voice brings the other man darting into the room in seconds flat, all traces of sleepiness overtaken by adrenaline. Abigail is cradled tightly in Douglas’ arms, dwarfed by his massive size. Her cheeks are tinged a deep purpley-red as she sucks helplessly on her bottle.
“Why duz she look like that?! Yevi, she’s turning purple!” Douglas’ voice breaks, his brow glittering with sweat in his panic.
“Dougie, it’s okay!” Evgeni presses his hand calmingly on Douglas’ shoulder, pulling the bottle away from their daughter’s mouth. The color in her cheeks begins to even out almost instantly. “The nipple mhust be blocked or something,” Evgeni squints at the tiny opening at the tip of the bottle, relaxing instantly when he sees the tiny clump of formula clogging the tip.
With a soft squeeze, the blob pops free onto Evgeni’s fingers, a dribble of milk following behind it. When Evgeni hands the bottle back over, he notices how badly Douglas is shaking. The larger man is pushing the infant toward him before Evgeni can even process it.
Next thing he knows, Abigail is mewling and squirming in his arms, Douglas slipping out of the nursery. Abigail sucks calmly on the bottle when it is returned to her mouth, cheeks remaining a happy pink. Before long, she presses the tip from her mouth with her tongue and yawns contentedly. Evgeni calmly returns the girl to her crib and pads back to the master bedroom.
He is surprised to find Douglas sitting on the floor instead of on the bed. Evgeni is about to make a joke when he hears the stifled sobs.
“Dougie? What’s wrong?” Evgeni practically throws himself on the floor, face curling up in concern. Douglas’ face is buried in his hands, shoulders shaking as his body responds to the tears.
Evgeni’s hand is shaking as he reaches out to pet Douglas’ hair, smoothing it back behind his ear, fingers combing loose tangles away. He’s never seen Douglas cry, heard him only once, but even then wasn’t exactly sure he could trust his ears.
“Baby, please,” he is begging for some response, but what he gets is inaudible. The larger man sags against him, fingers reaching blindly, finally wrapping Evgeni in a tight hug.
The goaltender can feel the hot wetness seeping through his shirt.
“Please talk to me,” Evgeni’s stomach feels like liquid, sloshing around inside of himself unstably.
He can feel Douglas finally relax. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his breathing before sitting back against the bed, red-eyes not meeting Evgeni’s.
Finally his mouth opens, a tiny voice escaping.
“I-I don’t even. Yevi, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“What do you mhean?” And just for a moment, he’s scared.
“I ‘ave no idea how to be a dad! I-I don’t-there’s jus’ a million things that I don’t-,” his words trip over themselves out of his mouth.
“Shh, I dhon’t either.”
“I’ve never felt so fucking ‘elpless.”
“I’m nhot an expert, but I think that means we’re dhoing it right,” Evgeni tries to crack a smile, but a weird pit in his stomach alerts him to the truth of his words.
“What if she gets hurt?”
“She probhably will.”
“What if she gets sick?”
“Definitely will. And, my Ghod, Douglas! Just think! What if she actually wants to play hockey?” Evgeni laughs abruptly and Douglas finally cracks a smile.
“‘M being neurotic, I know.”
Evgeni scoots in impossibly closer, wrapping his arms as far around Douglas as they will go, placing a kiss to the soft cotton covering the large shoulder before resting his head on it.
“You’re going to be an ahmazing father. You ahlready are.”
“I-I,” Douglas swallows his shaky breath, turning to Evgeni and sighing vulnerably. His eyes look questioning and scared and reassured all at once. But Evgeni has been able to read Douglas for years, even his silence.
“I love yhou, too.”