** FLASHBACK **

June 2013

After the Cup Final and Before Tyler’s Trade to Dallas

This should have been one of the best nights of Brad Marchand’s life—obviously game 7 would have to be the absolute pinnacle, that moment of hoisting the cup, of knowing he’d already achieved something so great so early in his career—but tonight should have been pretty far up there. The booze was flowing freely and the place was packed with gorgeous girls vying for a Bruin. He should have tried to reach record high blood alcohol levels while lying in the middle of a pile of beautiful naked women or something.

He wasn’t.

Yeah, he was having a good time, how could he not have? He was partying hard with the best guys around, cruising fast and high. But still, there was a hard edge of unease, of dissatisfaction. It was small, but its very existence was eating at him. He was pretty sure he had everything he’d ever wanted all right here—so why was he not having the best night ever?

He slumped a bit in his chair.

As soon as his shoulders drooped, Tyler was there, like he had “Marchy - isn’t - being - fun - anymore” senses or something.

“Come on, man!” he yelled into Brad’s ear, grinning, and dragged him up on stage. He thrusted a bottle into Brad’s hand and started dancing spastically, swiveling his hips like a bad hula-hoop dancer, wasted and desperate for attention.

Brad danced as well, trying to out do Tyler for craziness, after all the man did have a reputation to preserve, losing his shirt and working up a sweat. A couple of hot blondes in really tight dresses were giggling and pouting at him. He thought the tall one’s hand gestures meant she was suggesting a threesome and he felt like he was finally starting to get into the groove of the evening when Tyler stumbled into his peripheral vision.

He looked totally wrecked.

His hair was spiked wildly as if he had just pulled off his helmet after a particularly intense game, his pants were riding so low he was almost exposed and he was completely drenched, with sweat dripping down the angles of his face and the contours of his muscles.

For a moment, Brad totally forgot about the girls, forgot about the party, hell, forgot about the Stanley Cup as he watched a heavy bead of sweat roll from the hollow of Tyler’s neck. It changed course with Tyler’s twisting body and travelled down his chest, just passing a nipple before getting lost in the ripple of his abs.

He was struck with an overwhelming urge to chase it with his tongue.

He made it most of the way across the stage and had an arm around Tyler’s waist before his brain caught up and he realized that was a stupid idea. He turned it into a sweaty one-armed bro-hug instead.

Just so happened that he angled himself so that Tyler’s leg every so often brushed against the erection that may or may not have been starting to form. He wasn’t entirely sure that was totally coincidental either.

He saw the flashes of iPhones and cameras and the teeny tiny part of his brain that still gave a shit realized that whatever happened on this stage would soon be all over the internet tomorrow. No matter how many times the two of them got photographed sitting in each other’s laps, or how many times Tyler called him his “lover” on Twitter, it would be really “B”ad if someone took a picture of him sucking on his teammate’s neck, his chest, or, anywhere else.

Stumbling out of Brad’s loose grasp, Tyler gyrated a little more forcefully than he probably meant to, his jeans slipping just a tiny bit further down his hips.

Brad could see his pubic hair.

Actually...everyone could see his pubic hair.

He should have been more grossed out by that, he would have thought. Also when did he start thinking about other men’s pubes? He passed the mostly empty bottle of Kristal to the tall blonde girl. He was drunk enough for tonight.

Tyler looked to be winding up for another enthusiastic hip swivel and Brad decided to save him the embarrassment of having cell phone pictures of his dick falling out posted all over the internet like a bad wardrobe malfunction during a halftime show at the SuperBowl.

Or, maybe, he thought with the same part of his mind that seemed to be suddenly preoccupied with other men’s pubes, he wanted to save that sight for himself.

He hooked an arm around Tyler’s waist again, this time to guide him down off the stage and away from the crowd. They were most of the way to Brad’s room before Tyler strung together a sentence which Brad could actually decipher.

“Why are we going away from the party? Braaaaaaad. Maaaaarchy… are you kidding meeeeeeeee?”

“Obviously I want you all for myself, stud,” he laughed lightly, waggling his eyebrows in a parody of suggestiveness as he swiped his door key and held the door open for Tyler’s drunk ass.

He tried not to think about how dangerously close he was to being serious.

“Duh,” Tyler snorted, stumbling yet again and trying to make it look like he meant to move like that. He ended up pinning Brad to the inside of the door. It slammed the final few inches with a loud bang.

They were both startled enough to realize what positions they had assumed: Brad was pressed against the back of the door, Tyler’s taller frame was molded to him from knees to nipples and his hands pinned Brad’s wrists above his head. The Boston pest got the sudden feeling he was about to be ravished.

It was quickly followed by the feeling that had been missing from his evening.

He was frightened by the possibility and turned his face away from Tyler’s, but the guy’s “Marchy senses” must have been tingling again, because the young man mirrored the movement and soon their lips were meeting. Tyler’s hands tightened around his wrists, his leg slipped between Brad’s.

Yup, a thorough ravishing from Tyler Seguin was apparently exactly what was missing from this otherwise perfect night out. Well, from his whole life actually. Why had they not been doing this all the time?

Tyler was sucking on his tongue, desperate, filthy, almost choking in his enthusiasm. He opened his eyes, but the other man’s face was just too close and Brad’s eyes started to cross with the effort of trying to look at Tyler.

No, this wasn’t working—he needed to see him.

Brad shifted his weight forward to free his hands and twisted them around until he was the one holding onto Tyler’s wrists. He suddenly made Tyler become the frightened one and that made him especially happy. He used that to pull him further into the suite.

With the lights off, it took him a minute to find the bed. Forgoing a lamp, Brad threw open the curtain on the room’s massive window, filling the room with the glow of outdoor lighting and moonlight. They were high enough up that someone would need some kind of super spy zoom lens in order to photograph them. Probably. Whatever. Creepers.

When Brad turned back to the bed, Tyler was sprawled across it, his impossibly long torso arched slightly as he dug his shoulders in, squirming to get comfortable. His pants had finally gotten too low for propriety. He could spot the visible spot, where his erection and ceaseless movements had pulled his waistband down. It was so easy for Brad to kneel over him and slide them the rest of the way off. Effortless. Natural.

Soon, he was hovering over Tyler’s abdomen, breathing heavily and it was obviously driving the younger man crazy if the noises he was making were any indication. Brad inched forward that last little bit, pressing the side of his face into Tyler’s stomach. It was probably pretty un-sexy, but the sound Tyler made at the contact, which was a choked whine deep in his throat, was definitely one of the sexiest things Brad had ever heard.

He dragged his mouth down Tyler’s abs and, carefully avoiding his bulge and started biting at the inside of his thighs.

Tyler began to whine again as Brad’s mouth moved further away from where the young twenty-one year old wanted it most, but the sound quickly changed to a breathy sigh once Brad’s mouth had worked its way down the inside of his leg, which had now hooked over Brad’s shoulder.

If he was this blissed-out from Brad’s mouth on his thigh…

Brad sat back on his haunches, pulling Tyler’s legs a little further apart and settled between them. He knew better than to let himself think too hard about any of this, opting instead to focus on the way every muscle in Tyler’s body clenched at onc. Brad leaned forward and lowered his head down toward the young man’s.

Alright, Marchy, you’ve got this, he thought, focus on the quiver of his abs, the little shivers that run through his body on each thrust and sensation. Focus on the way his hands grasp at your hair, sliding through sweat and gel, the way he sounds a bit like he’s dying as you lick your way inside. Ignore the fact that that your tongue is… that you’re licking… in Tyler’s… whatever.

Noises. Writhing. Tyler.

Good.

Brad changed his angle ever so slightly and Tyler fisted both hands in his hair and bucked so hard upward that Brad’s mouth lifted clear off of Tyler’s.

“Tyler!” the pest scolded, before shoving him back down rather roughly. He was having a giggle fit and whimpered as he tried to drive up and take Brad’s lips back into his.

Definitely good.

He braced Tyler’s hips with his legs once more, pushing him firmly back onto the bed as he redoubled his efforts with his tongue, exploring Tyler’s mouth once more.

When he lifted back upward and sat on top of Tyler, ready to fuck him senseless now, he realized the kid didn’t seem too into it. In fact, it looked like he was passed out cold.

Getting up in Tyler’s face to make sure he really was dead to the world, he snuck a tiny peck to his forehead and couldn’t stop a stupid grin from forming. “Dammit Segs, you owe me one hell of a time when you wake up!”

Then he snuggled in next to the younger player and fell asleep as well.


One Week Later...

He sat on the bed and watched Tyler walk around the room aimlessly. He wasn’t packing, (he had plenty of time for that later) he was just walking around. Touching things and putting them back. Stepping over Marshall, who didn’t understand why all that random movement didn’t include playing with him. Harvey sat in the corner, far enough away that he wouldn’t get stepped on. He was smart enough to know Tyler wasn’t watching or thinking about what he was doing. Marshall wasn’t that smart and barked for attention that he did not receive.

The problem was that Brad couldn’t show he was mad. Tyler was in some kind of shock and it wouldn’t be fair to add the fact that he was thinking this was all his own fault on top of that. The first time the trade rumors started this off season, they got worried. It was going to happen for sure, everyone said so and all the way out to Calgary.

Then Tyler got the call about needing to shape his act up. And he agreed to do anything Coach said, because he wanted to stay. They wanted to stay together. Brad remembered talking about what changes they’d make next season, so they wouldn’t get this scare again. They’d agreed to tone it down for Tyler’s sake. One way or another they were going to make it work.

But that was pointless now.

He could be as wild as he wanted to be, because he’d be doing that in Dallas and with God knows who. Brad suddenly couldn’t imagine going out and partying in Boston anymore. The idea made him sick to his stomach. In fact, Brad couldn’t imagine doing anything in Boston anymore. If they had to trade him...and if he was going to be honest, he knew deep down that they had to trade him...why couldn’t they have traded both of them together? They could have made this new start together.

Why did they have to do this to them? It wasn’t fair.

But Brad had to focus on Tyler. He hadn’t known what to say when he told him. He had just stared, the word ‘Dallas’ bouncing around his head. That was far. That was Western Conference far. He wondered who Tyler would call to pick them...well him...up when he was even too drunk. The thought pained him.

Tyler sat next to him and waited for him to say something. Anything.

Finally Brad rubbed a hand over his face before he replied, “We’ll make it work.”

Tyler nodded. He slowly managed to smile. It was an actual smile, the kind that wasn’t for the press and wasn’t drunken or fake. One that was real and genuine. It was his real smiles that knocked Brad right off his feet, but they weren’t all that common. Luckily, he made Brad the exception for the real ones.

“Yeah...I suppose so.” Tyler's tone was painfully hopeful.

“Yeah. Other guys do it, right? Kaner, Tazer, they do this, right? So can we.” Brad tried to sound as convincing. He willed himself not to think about bad thoughts like Tyler getting drunk and acting like a party hound. Instead, he was just thinking about how they would make it and how everything would turn out to be just fine.

"But Kaner and Tazer are on the same team. We aren't."

"We'll make it work somehow...I promise." Brad reached up for Tyler's face. He was halted, when Tyler's phone rang. The younger man answered it, without bothering to check the number. After all, “The Call” had already come, it couldn’t get worse. Right?

“Hey?” the young man said into the speaker. It was a casual greeting, not at all formal, so it had to not be anyone important.

Brad watched as Tyler’s smirk slowly faded into an emotionless fake-smile like the kind he gave to the media. Tyler wasn’t looking at him, too busy saying things like “Uh huh” and “Yeah, sweet” and “I’m looking forward to it” and totally not really meaning a word of it. It was killing him not to know who it was or what they were talking about. Brad sat on the edge of the bed now, staring him down. Finally he hung up and walked aimlessly around the room, tossing his phone to the side.

“That was Jamie Benn,” Tyler said, eventually pausing in his pacing to face Brad. “My new line mate in Dallas.”

“Oh.” Brad wished he’d kept that in, the moment he said it.

Tyler’s face fell even further, “I’m not happy about it. I just—“

Brad was on his feet and over to the young man, before Tyler could finish the sentence. The Bruin pest cut him off with, “I know. I just hate it. But we’ll make it work. Even if your new linemate, Jamie, or your other teammates want to get in bed with you.”

That made Tyler smile and chuckle a little. It was a real smile...even if it was small. “I love you, Marchy.” He didn’t often say it like that - usually it was after they’d won something and it was whispered in his ear - but Brad loved hearing it nonetheless.

"I love you too Tyler."

They grabbed one another into a deep hug, wanting and hoping never to let go. But they would have to. Before Brad could break away, Tyler kissed him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss or a prelude to sex, but it was reassuring and delightful still the same. It was meant to reassure Brad and to reassure himself. And Brad was more than happy to comply.

Yes, they would make it. One way or another.

But that wasn’t the case. As millions know, long distance relationships didn’t always work out or even last. Unfortunately, Brad had to go through it the hard way...he got the worst of the situation...and Tyler, he didn’t seem to care much more. All of those nights hanging out together, partying and all, it was now just a waste.

Notes

Yeah, I'm not sure...but I feel like something happened sort of like this with Marchy and Segs...
Oh and "awwww" right?

Next up: Tyler is a BIG douche and Jamie is in trouble...also Brad goes to seek help...from a special Halifax Alumni Man (Not Jonathan Drouin).