André Burakovsky One-Shots
Pre-Casino Night
You pursed your lips as you tried concentrating at the task at hand, but – “Would you stop fidgeting?” you exclaimed, huffing irritably and dropping the tie to step back and cross your arms over your chest. “I know you’re nervous and all, but your shaking is making it difficult for me to tie your tie.”
André stopped fidgeting to weakly smile at you and mutter an apology.
You smiled and reached for his tie again, only for him to start again. You stepped away again and sent him a pointed look.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, his Swedish accent thick in his words. He stepped forward and snaked his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. “This is just my first big, charity event with the Caps and I don’t –”
“We’re not even twenty-one yet, André,” you interjected, reaching for his tie again. He fortunately did shake, so you managed to tie his tie. “You have nothing to worry about, because all you need to do is look pretty and talk to a few people. You don’t have to worry about leading any games or getting wasted.”
You smiled at the perfectly tied tie. You placed your hands on his chest and smiled up at him. “You shouldn’t have a problem with anything. You got the pretty act down.”
He laughed and swooped in to snatch a quick kiss from your lips. “I think you’re talking about yourself, but good try,” he teased. He took a step back, but still held you in his arms, so he could admire your attire. “God, you look breathtaking. Red is definitely your color.”
“That’s what I think every time I see you on the ice in your Caps jersey,” you chortled, getting rid of the unwanted space and sliding your arms up and around his neck. “Way better than your Otters’ jersey.”
“We’re gonna be late if you keep doing this,” he mumbled, running his fingers over the bare part of your back that the dress didn’t cover.
“I’m not complaining. How much of us underaged kiddies are they gonna miss?”
“You make us sound like we’re under eighteen again.”
“Back in Sweden? Those were good times,” you said, toying with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I don’t mind being under eighteen again.”
André gave you a blank look and said, “I do. Those were dark times: you weren’t my girlfriend back then.”
You couldn’t help to aw at your boyfriend’s cuteness and give him a kiss. “I really think if you keep doing this, you’re gonna miss Casino Night.”
He sighed and pulled away, but slipped his hand into yours and interlocked your fingers together. “Do you have everything?” he asked, heading for the front door.
You nodded, quickly snatching your handbag from the bed. “Yep.”
After you both exited his apartment, he let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you against his side. “I hope I won’t be stopped at the door,” he grumbled.
“How many times you bet people are going to be stopping you tonight, asking if you’re at least eighteen?”
André frowned down at you. “Why not at least twenty-one?”
“Please,” you said, rolling your eyes and patting his cheek. “You have the face of a sixteen-year-old.”
“What did I say about going back to those dark times?”
You laughed, playfully knocking into him. “Just consider us being under eighteen again right now: you’re young and out of the friend-zone with me.”
