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Switzerland basically sucks.
Nick really wants to be in DC, or at least in Sweden, but nope, here he is, in fucking Switzerland.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so negative; at least he gets to play hockey at all. Plenty of guys don’t have that option, but still, it isn’t what Nick wants.
Nick tries to convince himself of that on the plane ride over, and it sort of works. He’s thinking about goal lights and Swiss chocolate as he mounts the steps to his new apartment building. Maybe he’s a little too deep in thought, because his head is down and he runs into someone’s shoulder.
“Ledsen,” Nick says because he can’t be bothered to conjure up the German word from the phrasebook he flipped through on the plane, and figures that Swedish is better than English.
“Oh, sorry,” The guy says and that’s definitely English. Nick looks up in surprise, and well shit, he just ran into Tyler Seguin. Nick knew that he’d be playing with Seguin, but he sure as fuck didn’t except him to be the first person Nick met in Switzerland.
Nick stares at him for a second. The collision was definitely his own fault, but there’s no way that Nick is going to apologize again to this asshole. The playoffs may have ended months ago, but whatever, that shit was intense and Nick hasn’t forgotten it yet.
“Hey, Backstrom, I didn’t think you were getting in until tomorrow,” Seguin says, because apparently his memory isn’t as bitter as Nick’s.
“Got an earlier flight,” Nick mumbles and moves to push his way past Seguin and towards the elevator. The last thing he wants to do is hang out in the lobby and make small talk with this kid, but Seguin seems to have a different idea.
“Here, let me help you,” Seguin reaches for one of Nick’s bags. Nick’s immediate reaction is to pull it away, but well, his bags are fucking heavy and he had to drag them all the way here, so he lets Seguin take one. “The numbering system here is really weird. I only just worked it out. But you’re only a few doors down from me, so that’s easy.” Seguin pushes the button for the elevator.
“We live… in the same building?” Nick asks. He tries not to sound too bitchy about it, but he’s not exactly in the mood to spare Seguin’s feelings, so it’s a mostly failed effort.
“On the same floor,” Seguin corrects him. Nick considers bashing his head against the elevator wall, which suddenly feels very small. “The team seems to think that it’d make us both feel more comfortable, you know, having each other nearby.”
Nick wants to point out that clearly the team is a bunch of fucking idiots, but he holds his tongue. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be stuck here, so maybe he shouldn’t burn the tiny string bridge between the one guy he knows in this godforsaken country.
He’s saved from having to respond by the elevator doors opening and spitting them out into a bleak hallway with scattered grey doors.
“It looks shitty, but the units are actually pretty nice. And the views kick ass, so.” Seguin shrugs and leads the way to a door halfway down the hall. Nick shuffles through his bag until he finds the envelope that the team sent him with information and the key to his apartment.
“See? What’d I tell you?” Seguin grins when Nick steps inside. The space is fine, he guesses, all shiny silver appliances and gleaming white upholstery.
“It’s okay,” Nick says, dropping his bags on the polished wood floor. “D.C. is better.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Seguin sighs. “But for a lockout team, it’s really not that bad. The guys are great. Or, I think so. I’m not sure. I don’t understand most of what they say.” Nick doesn’t quite stifle his laugh. Seguin joins in. “It’s a shitty situation, but it could be worse. Just gotta accept it, man.”
“Too young to be so wise,” Nick tells him. Seguin laughs again, throwing his head back with the force of it.
“Yeah, wise,” Seguin says when he catches his breath. “Don’t worry. I was just like you when I got here. Five stages of grief, and all. You’ll get here too.” Seguin pats him on the back once before heading out.
Nick wants to still be mad, feels like he should be, but he can’t quite muster up the energy necessary to glower after Seguin. The kid is probably right, anyway. The past is the past, and whatever NHL rivalry he and Seguin had is clearly null and void here, so Nick might as well make the most of it.
After unpacking his crap into the ultra-modern dresser of the practically threadbare bedroom, Nick sets up his laptop on his stomach and calls Mike.
“How are you?” Mike asks. The image of him is pixelated and blurry, but there’s a clear line of worry above his brow. Nick wants nothing more than to reach through the screen and smooth it out.
“I miss you,” Nick answers. Mike rubs a hand across his chin.
“I know, Nicky. Me too,” Mike sighs.
They talk idly of the plane ride and Nick’s new place for a while. Nick mentions Seguin, but Mike isn’t any more equipped to deal with it than Nick is, just groaning a little and saying, “Asshole.”
It’s only 6 PM Swiss time when they hang up, but Nick is exhausted from the stress and travel, so he pulls the thin white comforter over his head and goes to sleep.
Practice the next morning is totally awful. The thrown-together skates at Kettler didn’t prepare Nick nearly enough for a real practice with a real team that has real games to play. The EHC Biel guys are nice at least; smiling a lot and willingly accommodating the language barrier.
Nick’s legs feel like they might literally fall off, and he’s deeply regretting his decision to walk to the rink that morning. He’s in enough pain that when Seguin nudges his shoulder in the dressing room and asks if Nick wants a ride back, he accepts.
“You rented a car?” Nick asks from the passenger seat as Seguin pulls out of the parking garage.
“Yeah, it’s hard to ride the bike back from the rink some days,” Seguin says. “You got any food in your place?”
“Uh… no, I don’t.” Nick says. He hadn’t even thought about it until now, being too out of it that morning to eat.
“We’ll stop at the market on the way,” Seguin says, turning down a side street that is definitely not en route to the apartment building.
“That’s… it’s okay, you don’t have to,” Nick tries to protest, but his stomach chooses that moment to grumble audibly. Seguin laughs at him, but it doesn’t have a cruel bite to it.
“I think I do, actually. I found this place two weeks ago. It’s awesome. They have some American brands so we don’t have to try and guess what we’re buying from the Swiss gibberish on the label.”
“Okay,” Nick gives in, like he had any power in the first place.
Twenty minutes later, Nick has a cart full of Kashi cereal (that Brooks turned him onto a few years ago and is basically the best thing on earth) and chicken cutlets. Seguin is helping him figure out the exchange rate when his phone rings.
“Oh, I should take this, one sec,” Seguin says, smiling apologetically. Nick nods and makes a mental note to ask Seguin where he got his SIM card.
Seguin walks a few feet away to answer. “Hey, baby,” Seguin says into his phone, his voice low and gentle. Nick isn’t exactly trying to listen in, but he can’t really help it. It’s a small market, after all. He picks up a box of what look like graham crackers and pretends to read it while Seguin talks.
“Yeah, I’m at the market with Nick,” Seguin says. “It’s, yeah, it’s going good. Okay, I’ll call you later. Love you too.” Seguin hangs up after that and walks back to Nick. “Sorry about that, let’s go.”
Nick follows him to the register and hands over his international credit card. He can’t help but stare at Seguin a little out of surprise. Nick never knew Seguin personally, but it’s hard to ignore a reputation like that.
He’s still thinking about it when they get back in the car. Nick knows it’s probably rude, but he’s incredibly curious, so he asks, “So, you got a girl in Boston?”
“Not… exactly…” Seguin drums his fingers against the steering wheel.
“In Canada?” Nick presses.
“It’s… complicated.” Seguin sighs.
“Sorry, shouldn’t have asked, not my place,” Nick backs off.
“Nah, it’s cool.” Seguin says as he turns into the parking lot of the building. “You wanna come up for a beer?”
Nick is a bit caught off guard by the invitation, but beer does sound really good. “Uh, sure, yeah. Thanks.”
Seguin’s apartment is furnished the exact same as Nick’s, but is covered in a month’s worth of junk, making it look a little more lived in. It exudes a feeling of home, and Nick relaxes the moment he steps through the door. The cold beer that Seguin pushes into Nick’s hand doesn’t hurt, either.
Seguin turns the TV onto what seems like the Swiss version of ESPN and settles down onto the couch next to Nick. Their conversation sticks to superficial topics like the team at first, but after a few beers each, it devolves into their friends and family and lives.
“So, about the phone thing,” Seguin says, picking at the label on his bottle. Nick thinks it’s his third, but he isn’t sure, since he’s just as far along. Maybe it isn’t the best idea, but Nick is homesick and heartsick and his first game isn’t for another two days, so he keeps drinking.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Nick says, waving a hand dismissively. “I should not have asked. Your business,”
“No, It’s… I’ll tell you,” Seguin shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he isn’t meeting Nick’s eyes. “I mean, we’re friends, right?”
Nick thinks about it for a second, but decides that yes, yes they are. Apparently he’d been thinking out loud because Seguin says, “Good, me too. So, yeah, I don’t have a girl back… anywhere, really.” Nick nods for him to go on. “I’ve got… a guy?”
Oh. Nick doesn’t really know how to respond to that. Apparently he keeps silent for too long because Seguin starts freaking out.
“I, uh, if you’re not cool with that, I, you can just—” Seguin stammers, his face going red.
“No, it’s cool,” Nick cuts him off. “Don’t worry. I, uh, me too,”
Now it’s Seguin’s turn to be silent. He leans back in his seat, taking visible deep breaths. When he returns, he’s grinning. It reminds Nick of Sasha’s smile when he’s just pulled a prank that he thinks is legendary. Nick has learned to run from that smile.
“Guess we really do play for the same team, eh?” Seguin asks.
Nick hides his smile into a silvery throw pillow. “Fuck you,” he mumbles through it.
“I need to ask Brownie first,” Seguin says, grinning even wider. Nick throws the pillow at him.
Three weeks and a handful of games later, Nick feels a lot more comfortable in Switzerland. He spends most of his free time at Tyler’s place, watching shitty Swiss TV together and shooting the shit. He’d never admit it, but Nick is really glad that Tyler is around. Home team rivalry aside, they’re teammates now, and he’s honestly a pretty cool dude. It helps that they have the whole secret-NHL-boyfriend thing in common.
Nick is playing relatively well, too. Not as well as he does in Washington with his real teammates, but he’s scoring some and keeping himself in shape for the phone call he desperately hopes will come, saying that it’s time to hop on a plane back.
But, truly, Nick isn’t at his best. He tried to blame it on the unfamiliarity, but hockey is hockey, and that’s not what’s wrong. What’s wrong is that he’s horny as all hell. Hurried Skype-sex isn’t nearly what Nick is used to or what he needs to be on top of his game. What Nick really wants is to feel the heat of someone above (or below) him, the adrenaline of it. He wants someone else to touch him, and to feel someone else’s skin himself.
When Nick tells Mike this, Mike just apologizes, but really, there’s nothing else he can do. Mike offers to fly out to Switzerland for a long weekend, but Nick waves him off. Of course he wants to see Mike, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from climbing onto the plane home right after him.
They lose a game to EHC Biel’s biggest rival and Nick can’t help but blame himself. He knows that he played horribly and let his teammates down. He doesn’t know any of them very well, but still, he’s a part of the team, and they’re counting on him.
Nick is silent on the drive back to the apartment, and Tyler doesn’t push him. Nick doesn’t even bother with another shower, just curls up in bed with his laptop and pulls up Skype.
“I suck,” Nick says the moment Mike answers.
“You don’t suck,” Mike comforts him.
“All my fault,” Nick groans.
“No, it wasn’t.” Mike sighs. “You know what, can I talk to Seguin?”
“Uh… why?” Nick sits up a little.
“I just… want to talk to him about something.”
“Fine, whatever. Can it wait till morning?” Nick asks.
“Are you going to mope all night?”
“Probably,” Nick admits.
“Then it can’t wait.” Mike says with a tone of finality. Nick opens his mouth to argue, but he honestly doesn’t have the energy tonight. He grabs his laptop and pads his way through the hallway to Tyler’s door.
“What’s up?” Tyler asks when he opens it. He raises one eyebrow as he looks Nick up and down, taking in the ratty sweats, lack of shirt, and laptop balanced on one palm.
“Mike wants to talk to you,” Nick says. Mike waves in greeting from the screen.
“Uh…” Tyler hesitates.
“Easier if you just say yes,” Nick says.
Tyler stares at Nick for a minute, but eventually shrugs and opens the door a little wider to let Nick in. “I guess I can do that?”
“Thanks,” Nick says, putting his laptop down on Tyler’s coffee table. Tyler sits in front of it, leaving room in the frame for Nick to sit next to him.
“Nick, wait in the hall,” Mike says.
“But—“
“Don’t worry, babe, this won’t take long. I just want to ask Seguin something.”
“Are you okay with this?” Nick asks Tyler.
“Um, yeah, I am,” Tyler says. Nick chooses to believe him and steps out into the hallway.
Nick can hear the muffle of voices through the door but can’t quite make out what’s being said, so he sits down in the hallway and waits to be allowed back in. It crosses his mind that this is pretty weird, but at this point of frustration and exhaustion, he really doesn’t give a shit. Nick has learned not to ask questions about Mike’s schemes and just go along with them… unless they involve whipped cream and Carlie’s gloves.
Tyler opens the door somewhere around five minutes later, Nick isn’t entirely sure. “He wants you now,” Tyler says, handing Nick the computer. Tyler then heads back into his apartment, but leaves the door wide open.
Nick balances the laptop on his knees and looks at Mike’s image. “Hi?”
“Hey,” Mike smiles. “I want you to do whatever Seguin says, okay? Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. You need this.” Nick would protest, but he doesn’t know exactly what he’d be protesting to, so he keeps his mouth shut and listens to Mike. “Just remember that I love you, okay? And I always want what’s best for you,” Mike says.
“I… I love you too,” Nick says. “But, Mikey, what… what are you talking about?”
“Don’t worry,” Mike repeats, still smiling. “I want you to do this. Remember that, too.”
“Uh, okay, I will,” Nick shrugs.
“Good. Talk to you tomorrow, Nicky.”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” Nick watches the screen go dark before closing the laptop and getting up. He walks into Tyler’s open apartment to find him lounging on the couch and missing his shirt.
“Would you like to explain what the fuck is going on?” Nick asks, setting his laptop onto the coffee table between a few empty beer bottles and a game controller.
“I could explain it,” Tyler says, standing up and walking towards Nick. “Or I could show you,”
Nick doesn’t get a chance to choose because Tyler pulls Nick against him with a hand on Nick’s hip and kisses him. Nick stays still out of sheer shock for a second, before coming to his senses and pushing Tyler away gently.
“What the fuck!?” Nick almost yells. He probably should have seen this coming, but still, whoa.
“It’s okay,” Tyler steps closer again. “Mike said you need this, for your game. And, well, I’m nothing if not a great teammate.” Tyler kisses Nick again, which really isn’t helping his thought process. Tyler’s a really good kisser, okay, and it’s been a long time, a really fucking long time.
“But… what about Tyler?” Nick asks when he manages to pull away.
“Oh, I asked Brownie about this before you even got on the plane here,” Tyler says. “He’s cool with it.”
Nick is trying to come up with an argument, but then Tyler is licking up to Nick’s ear and whispering, “C’mon, Nicky. I want this, you want this, Mike wants this, Brownie wants this… what’s there to be afraid of?”
Nick doesn’t have an answer to that, so he grabs onto Tyler’s jaw and guides their lips back together. Tyler hums happily, pressing closer and slipping his tongue between Nick’s parted lips. Nick lets his hand wander across Tyler’s side, over his back, and down to cup his ass.
“Shall we move this to a more bedroom-ish area?” Tyler says when Nick moves down to suck at his neck, causing it to come out as a gasp.
“Yeah, yes, that,” Nick puffs out against Tyler’s skin. Tyler grabs Nick’s hand and pulls him down the narrow hallway, even though Nick knows exactly where the bedroom is, since his apartment is a carbon copy of Tyler’s.
Tyler pushes Nick down onto the bed and hovers over him, mouth gravitating towards one of Nick’s nipples. Tyler sucks it to hardness, which well, isn’t the only part of Nick that gets hard. He doesn’t keep a secret of it, thrusting up against Seguin’s hip and whining a little bit.
“Want me to blow you?” Seguin asks against Nick’s other nipple.
“Fuck, yeah, please,” Nick pants. Seguin kisses his way down Nick’s body, stopping to pull Nick’s sweatpants and boxer’s down. He doesn’t waste time, just grabs the base of Nick’s dick and lowers his mouth down onto the head.
“Fuck, Tyler,” Nick groans, a hand coming down to anchor into Tyler’s hair. He tries to keep his hips still, but Tyler doesn’t seem to care, taking Nick deeper, and yeah, Tyler Brown is a lucky man.
Nick brings his other hand down to rub his thumb over the tattoo on Tyler’s bicep, moving and flexing as Tyler strokes the base of Nick’s dick. It’s not comparable to Mike; Nick knows every trace of ink on Mike’s skin like it was his own, but it’s a nice reminder that Mike is okay with this. Nick lets his head fall back onto the pillow and focuses on the heat of Tyler’s mouth.
It isn’t long before Nick is groaning and telling Tyler that he’s close. Tyler pulls off and uses his own spit to stroke Nick through his orgasm. It feels good, so good, but not as good as it is with Mike, which is more of a comfort to Nick than anything.
“Come here,” Nick says when he’s calmed down. Tyler lies down next to Nick and pushes his boxers off, letting Nick reach over to jerk him off.
Tyler closes his eyes and thrusts up into Nick’s grip, which, okay, he looks pretty hot. Nick keeps his hand tight, and it only takes a few minutes for Tyler to moan loudly and come over Nick’s hand.
“Ew,” Nick says, wiping his hand off on the sheets.
“Ew yourself,” Tyler pants, still trying to catch his breath.
“So, uh, thanks,” Nick says awkwardly.
“No problem,” Tyler turns to grin at him. “We need you at your best. I can’t carry this team all by myself.”
“Cocky bastard,” Nick punches Tyler in the arm.
“Yeah well,” Tyler shrugs. “Let me know if you, you know.”
“Thanks, I will,” Nick says and means it. He feels better already, and isn’t dumb enough to close the door on this in the future. He hopes he doesn’t have to, but who knows how long the lockout will last.
Tyler offers Nick his bed, but Nick waves him off. Tyler doesn’t argue, just waves and tells him what time to be ready for practice the next morning.
Nick emails Mike, “Thanks, babe. I love you.” when he gets back to his apartment. He goes to sleep feeling better than he has since he got to Switzerland, and plotting the sweet goals he’s going to score on Berra tomorrow.
~fin