puckandpie | (no subject)

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jack

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The timing is just about perfect. Classes at Barton have just started up again so I don't yet have too much homework and camp is still in full swing so I know Jack won't be home until after 4:00 at the earliest. I can't help but hope the kids are spoiling him something rotten today, can't help wondering if they brought in a cake and hung streamers and sang for him. I'll definitely be asking later but, for now, I have work to do.

It takes more than a few hours of preparation when all is said and done and the dinner is the easy part.

Eventually, though, there are five pictures hanging up on the walls, each of them wrapped in a different colored paper. Or, well. It's a fake wrapping, honestly. Just enough to cover the front so Jack won't have too much difficulty opening them, so to speak. Each picture is a photo Jack's taken over the past year or so: there's one of a little family of ducklings hanging up in the dining area, one of Elvis next to one of Macha and Shannon together in the entryway, one of about a dozen of Jack's camp kids in a dogpile hanging up by the window and a beautiful black and white one of his and my skates hanging above the television.

At the very least, there's no way he'll be able to miss them all.

I'm a little worried at first about the timing on all of it since I'm not exactly sure when Jack's going to be home, but he texts me when he's about to leave and that helps. It gives me just enough time to put on all the little finishing touches -- namely setting up the table, dimming the lights and trying to tame my cowlick one last time -- before dishing up the filet mignon and homemade poutine and grilled veggies. I put all the little tricks I've learned the past few months to use to make the most appealing presentation of both plates while I have the pie keeping warm in the oven.

I've put the little doggie blockade up in the hall to keep Macha and Shannon from trying to eat everything in sight though I feel a little bad for it when we all hear the familiar jingle of Jack's keys in the lock and they immediately start whining in anticipation.

"I'll make it up to y'all later, I promise," I tell them as I grab the celebratory bottle of wine from the bucket and rush to meet Jack at the door. "Double the milk bones tonight."

Then I turn on my brightest, warmest smile as the door opens, holding the bottle of wine up. "Happy birthday!"

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Funny how, after three years of knowing him, I'm still blown away by just how handsome Jack is. Even in just jeans and a t-shirt, he looks like he stepped right out of some fashion magazine with those broad shoulders and blue, blue eyes of his.

I practically melt against him when he wraps an arm around me, but my grin doesn't waver in the slightest and I hum against the kiss he presses to my lips.

"No going out," I confirm and I might feel a little guilty for that if not for the way that Jack sounds like he'd actually be happier to stay in. When he mentions the kids, I mentally add a full-body message to my list things to do for him before the end of the evening and step back as I nod at the table behind me. "But I sure hope you're hungry," I tell him before leading him over.

At the table, I finish opening the wine bottle and pour first his glass than mine. I motion for him to take a seat. "Based on your notes from Canada Day, I changed up the poutine recipe just a little. I know it's your birthday, but I still expect a full report with detailed notes before the end of the night."

"Always hungry for whatever you're offering," I reply, slipping in a little innuendo and hardly blushing at all. He pulls away from me and moves with a flourish, and I watch him fondly as I take my seat. His demand for a report on his new creation makes me huff out a laugh and I nod, reaching out to lift my wine glass and take a small sip. "I would expect nothing less."

The food really does smell incredible and I inhale deeply as he dishes out a plate of food. The steak is thick and looks perfectly cooked, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. I've barely eaten today, aside from all the sugary snacks that I either had to eat or endure a series of pouts for not eating (so I ate them obviously). "Thanks, Bits. This all looks amazing."

In reaching eagerly for my fork, I forget about the twinge in my shoulder and wince slightly, chuckling a little. "The kids thought the best way to celebrate my birthday was to pelt me with water balloons, tackle me to the ground, and dog pile on top of me repeatedly," I tell him, trying to sound annoyed though my expression is hopelessly fond. "Scarier than any D-men I've ever faced."

Even a year ago, I would assume that comment to be completely innocuous coming from Jack. Not because I'd have doubted his interest in me, but more because innuendo isn't something that's ever come easy to him. Not outright, at least.

But now, well... now I can see it, and I give him a little smirk in reply along with a little slap to his hip.

Once we're sitting and Jack has spent a good amount of time admiring the presentation as well as the smell of it all, I grin as he takes his fork. My smile falters a little at the way he twinges, at least until he explains the cause.

"Well, I certainly can't blame them for wanting to get you wet and climb all over you," I tell him, slipping in a little innuendo of my own. "Celebrating your birthday sounds like a pretty good excuse for all that. And you loved every minute of it, didn't you, Mr. Zimmermann. Those kids might as well be your own for how much you adore them."

"I'm sure they had much purer intentions than you would," I tease, smirking a little as I spear some of the poutine with my fork. It's delicious, which isn't a surprise, and I let out a pleased groan just to let him know just how good it tastes. It's enough to distract me from a perfectly good steak, which is no easy feat. "God, this is amazing. I'm so spoiled."

The food is incredible enough to distract me for a few minutes, ravenous after a day without much in the way of real food. It's not until I'm halfway through the steak that I notice something new above the television, doing a bit of a double take when I see the wrapping paper.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing with my fork and looking between my plate and the gift, obviously torn between which will get my immediate attention.

I return his smirk with one of my own, seeing no reason to argue. If any of those kids are thinking of anything less than innocent about Jack, I'm certain I don't want to know about it. I'm sure more than a few might have a crush on him, though. I know I would have if I'd had a camp counselor like him.

In fact, I still have quite a few fond memories of Counselor Jeff when I was a kid, the object of my first Big Gay Crush. I was eleven.

Come to think of it, he looked a lot like Jack. Huh.

Jack's question pulls me from my drifting thoughts and I glance over to see what's caught his attention, grinning at the wrapped picture hanging above the television.

"What's it look like?" I ask him, biting back a grin as I scoop up a forkful of poutine for myself. "You have to finish your dinner before you open up your presents though, of course. And leave room for the pie."

My eyes narrow slightly at Bittle before my attention goes back to the wrapped frame. It must be a frame; the placement and shape don't really leave many options. There's another wrapped rectangle on a different wall, and I huff before cutting into my meat a little more quickly.

"It's going to be your fault if I get a stomachache." I tell him, shoving a big chunk of meat into my mouth and chewing quickly. It takes some work before I can swallow, and I reach for the wine to wash it down. "Presents and then pie."

His eyes narrow, lips twitched in a suspicious sort of grin and, I have to admit, I'm maybe even more excited for Jack to open his presents as he is.

But I'm gonna hold fast to my promise and I grin as he bites into a big ol' bite of meat as I cut off a much smaller one for myself. Tossing him a wink across the table, I reach for my glass of wine, washing down some of my food with a sip.

"Presents then pie," I agree before extending my leg to give his foot a light nudge with my own. "But first you gotta tell me more about your day. Did you get anything special apart from the water fight and becoming a human jungle gym 'cause, I gotta tell you, I don't think that's so different from a normal day for you."

Bits seems incredibly determined to draw out the time between now and presents, but I can't say that's much of a bad thing when I have all of his attention focused on me. Usually being the center of attention makes me anxious and uncomfortable (ironic for a former hockey star on the rise, sure) but with Bits it just makes me feel warm all over.

"Most of the kids made me cards," I admit, looking wholly pleased and just a little embarrassed. "Apparently Cassie brought it up in arts and crafts the other day. They're in my bag. I'll show you later. After presents."

I eat a few more bites of delicious food, letting out soft noises of appreciation before continuing. "I had far too much store-bought cake. I appreciated the thought but it really drove home how much you've spoiled me, eh? Nothing else lives up."

The idea of dozens of little kids spending their morning hand-making Jack birthday cards makes something clench tight in my chest. It's just the cutest thing, really. Particularly because I know Jack will keep every single one, tuck them all carefully in a box in his closet to revisit at a later time. Whenever the feeling strikes.

My grin widens at his cake comment, cheeks warming just a bit.

"Well, I only made a pie, not a cake," I point out, cutting off another bite of food for myself. "So, in that respect, they got me beat. Did they make you blow out candles, too?"

"Your pie beats any cake I've ever had, easy," I tell him, smiling at the pleased look on his face. "Plus, I smell maple, and that beats everything."

I did have to blow out candles, and I tell him as much as I look down at the last remaining bite of my steak. The plate is clean otherwise, and I drag the piece of meat around to pick up any traces I might have missed before popping it into my mouth. My wine gets drained shortly after and I lean back in my chair to rest my hands on my stomach, utterly satisfied. "That was incredible, Bits. Thank you."

After a few quiet moments spent relaxing and digesting, my eyes crack open to land on the mysteriously wrapped frame once more. "Is it time now?"

He tells me a little more about the cake and all the candles the kids had put on it. Apparently they'd put a few more than strictly necessary and I can't help but wonder if Jack had made a wish before trying to blow them all out. And what that wish might have been.

Whatever it was, I just hope it comes true.

I'm on my last bite of poutine as Jack quickly finishes cleaning off his plate and I glance up at him, grinning as he anxiously eyes the picture frame by the door.

"Goodness, you're eager, aren't you?" I reply, all tease. I nod though, using my napkin to wipe at my mouth before pushing the chair back to stand up. I pour myself another glass of wine. "Save the one above the TV for last though," I tell him. "I like that one best."

"You're good at giving presents," I remind him. "I have reason to be excited."

I stand when he does, grabbing the plates and setting them in the sink before he can protest. He's standing in the middle of the living room with a glass of wine and I join him, looking around curiously. "How many are there?"

There's one right behind me in the dining area that somehow escaped my attention in the pleasant onslaught of both an affectionate Bittle and food. I look at him suspiciously and go over to it, carefully pulling off the wrapping that covers the frame. Somehow I'm still surprised to find one of my own photos there, one of my favorites of some baby ducks by the pond in the park.

"Bits," I say quietly, swallowing hard and studying the way that the photo looks in the elegant frame. The fact that Bittle finds my photography good enough to decorate our home with is gift enough, and my expression is reverent as I reach up to rest my fingertips at the bottom of the frame. "Wow."

"There's five total," I reply, following him just a couple steps when he spots the one in the dining room, trying to hide my grin all the while. "I'll let you try to find them all. Like a really unexciting scavenger hunt!"

Grinning, I take another sip of my wine as he peels the wrapping off the first frame. I watch his face intently, eager to see his reaction and it doesn't disappoint at all. Jack's brow is all furrowed for the first couple seconds and then his eyes go wide when he realizes what it is he's looking at. I know he likes this picture a lot in particular, remember well how he'd raved over it shortly after taking it, how bright his eyes had been when he'd shown it to me the first time.

It's a really good picture, to be honest. The light in it is just right, glinting off the water of the pond as a line of little yellow ducks glide past, one of them looking almost directly at the camera as though posing for Jack.

"You shoulda heard the lady coo over this one when I took it in to get framed," I tell him, sliding a little closer. "I'm thinkin' I might go in later to give her her own copy she liked it so much."

"You and I must have differing views on what's exciting." My voice is low and thick, and I chuckle as I finally turn away from the photo. He doesn't seem to be blowing smoke when he talks about the woman's reaction, and I feel my cheeks heat up slightly.

I turn and move past Bits without touching him, because I know that once I do it will be nearly impossible to let go. He said that there are five and the one over the television is last, so that leaves three more. Starting by the front door and working my out seems logical, and luckily there are two right there in the entryway. Bits follows me, watching as I carefully peel away the layers of wrapping paper to reveal photos of our animals taken on a rare afternoon of peace.

My eyes sting as a I take it in, smiling a little as I press my fingertips to the frame. Elvis doesn't always get along with the dogs, no matter how hard they try to befriend him, but sometimes there's a bit of a truce declared between them all. Usually I'm never quick enough to get a photo without disrupting that peace, but this time I was lucky. Though it's two separate photos, it helps create a larger picture. Elvis is on the windowsill, tail dropping down the wall. The photo of the dogs has them curled up together in the sunlight, with a nearly perfect silhouette of Elvis on their backs as he casts a shadow.

They're good photos. It's so unusual to think of myself at being good at anything that isn't hockey, but I might be good at this too. It's possible to be proud of myself for other things.

"These are my favorite pictures of the kids," I finally say, looking over at Bits with shining eyes. "You're amazing, Bits."

Edited 2017-08-23 21:45 (UTC)

Quietly, I follow Jack toward the door and watch him carefully peel the paper off the picture of Elvis first, followed right away the one of the dogs. I've arranged them just so, making it clear that they were taken at nearly the same time or at least gives the impression they were.

There's something thick in Jack's voice and I can feel my own throat tighten a bit as I nod and smile over at him.

"Mine too," I tell him because it's nothing but the truth. After all, I picked those pictures for a reason. They're both pieces of a larger story, capturing not only the moment but the relationship between them and what they mean to both us. They might be the closest thing to children we ever have together and I think they fill that spot pretty well, completing our little family of five, so to speak.

When he looks over at me, his eyes a little wet, I let out a rough sort of laugh and shake my head as I step in close, curling my arm with his. "I'm not the amazing one here. If anything, I'm showing you how amazing you are. How talented."

"We are not going to stand here and argue over which one of us is more amazing," I say with a laugh, reaching out to pull him in for a hug as I let out a trembling breath. "We're both pretty great."

The dogs are whining from the hallway while Elvis dozes on the back of the sofa, tail flicking smugly in their direction. "I need a little break before I keep going or I will definitely cry. And now I want to love on our dogs."

Taking Bittle's hand, I lead him across the living room, stopping to scratch Elvis behind the ears as I pass. The dogs go wild as we approach, tails thumping loudly against the hardwood floor, and I open the gate to free them. Macha nearly bowls me over as I crouch down to give them love, and I laugh happily as I wrap my arms around their necks to accept their kisses.

"Hey guys," I croon softly, scratching them behind their ears. "Did you see what Bits did? You guys got a place on the wall!"

"There's nothing wrong with expressing your emotions, Mr. Zimmermann," I tease him as he slips his hand into mine. "In fact, it's extremely healthy. If you feel like crying, you should let yourself cry. Plus, it's kind of hot when you're all vulnerable."

It's not a real argument by any means, even if I mean every word of it, and my grin widens when we reach the gate holding the pups in. Jack, being the giant softy he is, frees them and is almost immediately bowled over by Macha and I reach down to scratch the top of her head as the sniff and lick all over Jack's face.

"Oh, I showed them," I promise him, moving my scritches to Shannon when he insists with a flip of his nose. "They even helped me pick out the photo. It's their favorite one, too."

"Beep boop," I joke, making jerky robot motions with my arms. Macha licks my face and I laugh as she crawls on me, forcing me back until I have to press my elbows into the floor to brace myself. "Is that so? Our dogs have a discerning eye for art, eh?"

After awhile I disentangle myself from the dogs and whistle sharply, sending them to their beds before I pull myself to my feet. My clothes have fur and slobber on them and I give Bits a lopsided smile. "Are you still gonna want to kiss me a bunch if I smell like dog?"

My eyes drift to the covered frame over the television and my breath catches slightly, because I have no idea what could be underneath. Whatever it is, Bits decided to make it the focal point. It will probably make me cry for real.

For once, I hadn't been trying to allude to the whole Robot Zimmermann thing, but his motions are amusing all the same and, grinning, I knock my shoulder against his arm playfully. Jack's come a long, long way from all that in the past year and a half, but I know it's still hard for him to show emotion sometimes. It makes sense, of course. That's not the kind of thing that's easy to change.

"I'll always want to kiss you," I tell him even as I reach out to start picking tufts of fur off his shirt, arching an eyebrow when he looks over my head and back toward the other room. Following his line of sight, I see what it is that's caught his attention and turn my grin back on him.

"Go on," I encourage him, stepping aside to lead him back toward the living room. "I think that one's my favorite, though. Maybe you should save it for last."

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