Free day!
The day Jack gets traded for two fresh-faced rookies, Brock feels like it's the end of the world. It takes a long time for him to recover and while he doesn't show his sorrow on the ice, every other part of his life got it in spades.
Jack was always there though, every step of the way and probably why he didn’t fuck up his stats. They make it work, a long distance thing while he’s in Pittsburgh and Jack’s out in fucking Dallas. Okay so he likes Dallas; the guys that play there, they’re decent and took Jack in with open arms, they never make him feel like an outcast, he saw it on Jack’s face the first time he came out to visit; but it was still a shitty situation for their relationship.
They are trying hard though, that’s gotta count for something.
He messages Jack after he's out of his skates and pads, avoids the media in the tussle of players despite how much he should be out there doing his job and following up with some interviews.
He sends off a quick, my first Gordie and you didn’t text me yet you jackass. message to his boyfriend and can already picture Jack’s face when he picks up his phone to read it, which makes the whole thing completely worth it.
There’s no time to check back until he’s out of the arena and the reply is just as he figured it would be.
You knocked Louis’ lights out with one punch, that Gordie Howe was served to you on a silver platter.
Brock gives his phone a stupidly soft look, his fondness for Jack practically bleeds out. He promptly texts back.
And you haven’t called me yet.
Because you’re about to get drunk and even if you didn’t want to get drunk the guys are going to drag your sorry ass out to do it.Jack tells him with that smug look that’s not there but is. Call me when you get home, unless you’re shitfaced, then call me in the morning.
Excuse me, I have a fucking amazing ass. Brock immediately types back before thinking while his smile shifts to a grin. He knows Jack expects sass back, it wasn’t them if there wasn’t. A Gordie fucking Howe! Tomorrow I’ll get you a hat trick, promise.
He watches Jack typing but then it stops a moment, just as a car honks his way and he looks up to see Barnes gesturing to him to hurry the hell up. A sudden idea crosses his mind and he hurries to add it before Jack can finish off whatever he wants to say.
Phone sex after. I’m calling in a favor.
I don’t owe you any favors, your last favor was turned in when you wanted Taco Bell before your physical. Also congrats on your Gordie Howe. Text me or call me when you’re home.
So Brock isn’t owed anything, Jack didn’t exactly say no though.
He heads out for a few drinks with some of the guys, mainly because it’s tradition and hockey’s built on that alone. He also wants to unwind with them and he really does need a couple of beers to settle down with. It’s good, better than he thought it would be, he keeps running through his head if he should feel bad or guilty that Jack isn’t there next to him, one arm draped at his shoulder or hovering close against the back of the booth. Now Bucky sits in his place, his arm perched behind him casually and it’s comfortable but never exactly fine. He doesn’t feel bad though, knows Jack doesn’t want him to. He knows he’s got to keep a mindful balance and not let negativity or their separation distract him, he’s the captain and it’s not fair to his teammates. And Jack, Jack doesn’t seem to be worried about his new home.
Brock’s unsure of how he’s managed it, but starting anew wasn’t as bad as either of them thought and like he knows already, the team’s welcomed him graciously. It still sucks that Jack isn't here, definitely, but he's still..Jack, his Jackie, who posts stupid memes on a private social account that only a handful of people know about. Who the team photographer snaps plane pictures of when Dallas is traveling to away games reading the next best detective or mystery novel; it’s always something that makes Brock’s heart swell because it’s Jack’s unspoken way of telling him he’s thinking about him. It’s Brock that gets him those books, no matter how well off Jack is, Brock insists only he’s allowed to buy them. It’s their thing, even from afar. Brock still gets morning calls, or breakfasts over Skype and fond, sarcastic replies to his texts, still gets Jack's voice pressed soft and low against his ear before he falls asleep. And no matter how vicious and defensive he can be on the ice with his team, only Jack can make him feel safe and warm despite it all.
Jack’s all the credit that’s made dealing with his trade out easy, made him stop being overly stressed and anxious, driving the rookies crazy with stupid barks of orders that never made sense. He’s glad that Jack is so endlessly amazing and calm and comfortable, glad he knows now that it doesn’t matter the distance, the happiness that he gives him is much too strong to cripple him with the alternative.
They’re at a bar that isn't too packed and Brock doesn't go too hard; if he's going to drink in excess he's much more the kind of person to do it after a loss than a win, never mind a win where he completed all three objectives for a Gordie Howe. The high of that is enough on its own considering it’s early in the season and he wants to rack them up like Tocchet used to back in the day and there just might be a slight need to one up Chara on his current count, then maybe Jack will stop talking Polish with the guy whenever they’re in town together. If he’s a little jealous of their friendship, no one has to know. Either way, he’s not here to ingest too much alcohol followed by the subsequent dumb decisions and hangovers. Jack was usually the responsible one and since he wasn’t around to take him back to his place, he wasn’t going to let anyone else take that job over. Besides which, he’s still expected to call and check in, Jack has to do the same when he’s out after a game, they still watch each other’s backs no matter what and this night isn’t any different.
He makes it home sometime after one in the morning, struggling and fumbling for his phone out of his pocket as soon as his bedroom door is closed behind him and hitting call.
Jack's an hour behind him, but he's almost always asleep before midnight, though Brock knows he'll answer anyway. He does, mumbling a sleep-rough, Hey that makes Brock smile, flushed a little with alcohol and giddiness, because Jack always waits up for him.
“Hey.” Brock says breathlessly. “Y’know, I got a real Gordie Howe, Jackie. Can ya believe it? Already! Bad conduct for captains m’sure, but I’m gettin’ ‘em!”
"I know, Brock." Jack says fondly. "I already said congratulations."
Brock grins, dropping down onto his bed and kicking his shoes off. He unbuttons his jeans for good measure and there’s a sigh of relief. "No. You typed it in yer phone. Ya didn't say it verbally.”
"Oh yeah?" Jack retorts, and he sounds like he’s smiling. “Still harboring sound logic even after getting wasted, amazing.”
“Fuck off, I ain’t wasted.” Brock should be offended. “I only drank three beers tonight, asshole. An’ are ya still usin’ that old landline phone? Yer comin’ out all weird again like last time, Jackie. You were jus textin’ with the cell, I told ya to retire that piece of garbage, fuckin’ hipster!”
Jack groaned. “I’m not a hipster, I just like certain stuff from the past. Did you have fun?"
"Yeah, maybe." Brock relents, giving up on crapping on his dumb telephone, for now. "Was alright considerin’ you ain’t with us no more. You should come ‘ere, fer the summer.”
"You don’t wanna come see Dallas? Meet the guys?" Jack asks.
Brock hums. "Dunno. Gonna go to New York with ya to see yer family like usual, but Pittsburgh’s been home fer damn too long, you should come back ‘ere, everyone still misses ya.”
“I miss them too.” Jack says, a little to gently. “I miss you the most though. We’ll figure something out.”
“Good.” Brock says, feeling delighted, if not a little loopy. He smiles up at the ceiling and runs his hand casually over his stomach. "Hey, I wish you were ‘ere right now. I wanna make out with you, like we always did when we got home, against the wall by the front door.”
"I wish we could too." Jack tells him, letting out a breath in Brock ear.
“This bed is still so nice, glad ya talked me into gettin’ the more expensive one. Like I’m sleepin’ on a cloud, Jackie. Wish you were layin’ ‘ere beside me though, miss all the space you took up.”
"Brock.." says Jack quietly.
"Yeah, well.." He sighs, because whining won’t do either of them any good. He turns to the next best thing, tugging his shirt up a little further. "Actually ya wouldn't be because it’d be me on the bed then you'd be on top of me, I mean of course unless I was in the mood to climb onto your lap and you can hold my hips. But jus this moment right now, you’d be on top and we’d be makin’ out.”
That makes Jack laugh, it’s one of his favorite sounds. "Yeah, you want that?"
"Yeah, ‘course I want that." Brock pouts, he can’t help it. "Want ya to fuck me too."
Jack sounds like he’s thinking about it, makes a thoughtful hum and Brock hears the sound of his blanket moving aside and then a rustle on his end of the line. "How?"
"Hard." Brock says immediately, sliding his hand into his jeans, just gently teasing, cupping his cock through his boxers. It makes him shiver. "Really hard. You’d get angry about me gettin’ into another fight while you were on the bench ‘cause I know you hate when I do shit like that even if it was a knock out. Yer always so damn protective of me, mouth on me while ya get me ready. You still got the beard?"
"Yeah." Jack tells him, laughing a little. "Though I thought about getting rid of it for the new season, but it reminds me of you."
Brock whimpers to that admission. "Fuck it better. Been enough nights you’ve left beard burn on my thighs before a game and I felt it all day. You could mark me up too around there.”
"Yeah?" Jack says, his voice getting hoarse. "Want me to hold you down?"
"Yes." Brock whines out, sticking his hand into his boxers without much finesse, but God he's already so fucking hard, his cock leaking in anticipation. "Wanna feel ya everywhere. Wish you could do it now so I could get the sting on my wrists next time I jerk off. I always get so full when yer in me, leave me so sore and achin’ after.”
"I'll do it when I'm there, just a couple days shy of two weeks."Jack promises. Brock hears his breath hitch, and maybe, he has to strain a little to hear, the slide of skin on skin. He groans. "Give you something to last."
"Mmm." Brock murmurs. He closes his eyes and pictures Jack jerking himself off in bed, half naked with all his hair mussed up. He wants him so badly, always aches, like this constant current of adrenaline under his skin. It doesn't really make it harder, doing this all without him, because Jack is still his and it's great and that's the most important thing, but it definitely surges up when he's getting off without Jack actually here, when it's dark and quiet and he wants Jack in his space the most. With his eyes shut he can imagine that in this moment, imagine the sheets are warm from Jack's body, imagine the fingers wrapped around his cock are Jack's, not his own. Imagine that Jack's just about to lean in and kiss him, pull all the air from his lungs. "Fuck, Jack. Want everythin’, the beard burn, the hickies, the bruises and all the soreness rolled into it."
Jack huffs a strained laugh. "How are you going to explain that in the locker room?"
"Don't care.” Brock groans. "I'll think of somethin’. Jack, are ya- "
"Yeah." He grits out. “I am, you know I am. Of course- “
"M’so hard." Brock whines out, desperate and breathless. He squeezes his dick and presses his thumb under the head like Jack does for him, fucking up with his hips, working his hand fast, barely any rhythm but so good. He thinks about grabbing the lube out of the side table and fingering himself, but he's too close, too clumsy and doesn’t want to disrupt the perfect balance of his hand, his bed and Jack in his ear touching himself. "So fuckin’ hard, Jack. God yer drivin’ me crazy not bein’ here, I want you fuckin’ me- ”
"Brock - " says Jack desperately.
"Yeah, sweetheart." Brock encourages with a moan. "C'mon, let it out, lemmie hear ya cum, Jackie, please."
Jack groans, low and cracked, a quiet rush of wonderful relief in Brock’s ear, and that's all it takes for him to lose it too, cumming hard all over his hand and wringing it all out ruthlessly.
When he blinks back to reality he's breathing hard, hot and damp but sated, tinged at the edges with the promise of Jack's hands on him soon, Jack taking him apart and putting him back together, Jack's skin and his mouth and his everything here on Brock, in Brock’s bed. The same bed Jack’s been sleeping in since they’ve been together despite owning his own house.
"Oh, fuck." He mumbles absently. "Jack, still there? Ya good?"
"Yeah Brock, I’m good." Jack replies with a chuckle, his breathing slowing out. “Really good actually.”
"Good," Brock says, because his brain isn’t completely up and running yet. "Me too. Well, fer now."
Jack snorts. "You should go to sleep, back to back games remember?"
"Yeah." He agrees, but not without a sigh. "Hey, thanks. I needed that, I just..didn’t know how much. And that was..real fuckin’ amazin’ even if it was quick and I..I really miss the hell outta ya.”
"Yeah Brock, I miss the hell out of you too." Jack says back, warm and fond. "Hey?"
"Hmm?" Brock yawns, rooting around for a dirty t-shirt on the floor.
"Congratulations." Jack says again. "You were perfect out there, you’ll beat Zdeno in no time and reign supreme over him in your little jealousy thing."
"I’m not- “ He sighs. Even without seeing his face, he knows Jack is giving him that look, the one where everyone knows Brock’s a fucking liar and he should know better. “Yeah alright, alright. He jus, gets on my nerves when yer talkin’ to each other and I can’t follow.”
“He doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s just comfortable, a change of pace for him and good practise.”
“Yeah I know.” Brock shrugs when he doesn’t have anything better to say and he can hear Jack chuckle.
“Go to sleep, getting too possessive about it.”
"No I ain’t. Maybe. But yeah, okay. I do need sleep." Brock agrees. "I love you, asshole."
"I love you too, I miss you a lot..well more than a lot really." Jack says, lingering a beat before the call comes to an end.
Brock stares at his phone for a long moment before he puts it on his table and pulls the blanket over himself, he’ll deal with a better clean up tomorrow. Right now, he’s still riding on his high and he curls up on side, rubbing his face against the pillow. He’s asleep before he knows it, smiling the whole time.