Chapter Text
If you were to ask any young Canadian hockey player what they dreamed of achieving one day; playing for Team Canada at the Olympics would probably be the most common answer - besides winning the cup of course.
Mitch remembered what it was like to watch Sidney Crosby score the golden goal in 2010, what it felt like watching the team receive their gold medals, Canadian flags draped proudly around their necks.
His mom had ruffled his hair as he sat cross legged on the carpet- as close as he could get to the television, grinning like he had won the medal alongside them.
“That’ll be you one day kid.”
And 13 year old Mitch had dared to dream, dared to dream that he would ever be good enough to represent Canada one day, to play alongside Sidney Crosby.
Sometimes, dreams come true.
++
Milan, Italy
Sometimes, when Mitch looks around at his life, he still has to pinch himself. The big stupid grin hasn’t left his face since their plane touched down in Milan, getting even bigger as the team bus takes them through the city and he points out every gelato shop he wants to visit- earning himself a pointed glare from Nate across the aisle in the process.
He’s paired up with Cale as his roommate, which is fine. Cale is a little quiet but Mitch has always been more than happy to do the heavy lifting when it comes to talking. In an ideal world he would have chosen to room with someone a little more familiar, like Stone, or Connor. Or maybe Sid, he thinks, just to get a little more familiar.
But Sid gets paired with Nate, as expected and Connor gets the rookie- Celebrini. Mitch had tried to be as welcoming as possible to the kid, knowing how intimidating national team games could be, knowing what it’s like to miss the familiarity of your team and the little family you had built back in your city.
He’d been feeling that a lot this season.
Day one is uneventful. It’s already late afternoon by the time they get unpacked and they’re all some variation of jet lagged as they stumble down to the canteen.
“Remember, practice starts at 9 tomorrow.” Sid announces as everyone is filing out.
A few of the guys are staying out to have a drink together before bed, and who is Mitch to decline that invitation?
He slides into the booth next to Connor, grinning as the older man greets him with a squeeze to his shoulder.
“Hey Marns,” He smiles. “You doing okay?”
Mitch makes an affirmative noise, eyes locked on where Marchy and Sid are giggling in the corner. “It still feels surreal, you know?” He says, fiddling with the hem of his shorts. “You probably don’t know actually,” He corrects with a small laugh, looking up. “You’re Mcjesus.”
Connor levels him with a stare. “I do know actually. It’s weird for me too.”
He’s saved by someone dropping into the vacant space beside him, a large thigh pressing into his own.
“Hey bud.” Sid smiles, warm and easy.
He’s doing the rounds, Mitch realises. Making sure everyone is settling in like a good captain should.
Mitch wriggles in his seat, mouth going dry as he looks down at where their thighs are pressed together. “Hi,” He manages.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a small crush on his captain. Hell, any member of the team would be lying if they denied that they would give anything to have Sidney Crosby’s sole attention on them.
Sid studies him for a moment, brow furrowing as he clearly sees something on Mitch’s face that he hasn’t hidden quickly enough.
“How are things in Vegas?” He asks, light, like they’re talking about the weather. “You settling in okay?”
Mitch feels like he’s swallowed glass. The warm, fuzzy feeling from this morning is beginning to fade fast. Sure, he and Sid text from time to time, mainly in the stupid group chat Nate set up for them to send pictures of their matching white shoes, but it’s easy to get away from Sid’s questions over text.
A string of random emojis is usually enough to make the older man leave him on read.
No chance of that here though.
And he doesn’t know how to say I’m homesick, I miss Toronto, I miss Auston, maybe this was a mistake.
“It’s good, nice to be in the sun.” He finally manages with a weak chuckle, ignoring the hole he can feel Connor burning into the side of his head.
Nate has come to hover over Sid’s shoulder and Mitch watches from the corner of his eye as they exchange a glance.
“Yeah, that does sound nice Marns.” Sid smiles, eyes crinkling as he squeezes Mitch’s shoulder in a way that makes his stomach clench. “You have my number if you need anything?” He asks.
Mitch nods, tracing the pattern on the sticky table.
“Maybe I’ll even take you out for that ice cream this week.” Sid continues, jabbing his elbow into Mitch’s side. “Nate doesn’t have to know.”
Nate makes a noise of protest behind them and it’s enough to break the tension, Sid giggling as he stands. “I’ll catch up with you in the morning Connor.” He promises, “See you at morning skate, Marns.”
Nate ruffles his hair as the pair of them head for their next victim, and Mitch lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
“Mitch-“ Connor starts, but Mitch has said enough for one day. He stands quickly- too quickly, almost knocking the table over with his desire to get away.
“Just remembered I told my mom I’d call her after dinner,” He gestures. “Should probably go back to our room while Cale is still out and call her.”
He digs the sharp end of his keycard into his palm as he waits for the elevator back to their floor, needing something- anything to ground him.
He’s asleep by the time Cale gets back.
++
After spending breakfast pointedly avoiding contact with the leadership trio, practice is a welcome relief. He’s itching to get back on the ice and ready for the opening game, so much so that he ends up being the first one out. He skates a few laps of the rink while he waits for everyone else, smiling to himself when the olympic rings plastered all over the boards catch his eye- a welcome reminder of why he’s here.
It’s their first full day in Milan and they’re still struggling with the timezone changes, so nothing too strenuous is expected of them. Mitch spends the first 15 minutes stretching and focusing on his drills, staying in his own little bubble on the far side of the rink.
It’s going fine, better than fine. There’s an excited buzz around the rink, the low hum of chatter.
When they’re all sufficiently warmed up, coach calls them into a huddle, notebook in hand as he studies them all one by one. Mitch isn’t really sure what he is expecting the line pairings to be, team Canada is stacked with a ridiculous amount of talent and he knows that he’s not going to be top of the pecking order by any means, not when he’s playing with the likes of Connor and Nate.
What he definitely isn’t expecting is to end up on a line with Sid.
“For the third line let’s try Marner, Crosby, Stone-“
Mitch zones out after that, blinking dumbly as Sid skates over to him, bumping their shoulders together lightly with a grin. “Ready bud?”
Mitch can only hope the noise that escapes him doesn’t sound like a whimper to Sid.
And he knows what Sid wants, what he needs. Mitch has been studying his game for the last 15 years after all, religiously watching his tape as inspiration. He needs a quick winger by his side, someone switched on, able to provide him with those beautiful passes he gets in Pittsburgh.
He can do that for his captain.
“Let’s do it,” He grins, shivering in silent delight when Sid gives him a tap on the shins with his stick as he skates away.
It’s not his first time playing with Sid- he’s been to a couple of those silly All-Star games with him, hell they had even won the four nations tournament together. But something about this felt different- was different. This was the Olympics after all, there was no room for rookie errors here.
Mitch somehow manages to make it through the rest of practice without embarrassing himself too badly. He can feel Sid looking at him, studying him with that intense stare, like he’s trying to read what Mitch is going to do before he does it.
He doesn’t think either of them predict Mitch ducking his head just as Celebrini pulls up beside him to fire a shot away, resulting in Mitch taking a hefty whack straight to the face.
The pain is immediate, searing through the bridge of his nose. He drops to his knees, vaguely aware that blood is beginning to drip down his face.
“-I didn’t see him! I’m so sorry!”
Mitch vaguely hears who he assumes is Mack frantically apologising, and he feels bad for the kid, knows it was an accident. He should tell him, let him know it’s okay, but the urge to vomit is getting stronger and he doesn’t think opening his mouth is a good idea. His head feels like cotton, so much so that it takes him a few moments to register that there’s a steady hand on his neck.
“Hey, hey Marns,” The voice says, low and soothing. “It’s alright, close your eyes if you need to. I’ve got you. We’re going to get you patched up.”
The next thing he feels is something soft being pressed to his nose, he tilts his head back, going with the pressure. “I think he’s going to need a couple of stitches on this.” Someone says, someone else lets out a low whistle.
And Mitch thinks he knows the voice, it’s Paul, one of the trainers.
“Sidney, can you grab him from that side? Let’s get him off the ice.”
Sid, Mitch thinks dreamily. He lets his head flop to the left, where Sid is taking the brunt of his weight.
“Stay with us Marns.” Sid coaxes, but Mitch has already let his eyes slip shut, pain ricocheting through every inch of his body.
He trusts Sid to keep him up, hopes he never stops touching him.
++
The next time Mitch blinks awake he’s lying on one of the hard, sterile beds he knows they have in the examination room. The heavy smell of disinfectant stings his nostrils, but when he attempts to scrunch his nose in displeasure he can’t feel it, like can’t feel his nose at all. Panic tears through him as he reaches towards his face, fingers trembling, but just before they reach their intended target a strong hand grabs his, pinning his arm to his side. Mitch looks up through his lashes, breath catching when he sees a stone faced Nate frowning down at him.
“Don’t touch your stitches,” He scolds.
Mitch blinks again, weakly attempting to pull his hand from Nate’s grasp. “Stitches?” He whines, panicked. “I can’t feel my nose.”
“Well, it’s definitely still there.”
“Nate,” Sid warns, frowning at the blonde. He’s perched on the opposite side of Mitch, running a gentle hand through his hair. “Hey Mitchy, it’s okay. They had to inject some anesthetic into your nose so they could stitch you up, that’s why you can’t feel it. It’ll wear off soon.” He promises.
Mitch frowns. “Huh.”
He must zone out again, because when he opens his eyes for the third time that day the warmth of Sid’s body and Nate’s hand are gone.
“We’re moving to the hotel tonight anyway,” He hears Sid say. “He can stay with me overnight, it’s not a problem.”
Mitch makes a noise of protest that has 3 pairs of eyes turning to look at him. Everyone knows that Sid likes his own space, has his own routines. He definitely doesn’t want to be the reason why Captain Canada is off his game.
“Nah I’m fine man,” He insists, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just need a nap and I’ll be fine, I can sleep in my own room.”
“You can’t be alone tonight I’m afraid Mitchell. You’ve taken a knock to the head so you’ll need to be watched for concussion.” The medic explains kindly.
While Nate and Sid get a full debrief from the doctor on what symptoms to look out for Mitch closes his eyes again and asks God what he has ever done to deserve this. He feels almost fine, definitely not concussed, just a little bit fuzzy around the edges and his nose is numb and-
“Come on, up you get.”
Mitch groans as Nate’s big arms wrap around his waist, hauling him up. He’s unsteady on his feet, swaying a little as they wait for Sid— the older man’s face is tight, and far too serious as he finishes up talking to the doctor. He takes the little brochure that’s handed to him, clutching it to his chest the same way he had been clutching his passport the entire way to Italy. He smiles softly when he sees Mitch watching him, pocketing the pamphlet and giving Nate a quick glance.
“You doing okay bud?” Sid asks, eyes searching Mitch’s face. “If you feel sick just let us know, eh?”
Mitch doesn’t think he would ever live it down if he ended up throwing up on Sidney Crosby.
He ends up squashed between Sid and Nate in the backseat of a taxi that definitely wasn’t made for three hockey players, and he can feel them having a silent conversation over his head. Nate’s hand finds his knee, squeezing with just enough pressure that he feels grounded for the first time since the incident. He does feel a little sick, now he thinks of it-
“Almost there.” Sid murmurs.
Almost there.
++
It’s not until Sid opens the door to his hotel room that it really clicks for Mitch.
“I thought we were all rooming alone in the hotel.” He mumbles, scratching at his sorry excuse for a beard as he takes in the ginormous king sized bed. There are two labelled bags stacked neatly at the end. 87 and 29.
Sid and Nate exchange another glance.
“Oh,” Mitch mumbles, the realisation finally dawning on him. Sid and Nate are rooming together because they are together. “I’m going to-“ He stumbles towards the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of his stomach make a violent reappearance. Nate rounds the corner just as he drops to his knees, hard. He’s shivering as he clings to the bowl, teeth chattering.
Mitch is breathing hard, breath coming out in ragged pants. The pain in his face has started to return, a deep aching sting that momentarily distracts him from thinking too hard about the situation he’s accidentally ended up in.
A cool cloth is draped over his sweaty neck, a large hand settles on his shoulder. It’s Nate.
“It’s alright, you’re alright,” He says. “Do you think you’re going to be sick again or are you done?”
Mitch blinks. “M’don’t think so.”
Nate reaches around him to flush the toilet, closing the lid gently to avoid any loud noises. He hooks his hands under Mitch’s arms, slowly pulling him up and manoeuvring him around until he’s sat on the lid. The room is silent, Mitch isn’t sure where Sid has gone and he’s not sure he wants to know. Nate works in silence, gently cupping Mitch’s chin with one of his big hands while the other grabs the wet cloth from the back of his neck. He runs it carefully across the younger man’s face, wiping away the remaining streaks of dried blood and vomit.
When Mitch finally finds the courage to look up at Nate his face is etched into a frown, brows furrowed.
Mitch hates that he doesn’t know what the older man is thinking.
“Alright Mitchy, let’s go and lie down for a bit. Yeah?”
Sid is waiting for them, perched on the side of the bed with a small orange bottle of pills in his hand. His face is scrunched in concentration as he reads the label, bringing it closer to him like that might change what’s written on there.
“You need to take two of these,” He announces, shaking the bottle and popping the cap off. “They’re the good stuff.”
Mitch grunts in response, holding out his hand. When Sid carefully deposits two little white pills into his palm he swallows them dry, flopping onto the bed as gracefully as he can. He nuzzles his face into the pillow with a sigh, trying to be mindful of his nose- it’s bad enough that he’s interrupted their night together, the last thing Sid and Nate need is blood on their pillows.
Sid- ever the gentleman, crawls in bedside him, pulling at the sheet until they’re both under it. He hesitates for a moment before laying a gentle hand over Mitch’s forehead, stroking the hair back from his face. Mitch can feel that the ends of his hair are caked with blood and sweat, its not exactly romantic territory but hey- they’re all hockey players here.
The painkillers kick in at some point, leaving him feeling loose and drowsy. He wiggles towards Sid, burying his face in the crook of the older man’s elbow.
They lay like that until the door clicks open. Mitch hadn’t even realised that Nate had left, but his return had Mitch on edge.
“Careful,” Nate chastises, tracing his fingers over where Mitch’s face is pressed into Sid’s body. “You’ll mess up your stitches.”
Mitch holds his breath as Nate pads around the bed, barely breathing as he feels the covers being peeled back behind him. The blonde is big, almost taking up half of the bed just by himself. His thigh ends up pressed against Mitch’s, and Mitch lets out a shuddery sigh as Sid starts to card a lazy hand through his hair again.
“M’sorry for cockblocking you guys.” He slurs into Sid’s arm.
Nate lets out a loud, barking laugh as Sid stills beside him.
“Get much cock before big games do you?” Nate snorts.
“Nathan,” Sid hisses, voice a clear warning.
Mitch frowns, shuffling back against the pillow so he can pout up at Nate. “Yeah, s’good. Aus used to help me out, said it was good to get me out of my head.”
The grin has disappeared from Nate’s face completely, and he’s staring down at the younger man with big, dark, unblinking eyes. “Yeah?”
“S’good,” Mitch repeats innocently. “Like to be able to feel it, helps my game.”
Somewhere above his head he can feel Sid and Nate looking at each other again, always looking.
Sid shifts beside him, clearing his throat. “Nobody is going to be feeling anything before our first game,” He frowns, captain voice coming through. “Go to sleep Mitch, I’ll wake you in a couple of hours for some more painkillers.”
He listens to his captain, drifting off again, satisfied with the warmth of the two large bodies either side of him.
When Sid shakes Mitch awake again 4 hours later he whines, his head still feeling heavy and sore. When he hears the familiar rattling of the pill bottle he simply shifts closer to the older man, sticking out his tongue as an invitation for Sid to place the pills straight into his mouth.
His eyes are still closed but Nate mumbles something as Sid gently places the pills onto his tongue, and if he wraps his lips around Sid’s fingers and suckles a little after swallowing them then sue him.
++
The next morning Mitch wakes slowly, blinking a few times as he fully gains consciousness and realises there are two bodies pressed against him. Nate is plastered against his back, one hand draped over his chest while Sid is face to face with him, legs tangled together.
His brain is slow to come back online but when it does he shoots up, dislodging Nate in the process.
He told Sidney Crosby and Nathan Mackinnon that he likes to be fucked before games so he can feel it and then fell asleep spooning them.
Fuck, he is so never going to be invited to any other team Canada events ever again.
If Sid and Nate were weirded out by his behaviour last night, they’re excellent at hiding it. They feed him breakfast and then they leave him there, in their shared bed, while they go off to morning skate with the team. Mitch is almost glad to be left alone after a painful hour of Sid pulling the pamphlet from yesterday out of his jacket pocket and doing a full checklist of every possible concussion symptom while Nate cleaned gently around his wound. Both of them touching him like he was something delicate.
It’s a lot. It’s so much that Mitch doesn’t know what to think. Yes he’s had a desperate, embarrassing crush on Sid for years but Nate-
Nate is Nate. He’s big and he’s blonde and he’s bossy and he’s been joking about making Mitch into his purse dog for years. And his huge hands cradling Mitch’s face this morning had in fact turned his insides to mush.
It wasn’t a shock per say, to learn that Sid and Nate were together, because everyone knows that they’ve always been a little bit codependent, but Mitch had thought it was more just messing around in the summer, handies in the pool, not- not having a pre agreed side of the bed and the team knowing that you need the ginormous suite to fit your big blonde boyfriend in it at the Olympics.
He manages to stumble to the bathroom, frowning when he sees his reflection in the jewel studded mirror for the first time since losing his dignity in front of the entirety of team Canada.
The cut is right across the bridge of his nose, stopping just before his left eyebrow. The dark jagged stitches stick out like a sore thumb against his pale skin, and it’s already beginning to bruise around the edges, a dark violet that he knows will fade to yellow by the time he leaves to go back to Vegas.
He looks like a pathetic mess. No wonder Sid and Nate had taken pity on him.
He isn’t cleared to practice for the next day either, no matter how hard he tries to convince the trainers that he feels absolutely fine. Nate has blabbed to them about having to wipe vomit from the corners of his mouth, and doesn’t look even the slightest bit sorry for it when Mitch glares in his direction.
“Your pupils are tracking and everything else looks good, but with the episode of vomiting yesterday we have to be on the safe side.” The trainer explains, at least having the decency to deliver some of the worst news of his life with a sympathetic smile.
There are tears stinging at the corners of his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. He leans back against the bed instead, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing.
Two days of practice missed, the first game is in a day. He’s not going to be ready.
The door clicks shut and a single tear rolls down his cheek without permission. He shouldn’t be surprised when he feels a gentle touch rubbing back and forth over his eyebrow, but of course Sid is still there- he’s an excellent captain after all, would never leave a teammate behind.
“Shh it’s okay,” Sid murmurs. “Don’t worry bud, we’ll have you back out there in no time.”
Nate is standing by the door, face unreadable as he watches them. He clears his throat, fumbling with the zip on his jacket. “The taxi is outside waiting.”
Mitch finds himself squashed between them again. Sid hands him the pair of sunglasses he had slipped in his pocket this morning to protect his eyes from the bright European winter sun, and Mitch takes them gratefully.
“Do you know who I get my room key from?” He asks, voice hoarse.
Nate frowns, blue eyes dark as he looks across at Mitch like he's just asked the stupidest question in the world. “You’re not going to your own room tonight, you’re staying with us.”
“No, I am. I’m fine, Nate” Mitch argues, nails digging into his thigh. “Dude, letting me stay last night was very kind of you both but I don’t need to stay again. You need some privacy-” He trails off.
“You haven’t been cleared from your head injury yet, Mitch.” Nate states, voice carrying a stubborn air of finality.
“Check on me before bed and in the morning then man! Just the part time pity package should be enough for tonight.”
Another look is shared between the two older men.
Sid stays silent, staring out of the window at the Milan streets, but Mitch can see that his jaw is tight, grinding like he’s holding something back.
When the taxi finally comes to a stop Sid is waiting for him on the steps of the hotel. There’s a firm hand on the back of Mitch’s neck steering him straight towards the elevator.
“My room-“ He starts, squeaking when Nate’s large figure crowds up behind them, pushing him into the elevator without a word.
Back in the room Sid presents him with two more small pills. His bag has been brought up and is stacked neatly on top of the other two.
29 , 87 , 93
He feels sick again.
Sid is already peeling back the covers.
“The team is going to hang out in the village tonight, why don’t you nap for a couple of hours and see if you feel well enough to join us?” Sid coaxes, fluffing the pillows as Nate hovers behind Mitch like he’s expecting him to make a run for it.
He wriggles under the sheet, squeezing his eyes shut. If he has any luck maybe god will take him in his sleep.
++
Mitch can definitely understand how the Olympics had run out of condoms in the first 3 days. He had forgotten just how hot some of the athletes are, how toned, how loose and easy they must be after their week of releasing mega endorphins during training.
Nobody really catches his eye though.
He briefly wonders if grindr works over here, considers redownloading it and choosing a hot, faceless guy at random to fuck him stupid- get him out of his head a little.
He’s listening to Macklin ramble about something, and nodding politely at appropriate times when the door to the hut opens like heaven’s gates and some guys that he vaguely recognises from a few of his Red Bull shoots as snowboarders pile in.
Delighted that Sid and Nate seem to have finally let him off the leash in favour of playing good hosts to the rest of the guys- he excuses himself from their huddle and sidles up to the bar, leaning on his right elbow and hoping the massive gash on his face isn’t too off-putting.
And Mitch knows that he’s attractive in a way that guys like, has never had any trouble picking up in bars and clubs before. But this week seems to have done some serious damage to his ego.
“Hey, you’re a hockey player, right?”
The guy in front of him is on the taller side for a snowboarder, around his height- but he’s lean in a way that he probably has to be to be able to do flips and shit in the air.
“Uh yeah, Canadian,” Mitch replies, “Duh.” He gestures with a blush as he remembers that he is quite literally decked head to toe in team Canada gear.
The guy laughs. “I’m Jack. From New Zealand if you couldn’t tell by the accent. Some battle wound you got there, huh?”
“And would you believe me if I told you that the battle wound in question was from my own teammate during practice.”
They chat for a while, sharing stories about their families and their teammates and what it’s like to be here.
Mitch finds himself genuinely enjoying Jack’s company. As well as being genuinely handsome the guy is funny and clearly cares a lot about his family, it’s sweet.
“Sorry if I’m reading this wrong man, but would you be interested in getting out of here?” Mitch asks, leaning forward so his breath tickles the other man’s neck.
Jack’s eyes are fixed on a point behind Mitch’s head, and the guy looks half scared as he turns to look at him. “I would be totally down, you’re really hot but-“ He leans forward, lowering his voice. “I don’t watch much hockey but I do think Crosby has been trying to murder me with his eyes for the last 15 minutes.”
Mitch groans, head in his hands. “He’s just been a bit protective since I got injured, don’t worry about him.”
Jack stands, slipping his jacket on. “Your place or mine?”
“Definitely yours.”
And Mitch is so close, he’s so close to finally getting what he wants.
But not for the first time that week God decides to show him just how much of his least favourite soldier Mitch is.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
It’s Nate, obviously.
“Just uh- going to check out the New Zealand dorms.” Mitch laughs nervously.
Nate shoots him a look that could kill before turning to Jack. “I’m so sorry if you’ve made plans but Mitch is on concussion watch,” He explains sweetly. “Took a nasty bang to the head so we need to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t go crazy or whatever. Maybe some other time?”
Nate doesn’t wait for a response before walking off, dragging Mitch by the wrist behind him like an unruly toddler.
“That was rude, Nathan.” Mitch hisses, teeth gritted.
“So is trying to sneak off to get laid when we came out for a team bonding night, Mitchell.”
The entire team are staring at them as Nate shoves Mitch down into the empty seat between Connor and Nick.
“Keep him there.” He barks.
Marchand is unsuccessfully trying to hide his laughter by turning his face into the collar of his jacket.
Connor looks unimpressed.
They’re in the middle of a card game that Mitch doesn’t know the rules to but it doesn’t matter, he’s in no mood to participate anyway. His headache has started to return and the thought of another night sleeping between Sid and Nate is enough to almost make him brave enough to attempt a second escape.
Sid is extra frowny when they get back to their room and Mitch almost wants to apologise, to get on his knees and make things better for his captain, to just go along with whatever game they seem to be playing.
Sid pouts at the all too familiar orange bottle as he shakes Mitch’s dose out, holds it out in his hand. “How do you even get it up on these?” He frowns. “I never could.”
“I didn’t need to be the one getting it up.” Mitch mutters, cheeks flushing as he swallows the pills.
“Just that desperate for it, huh?” Nate fires back. He’s stripped down to his boxers in the bathroom and Mitch would be lying if he said his mouth wasn’t watering at the imprint that was leaving very little to the imagination.
“Yeah, I am.” Mitch whispers, eyes trained on Nate.
The blonde grins wickedly. “Oh baby, you’re so greedy aren’t you Mitchy? Take it from anyone.”
Sid sucks in a breath behind them. “Nate, we talked about this.”
And Mitch feels like cold water has been poured over him, of course Sid wouldn’t want him flirting with Nate.
“Sid man I’m so so sorry, I completely forgot you two-“
“Have been thinking about you for years?” Sid finishes, grinning lopsidedly as he strips his own clothes off and perches on the side of the bed in his boxers.
“What,” Mitch blinks. “No, I-“
Nate chuckles, taking a step forward so he’s pressed flush against Mitch’s back. “You think we couldn’t see your little crush on Sid?”
“You’re such a pretty boy Mitchy,” Sid agrees, patting the mattress beside him. “Think we couldn’t see how bad you wanted it last year during the four nations?”
Mitch collapses forward onto the bed, mewling as he crawls towards Sid. “Fuck… please? Sid?”
Sid makes a few soothing noises, getting his hand in Mitch’s hair and scratching at his scalp just right.
“I meant what I said,” He says, in that firm but gentle captain voice. “Nobody is getting fucked before we play a game at the Olympics. I’m not going to have you out there broadcasted to the world skating horribly because you’re still sore.”
“Sid,” Nate chastises teasingly, “Don’t be so mean, look at how desperate he is. Tried to sneak off to get fucked by half a ski team.”
Mitch grumbles into the sheets.“He was a snowboarder.”
Nate waves his hand dismissively. “Same thing.”
Sid is watching them silently, hazel eyes flickering between the toned line of Mitch’s back and Nate’s broad chest.
“What about if we just use his mouth? Huh?” Nate purrs. “Have to be careful with your pretty face and those stitches but we can make it work.”
“Does it hurt?” Sid asks, running a gentle thumb over Mitch’s brow.
His left eye is starting to bruise, a deep ugly purple that seemed to be looking more horrifying by the hour.
“A little,” Mitch frowns, scrunching his nose and flinching at the sensation of the stitches pulling against his skin. “It’ll be okay though, just not too rough?”
Sid hums, a displeased frown clouding his face. “Nate?”
And Mitch- he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He wants it so bad, wants to feel useful around these two men who are so talented, so accomplished. Wants to be taken out of his head and reminded what he’s good at.
“You want it Mitchy?” Nate asks, settling back against the headboard. He’s leaning against Sid, their shoulders touching and Mitch thinks it’s the closest he’s seen them be in this room since he got here.
Nate’s thighs are absolutely monstrous. Obviously he’s not quite at Sid’s level of thigh god, but it’s Nate’s thighs that he’s kneeling between and dude- he’s going to have to watch Nate in the gym, see what he does to achieve what Mitch is currently staring at.
Mitch wriggles onto his stomach, shimmying down the giant bed until he feels confident that the angle isn’t going to hurt his neck. And he’s not nervous about this part, he’s not a newbie to this, he has his technique firmly down and has never had any complaints.
But man, Nate looks big.
The blonde’s boxers are still on, a faded gray pair that are doing absolutely nothing in the modesty department.
Mitch’s mouth is watering as he realises that Nate is starting to leak, a small damp patch appearing on the fabric, just for him.
It’s nice to have proof that he’s not the only one who is desperate for whatever this is.
He already knows that his pupils are blown as he risks a glance up at Nate through his lashes, pillowing his head on the older man’s right thigh and asking silently for permission.
There’s 0 doubt that he’s already ruined his own boxers, but whatever mess was there before triples when he sees that Sid’s hand is resting in Nate’s hair.
“Gotta be gentle with him, remember?” Sid instructs, giving an experimental tug at Nate’s blonde strands. “He’s ready when you are Marns.”
Sid calling the shots is unbelievably hot. Mitch wonders if they do this often, if their dynamic has always been like this- with Sid treating Nate like he owns him.
Hell, maybe he does.
A shiver runs down his spine as he leans forward, running a fingertip across the wet spot at the front of Nate’s boxers- his touch featherlight. Knowing what usually drives his partners insane he leaves the boxers on for the moment, continuing to slowly trace around the shape of Nate’s dick under the material.
When Mitch finally gets his mouth on the fabric Nate jerks wildly, earning him a harsh tug on his hair from Sid.
It’s so hot, like so unbelievably sexy that Mitch thinks he might come in his own underwear before he even gets Nate’s off.
He suckles at the head, moaning in delight when that earns him another spurt of wetness. Nate sounds breathless, like he’s just been bag skated; and it’s the biggest ego boost in the world, knowing that Nathan MacKinnon is this worked up for him- because of him.
Mitch finally decides to take mercy on him, looping his fingers under the waistband of the now ruined boxers and urging Nate to lift his hips.
Sid is whispering something in Nate’s ear, too low for Mitch to hear but it seems to spur him into action at least.
After what feels like a lifetime of waiting he finally gets a proper look at Nate’s cock and well. It’s huge. Mitch prides himself on being able to deepthroat, has spent years honing his craft- and it’s quite an upsetting revelation that this might just be out of his expertise.
But mama didn’t raise a quitter.
He laps at the head, humming at the tang of salt that bursts onto his tongue. Nate’s abs are clenched and his thighs are bracketing Mitch in a way that’s almost uncomfortable. Mindful of the current state of his face already he taps at Nate’s thighs, giving a reassuring kiss to his hip when he immediately loosens up with a mumbled apology.
Now for the main event.
Mitch takes a deep breath through his nose, holding back a wince as the movement tugs on his stitches.
“You good?” Nate frowns.
“M’good man, sorry, just forgot that I can’t scrunch my face like that.”
He quickly goes back to work before they have a chance to get the concussion brochure out again.
Taking a smaller breath this time he folds himself onto his forearms, lowering his head until he’s able to take Nate into his mouth. The first couple of inches are easy, he covers his teeth and flutters his tongue over what he can reach, feeling a buzz of satisfaction as Nate makes a choked off noise and reaches for him.
Sid intercepts his hands before he can get to Mitch, pinning them against his chest.
Drool is starting to drip down his chin as he takes another inch, then another, and- how much more can there possibly be?
When his nose finally meets Nate’s abdomen he moans- silently apologising to Nate for what the vibration of the sound is going to do to him. He swallows around the base, eyes closed as he tries to hold himself down for as long as he can. He is a hair trigger away from coming just from the pressure of the mattress under him, and really it feels like he should be embarrassed by that- but he just can’t bring himself to be.
He’s been out of practice since he got to Vegas and his jaw is starting to ache already- but from the sound of Nate’s moans it doesn’t sound like he’s going to be down here for much longer.
“Mitch-“ Nate gasps, fingers flexing in Sid’s hold. “Yes, there- Good boy Mitchy, really so fucking desperate for it weren’t you? What were you going to do with that ski guy, huh? Were you going to let him take you like this? Be so slutty and easy for him?”
Mitch sinks down again, the noises of his throat working are obscene, filthy. He swallows once, twice, and-
“Oh fuck! Mitch I’m going to-“
Nate cuts off abruptly, and it’s Mitch’s turn to gasp when he flicks his eyes up to see that Sid and Nate are kissing- a deceivingly gentle kiss that mostly just looks like Sid licking into Nate’s mouth.
That does it for Mitch. His eyes roll back as he comes in his pants, feeling like he’s 17 sneaking around at summer camp again.
He chokes a little as Nate spills down his throat simultaneously, coughing wetly as the last few drops escape his mouth; painting his cheeks and chin instead. Sid is looking at him with the most sinful look Mitch has ever seen, like a lion who has just zoned in on his prey.
Sid’s fingers are gentle as they collect the mess on Mitch’s face, and then not so gentle as they push into his mouth; pressing down on his tongue as he’s fed the last drops of Nate’s cum.
“Mitchy, you need to?” Nate checks in, voice hoarse like he was the one who had just had his throat destroyed.
“I’m good I uh- enjoyed that a little too much,” Mitch admits, cheeks red as the mess in his boxers starts to become a little uncomfortable. “Sid?”
Nate lets out a tired laugh, letting his head loll onto Sid’s pec as he answers for him. “Oh no, he doesn’t come during tournaments or cup runs. The next couple of weeks are going to be pretty dry for him.”
And he- he knows that Sid is quite uptight about his rules around hockey but-
“Dude! Not even jacking off?” Mitch blurts out, hiding his face in the crook of Nate’s knee when Sid shoots him a look in response.
“Makes my game better.” Sid shrugs. “Keeps me sharp.”
“Sharp? I’d lose my mind,” Mitch mutters. “Huh, wait until I tell the Toronto guys that this is what they’ve been doing wrong all along. Too much picking up and not enough blue balls.”
Nate stirs. “I think that’s the least of their problems. Much bigger hockey related ones to address first-”
Sid rolls his eyes, giving Nate’s hair a half-hearted tug. “Nathan, what have we said about being nice?”
Mitch is perfectly fine with falling asleep using Nate’s knee as a pillow, his eyes are so heavy he doesn’t think he has it in him to even attempt shuffling up the bed. He closes them for just a second, sighing softly when Nate’s big hand finds his hair again, petting gently.
He’s boneless as Sid shuffles off to the bathroom, coming back with a wet cloth and a clean pair of boxers. It’s not really a hardship to lay there as Sid cleans them off, it is however a lot when Sid drags him up and off of Nate’s body.
“Put these on,” Sid orders, tossing the boxers at him. “Nate, roll over, leave room for Mitch in the middle.”
They do as they’re told, Mitch stumbling into underwear that he isn’t sure is even his and Nate making a half-hearted attempt to roll himself over.
There’s enough room in the middle of the bed for Mitch to wriggle into anyway. He feels warm inside, dopey grin back in full force as soon as Sid flicks off the lamp; plunging the room into darkness.
“Mitchy? When we win that gold medal I’m going to fuck you so good,” Nate mumbles sleepily. “You’ll feel it the whole way back to Vegas.”
Somewhere in the darkness Sid smiles. “Goodnight Nathan.”