Chapter Text
Mack had learned, somewhere around month three of his rookie season, that Will’s smile didn’t mean what everyone thought it meant.
The cameras loved that smile. The Sharks’ social media team had built an entire brand around it. Will laughing in the tunnel before warmups, Will signing a kid’s jersey during a charity event, Will doing that bashful head-duck thing when a reporter asked him about his two-assist night. Golden-retriever energy, fan accounts called it. Sunshine in skates.
Mack knew better.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Marleau guesthouse, still in his post-practice hoodie, scrolling through his phone while Will made protein shakes in the kitchen. The blender whirred and died, and a few seconds later Will’s bare feet appeared in Mack’s peripheral vision.
“Who’re you texting?”
Mack glanced up. Will was holding two glasses, one extended toward him. His expression was pleasant and relaxed, but Mack couldn’t help tensing up.
“N-nobody, just scrolling,” Mack stammered. He was a lot better with his stutter than he used to be, his father having expended an enormous effort to correct it in him as a kid, knowing no one would respect Mack as a hockey player if he couldn’t speak clearly, but he still slipped up sometimes when he was nervous.
Usually that was in front of cameras. Other times it was when his chest felt like Will was unhappy with him.
“Looked like you were typing.”
“I mean I—I did leave a comment on Eky’s post—you know, the one with the dog?—but it was just something stupid and—”
Will handed him the shake and then reached down, casual as anything, and plucked the phone from Mack’s other hand. Mack didn’t resist. There wasn’t any point.
Will’s thumb moved across the screen, his face perfectly neutral. The only tell was a tiny muscle flexing along his jaw, and Mack only noticed that because he’d spent so many hours looking at Will’s jawline from various angles. He could pick him out from any silhouette from any side.
“You’re DMing him.”
Mack tried not to wince. “H-he sent me a meme because of my comment. I was just gonna reply with like an LOL or something. Will, I didn’t even respond yet, it was nothing.”
“Cute.” Will’s tone suggested it was not cute. His thumb tapped once, twice. “Deleted.”
“Will—”
“If Eky wants to send you memes, he can send them in the group chat, where everyone else can see.” Will handed his phone back, then dropped onto the couch beside Mack and pulled him sideways so Mack’s head landed against his chest. His fingers threaded into Mack’s hair, not quite tugging. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, baby. I just don’t like it when people get the wrong idea.”
It was just a stupid meme, Mack wanted to say, but didn’t. He simply let his eyes close and leaned further into Will’s embrace. Will’s heartbeat was steady under his ear. Outside, San Jose was as peaceful and boring as ever, but here inside Will’s home, nothing happened that Will didn’t authorize.
This was how it had been since the start. Even though Mack technically lived with Jumbo, he was over here at Will’s almost all the time. Everyone else thought it was sweet, how they were so attached at the hip that they wanted to do everything together, spend all their time together.
None of them understood that Mack hadn’t made a single decision by himself off the ice in weeks.
He didn’t want to.
*
Practice the next morning was brutal. Bag skates because they’d blown a third-period lead against Anaheim, and Warso was in one of his moods where he yelled until his face turned concerningly red.
Mack pushed through it, legs burning, lungs screaming, keeping his head down like you were supposed to. Will was three spots behind him on the goal line, struggling a bit with the drill, still working on his conditioning.
In the locker room afterward, Mack was unlacing his skates when Kostin thumped down beside him.
“Hey, Mackie, some of us are grabbing dinner tonight at that Italian place with the lasagna I told you about, the one I think you’d really like. You in?”
Mack opened his mouth, but before sound came out, Will materialized behind him like he’d been summoned.
“Sorry, man, we can’t,” Will said. “Got film to watch.”
Kostin looked up, eyebrows raised. “The team went over review yesterday. You can take small break.”
“Like I said, we already made plans.” Will’s hand landed on Mack’s shoulder, thumb pressing into the knob of bone at the base of his neck. It was a proprietary grip. Obvious, if you were looking. “Right, Mack?”
“Y-yeah,” Mack heard himself say. “Film. We’ve gotta—yeah.”
Kostin’s eyes flicked between them. Something crossed his face that Mack couldn’t read, and then he forced a smile and stood up. “Next time then.”
They both knew there wouldn’t be a next time.
When Kostin was gone, Will squeezed Mack’s shoulder once and then let go. He didn’t have to say anything else.
The drive home was quiet except for the radio, some pop station Will liked that Mack had never bothered to change. Will drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Mack’s thigh just above the knee. His fingers drummed occasionally, little tremor-like taps that made Mack’s stomach tighten for reasons he couldn’t have explained out loud.
It wasn’t until they were inside the guesthouse, door locked behind them, that Mack finally spoke.
“Film,” Mack said, testing the word. “A-are we actually—”
“No.” Will was already pulling his shirt over his head, blond hair mussed when he emerged. “I didn’t like the way Kostin was looking at you.”
Mack tried not to bite his lip. It was a nervous habit his father hated, and one that seemed to provoke Will even more, even if Mack really didn’t mean it like that. “It was just an invitation to dinner with our teammates.”
“And what excuse does he have for constantly staring at you between drills and while you’re changing and on the bench?”
“Will, I don’t think—”
“Princess.” Will crossed the space between them, cupped Mack’s face in both hands, and tilted it upward. His thumbs rested along Mack’s cheekbones. His eyes were very blue and very calm, like the pristine surface of a lake, gorgeous yet deep enough to drown in. “I don’t want to argue about this. I had a long day, and someone in the media scrum called me ‘a defensive liability, even for a rookie’ which made me want to put my stick through the glass, so I’m not in a great mood. Okay?”
Mack’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “’Kay.”
“Good boy.” Will kissed him so gently, almost chastely, a soft brush of lips that didn’t match the tension running through his shoulders. “Bedroom?” He lifted his voice at the end, giving the illusion of a question.
Like the loyal dog everyone thought Will was, Mack followed.
Will’s room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon light, the bed still unmade from that morning. Mack stood at the foot of it, waiting, while Will moved around behind him. He heard a drawer open. Heard the soft clink of something being set on the nightstand. His pulse had migrated somewhere into his throat.
“Clothes off.”
Mack stripped awkwardly, and totally unsexily. Hoodie, t-shirt, sweatpants, underwear. No matter how jittery it made him to leave a mess, he folded nothing, just let it all pool at his feet. The air was cool against his skin, prickling his nipples into tight peaks. He was wet already, which was embarrassing and also inevitable. His body had learned to anticipate Will’s moods faster than his brain did.
Will came up behind him. Hands settled on Mack’s hips, fingers spreading wide, thumbs digging into the dimples just above his ass.
“You know why I get like this, don’t you?” Will’s mouth was at his ear, breath hot. “You know why I can’t stand it when people look at you?”
Mack shook his head. His voice had temporarily vacated the premises.
“Because you’re mine.” Will’s teeth grazed the shell of Mack’s ear. “And I don’t share. And when people try to take what’s mine, I get—mm.” He exhaled a sound that was almost a laugh. “Upset.”
“I-I’m not going anywhere,” Mack managed, his voice coming out smaller than he wanted, barely a whisper. “Will, I’m yours. I’m right here.”
“Oh, I know you are, sweetheart. That’s why I’m not actually mad at you.” Will’s hands slid around to Mack’s stomach, palms flat, pressing Mack back against his chest. The denim of Will’s jeans was rough against Mack’s bare ass. “I’m just—I need to work some things out. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
It wasn’t really a question, but Mack nodded anyway.
Will kissed the side of his neck and stepped away. “On the bed. On your hands and knees.”
Mack climbed onto the mattress, positioning himself in the center. The sheets were cool under his palms. He heard Will undressing behind him, the rasp of a zipper, the heavy thud of his jeans hitting the floor. Then the nightstand drawer again, and the snick of a cap opening. Mack’s stomach clenched.
The mattress dipped as Will climbed on behind him. One hand curved over Mack’s hip, steadying, while the other—slick and cool—slid between his thighs from behind.
Mack’s breath caught.
Will’s fingers found him immediately, unerring. Mack was already wet, had been since the car ride, having Will’s strong hand on Mack’s thigh. Will made a satisfied noise and traced a slow circle around his clit, not quite touching it directly.
“You’re so easy for me,” Will murmured. “I love that. I love that even when I’m being—whatever I’m being—you still get like this.”
“I-I can’t help it,” Mack said, and it came out halfway like a whimper.
“I know, baby.” Will’s fingers finally slid against Mack’s clit, and Mack’s arms nearly buckled. “You’re just so good for me all time, aren’t you? My perfect, sweet boy.”
What followed was basically torture. Will had a way of touching him like knew exactly how to push Mack over the edge and deliberately avoided anything that could do so. He circled Mack’s clit with the pad of his finger, varying the pressure unpredictably, watching Mack’s spine arch and flex. When Mack started rocking back against his hand, chasing more, Will withdrew completely.
“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. You take what I give you.”
“W-Will, please,” Mack sobbed.
“Please what?”
Mack’s forehead pressed into the mattress. “Please—fuck, I-I don’t know, please just touch me.”
“Can’t even form coherent thoughts, huh? Well, I guess I can spoil you just a bit.” Two fingers slid inside him, and Mack made a whimpering sound he was glad no else could hear. Will’s fingers were long and skilled, and he knew exactly how to curl them. He found the spot that made Mack’s vision spark white at the edges, and he targeted it ruthlessly, his other hand anchoring Mack’s hip so he couldn’t squirm away.
“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Will murmured, his voice going rough at the edges. “Someone to just—take over. Make the decisions. You don’t want to think, you just want to be good for me.”
Mack was past words. He nodded frantically against the sheets, mouth open, drool dampening the cotton.
“Say it.”
“W-wanna be good,” Mack slurred.
“You are.” Will’s fingers withdrew, leaving Mack empty and clenching around nothing. “You’re so good, baby. You’re so fucking good.”
Then Will’s hands were on his hips, repositioning him, tilting his ass higher—and then he was there, the head of his cock pressing against Mack’s entrance, and Mack remembered, distantly, that he should breathe.
Will pushed in. It was always too much at first. Always. Will was—Mack didn’t have a frame of reference for it, really, because he hadn’t been with anyone else, but he was pretty sure Will’s size wasn’t normal. The stretch of it burned, even with prep, even slick and ready. He felt himself opening around Will inch by inch, felt the pressure building somewhere deep and impossible.
“Look at you,” Will breathed. He was fully seated now, hips flush against Mack’s ass, not moving, just letting Mack feel it. “Look at you taking all of me. You’re so good. My perfect girl.”
The word girl sent a shiver through Mack. Will used it sometimes, only in bed, only when he was like this, possessive and raw and stripped of the polished exterior everyone else got. Mack didn’t know what it meant about him, that he liked it so much. He’d stopped trying to figure it out.
Will started to move, setting a punishing pace from the start. There was no build up, no teasing. Will fucked like he was trying to make it impossible for Mack to remember anything else. Each thrust drove the air from Mack’s lungs in a punched-out gasp. Will’s hands were iron on his hips, pulling him back onto his cock, and Mack could feel it, god, he could feel it, that impossible fullness, that sense of being stretched and used past the point of reason, past what his body was probably even capable of.
“Touch yourself,” Will ordered.
Mack got a hand under himself, fingers finding his clit. He was so wet it was almost embarrassing, slick coating his inner thighs, and the sensation of Will’s cock driving into him and his own fingers pressing desperate circles made his thoughts dissolve into static.
“That’s it, that’s it, princess, making yourself feel so good while I fuck you.” Will’s voice was strained now, losing its controlled cadence. “You know whose pussy this is?”
“Y-yours,” Mack gasped.
Will’s thrusts got harder, deeper, hitting a place that made Mack see colors behind his eyelids. The headboard was slamming against the wall. The Marleaus could probably hear them if they stepped out of the main house. Mack didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything except the building pressure in his core and the gorgeous sounds Will was making as he ruined Mack from the inside out.
“P-please,” Mack choked out. “W-Will, I—I’m gonna—”
“Not yet, baby.” Will’s hand left Mack’s hip and fisted in his hair, pulling his head back, the pain sharp and clarifying. “You hold it until I say. You understand?”
Tears were leaking from the corners of Mack’s eyes. He was shaking, every muscle locked tight, hovering on the knife-edge of orgasm. “P-please,” he whispered. “Please, Will, I’m so close, please let me—”
“Almost there.” Will’s rhythm was faltering, his breathing ragged. “Fuck, Mackie, you feel so fucking good, so tight and sloppy and wet—”
Three more brutal thrusts, and then Will broke, his hips stuttering, a groan tearing out of him, the pulsing heat as Will’s cum flooded his insides. Will’s grip on his hair went slack.
“Now,” Will panted. “Now, baby, come for me.”
Mack’s body obeyed like Will had flipped a switch. The orgasm hit him in a white-hot wave, his cunt clamping down around Will’s still-buried cock, his fingers working frantically against his clit. He sobbed through it, face pressed into the mattress, his whole body convulsing with the force of it.
When it was over, he collapsed. Will pulled out carefully, and Mack heard as Will retreated to the bathroom to dampen a towel, then came back to clean Mack up with gentle, soothing strokes. Then the towel was gone and Will was beside him again, pulling Mack into his arms, arranging Mack’s boneless limbs until they were tangled together under the sheets.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Will’s voice was soft now, the edge completely gone. He stroked Mack’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. “You did so good. You were amazing.”
Mack nodded, still unable to form words. His thighs were trembling. He could feel Will’s release trickling out of him, despite the hasty cleaning. Will always filled him up so much, and everything between his legs ached.
“I’m sorry I was intense today.” Will was pressing kisses along Mack’s hairline, gentle, featherlight. “That reporter just—it got in my head. And then Kostin. You know I trust you, right? It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”
Mack managed a small nod. It wasn’t true—Will didn’t trust anyone, including Mack, not really—but it was what Will needed to hear.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” Will’s arms tightened around him. “Like you were made for me.”
Mack closed his eyes and let himself be held.