The Werewolf Prince's Husband

Alex misses practice one day before a game, and that’s how it starts. Well, it starts for Brendan when Alex misses practice. Presumably, it started for Alex when he was born, but Brendan wasn’t around for that, so it doesn’t count for him.

Now missing practice in and of itself isn’t noteworthy. It happens. The coaching staff says that Alex is out with the flu, and Brendan believes them. The weather is starting to get cold now, a month and a half into the season, and that always seems to take people by surprise.

But Alex doesn’t respond to any of Brendan’s prodding text messages, which is unusual for him. When Alex is sick, he gets even crankier and meaner but less coherent, which is pretty much comedy gold. Brendan has received nonsensical strings of emoji, threats to Brendan’s hair in the middle of the night, and even once, some Cyrillic that when run through Google Translate, seemed to be comparing Brendan’s dick to a pencil. The locker room is always a little bit more boring when Alex isn’t around, but Brendan knows how to find his own fun when he needs it.

It’s not that worrying until an hour after practice ends and Brendan still hasn’t gotten a response. That’s more than enough time for Alex to wake up from a midday nap and type out something rude on his phone. But nope, nothing. Every time Brendan glances at his phone, the notifications are mostly for things like what the weather looks like outside and how the Dow Jones is doing today or what the Prime Minister said about taxes. Disappointing, to say the least.

Brendan probably shouldn’t show up at Alex’s apartment unannounced, but in fairness, it wasn’t like Alex was responding to tell him he should go away. Brendan leans on the doorbell a few times before letting himself in. He has a spare key for emergencies, and Alex maybe drowning himself in the bathtub seems like an emergency.

On his second pass through the empty apartment, a real, unsettling thread of fear starts to worm its way into Brendan’s stomach. Sure, Alex could be at the doctor’s office, but he’s also a slob when he’s sick: leaving behind a trail of used tissues, creating a blanket nest on his couch, collecting a mound of pill bottles on the kitchen counters. There’s none of that lying around. It’s just quiet and empty, save for Diego silently glaring at Brendan from a tall bookshelf.

Brendan tries calling Anna next, because she’s pretty good at keeping tabs on her brother, and she’s the one who can tell Brendan that Alex isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.

But calling her goes straight to voicemail. Maybe she’s driving her brother somewhere. Maybe she’s getting a manicure. Maybe she saw Brendan’s name on the caller ID and decided, eh, fuck this guy and rejected his call. It still smells fishy, though. Too many weird coincidences stacking up.

Brendan ends up on Anna’s doorstep next, because it’s not like he has anything else planned for this afternoon, and he’d like to know if Alex has been mysteriously traded or like, has fallen off the face of the earth. He rings the doorbell once and prepares himself for yet another dead end.

An unfamiliar man opens the front door, though, and he growls something in Russian that’s probably supposed to be a question.

“Uh, hi?” Brendan says. He tries on his most disarming smile.

The man’s scowl doesn’t let up one bit.

Brendan’s not here to like, cockblock anyone or anything, but he is a man on a mission. “I’m looking for Alex Galchenyuk. I know he wasn’t feeling well today, but I wanted to make sure--”

His rambling is interrupted by a low, angry growl from deeper inside the house, way too loud and too mean to be any of the Galchenyuk pets. Brendan glances over the man’s shoulder just in time to see two large wolves scramble out of the dining room and into the foyer: one a pale, sandy brown, one a dark gray, both bigger than any of the wolves that Brendan has seen at zoos before. They’re not fighting so much as glaring at each other, baring their wolf teeth.

“Um,” Brendan says.

Mama Chucky chooses that moment to sweep into view. She seems unbothered by the two giant wolves growling at each other in the foyer. “Oh, Brendan! Not a good time.” She turns to Mr. Crankypants and says something to him in Russian that gets him to stop giving Brendan a death glare and then leave.

“Sorry,” Brendan says. He steps inside so that she can shut the door behind him. “I just wanted to check in on Alex?” He’s calmer than he should be about the whole thing because everyone else seems pretty chill right now and not freaking out about Alex going missing, which is good.

Behind Mama Chucky, the wolves take their growling match into another room, and some of Brendan’s natural fight-or-flight response relaxes. It helps that there aren’t any wild carnivores in the same room as him anymore. “You’re a very nice boy,” Mama Chucky says, “but Sasha is busy. We have important family business.”

“Right,” Brendan says. “Sorry for, uh, intruding.” He can’t help but keep glancing over her shoulder, just in case the wolves make a reappearance. He can still hear them growling, their claws clicking against the tiles in the kitchen, so it probably wasn’t just a hallucination. Probably.

Alex chooses that moment to walk through the foyer, talking with Mr. Crankypants from earlier in low-voiced, fast-paced Russian. He’s not coughing or sniffling or bleary-eyed, and he’s even dressed in jeans and a non-Habs-branded t-shirt. Brendan’s not a genius or anything, but even he can tell that the flu excuse is a bogus excuse that Alex made to the coaching staff to cover up whatever the hell this is. Alex glances up from his conversation once, but then does a hilarious double-take when he sees Brendan standing there. “Gally,” he says, voice even. He’s not scowling, but his face is doing a thing that closely resembles scowling. “What are you doing here?”

Brendan shrugs. “Hi,” he says with a little wave.

Alex nods at Mama Chucky and Mr. Crankypants, and they both, through some unspoken agreement, leave Alex and Brendan alone to talk.

Brendan wants to start off the conversation by pointing out that Alex is a filthy liar who definitely played hooky from practice this morning, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Did you know you have wolves in your house?”

Alex sighs. “Yes,” he says flatly, his accent thick in the way it gets when he’s pissed off.

“Is this some kind of weird Russian thing?”

Alex hesitates, and Brendan can see the gears in his head turning. “Yes,” Alex says with the least convincing lie ever, “now go away. We’re busy.”

And okay, Brendan knows how to be an annoying shit, but he also knows when not to make a social interaction awkward. “Fine, fine,” he says. “I’ll let you go do your weird Russian things.”

Brendan doesn’t like it, but he is willing to turn around and walk away so he has a reason pester Alex about it all later. However, his exit is interrupted when the gray wolf runs into the foyer and transforms into a person -- like, a full-sized human person who is made out of things besides fur and teeth. She smiles at Brendan in a way that makes Brendan think of velociraptors.

“Oh shit,” Brendan says. “That’s definitely not a normal weird Russian thing.”

Alex sighs again.

---

The gist of what Brendan gets out of the five minute conversation is afterwards is:

Werewolves are real and also a secret.

Alex is a werewolf.

Brendan should get the fuck out, because Alex has secret werewolf business to deal with.

“Are you going to be at morning skate tomorrow?” Brendan asks. They’ve got a game in the evening. It’s just against the Sabres, but it would be nice to know.

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. His frown somehow gets bigger. “We have a lot of things to--”

“Sasha!” Anna yells from another room. She follows it up with some urgent Russian.

“Look, I can explain more later,” Alex says, “but I have to go.”

“Right,” Brendan says. “I’ll stop by your place tonight. You can tell me more about all this then.”

“Fine,” Alex says, as he gets two hands on Brendan’s back and shoves Brendan out the front door. “Whatever.”

---

Brendan very patiently waits until after dinner to show up at Alex’s place. He’s nicer on the doorbell this time, but when Alex answers the door, his expression is still dark and stormy, stressed out and irritated like he’s been yelled at about bad turnovers for hours.

“Hey, bud,” Brendan says. “That bad, eh?” He gives Alex something that approximates a pat on the shoulder, not that Alex even seems to notice.

Alex runs a hand over his face, and Brendan isn’t sure, but maybe his beard is looking extra bushy today. “Long day,” Alex says before flopping down on the couch.

“Seems like it,” Brendan agrees. He picks out his favorite corner of the couch and claims it. “You should tell me more about all this secret werewolf shit.”

Alex glares at him, his jaw tense.

“C’mon,” Bendan says. “I already know your deep, dark secret. You can tell me the rest of it, too.”

That does the trick, probably because Alex has been wound up so tight all day and needs someone to vent to who he isn’t directly related to. “Anna was chosen to be the leader of our pack last night.”

“Like an alpha?” Brendan asks.

“No,” Alex says with a roll of his eyes. “That’s a stupid human concept.”

“Can I start calling her Alpha Anna, now?”

Alex decides to ignore that one for the most part, but he does punch Brendan in the shoulder. It hurts, hits an existing hockey bruise, but it’s nothing that Brendan can’t handle. “Because of Anna’s new position, and because she hasn’t pair-bonded yet, I’m expected take up some of the responsibilities that her mate would have.” He sounds like he’s reciting something out of a handbook.

“So you’re the beta, then?” Brendan asks. It’s all kind of insane to hear about, but that’s no reason to take everything too seriously.

“No,” Alex says. “But I-- it’s a lot of work. I can’t play hockey and do all of that. I’d have to-- quit the team. Retire. Commit to the pack full time.” His frown has deepened, and he runs one hand through his hair.

Brendan blinks. “Wait, what? Can’t you get an ‘I’m a famous hockey player’ exemption?” He’s only thought vaguely about his own retirement, but he’s pretty sure that someone will have to physically drag him off the ice when that happens. He’s worked too damn hard to get here to let something as trivial as old age slow him down. His parents-- if something like this happened, they’d understand, they’d find the loophole. But then again, Brendan has a brother and two sisters. There are other options readily available.

Alex snorts. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“So you’re just going to call the front office tomorrow and tell them that you’re retiring at the age of twenty-three and then disappear off the face of the earth?”

“I have until the next full moon before I have to take on the job full time, so I can get a few more games in. And there’s this one other exception--” He shakes his head like he’s not even sure that he wants to go there.

“Yeah?” Brendan asks. He’s prepared himself for the idea that either one of them could get traded at any time. That’s the business. But the thought of Alex and his sick hands not playing hockey anymore, anywhere, that’s just fucking sad.

“If I get pair-bonded before then, my cousin Dimitri ends up being Anna’s second.” For some reason, Alex doesn’t look any more cheerful about this.

“Hey, that works! What do we need to get you pair-bonded? What does that even mean?” Brendan asks.

“The closest human concept is marriage,” Alex says.

“Oh,” Brendan says.

---

Alex does show up to morning skate the next day, looking grim-faced and determined, which is an encouraging sign. Brendan looked up the timing of the next full moon, and it’s in about two weeks. Seven games until they may lose Alex for good.

Brendan tries not to think too hard about that.

For Alex’s part, he doesn’t mention anything to anyone. It’s obvious that something is going on with him, but he’s not exactly forthcoming about any of it. Brendan might be the only person who knows the truth of it. It’s weird to think about.

“Hey, bud,” Brendan says after the reporters covering morning skate have left, plopping down on the bench next to Alex. “How’s it going?”

“Fuck off,” Alex says. He sniffs his clean t-shirt before putting it on, which Brendan realizes he’s seen Alex do plenty of times before. It’s almost definitely a weird werewolf thing that never pinged Brendan as a werewolf thing before. He wonders how much of that was hiding in plain sight, brushed off as minor eccentricities. Granted, werewolves aren’t the first people think of when they see Alex sniffing things, so Brendan can be forgiven for his poor observational skills.

“You’re somehow even less fun than normal, Chucky,” Brendan says, and he knows he’s being a little clingy, but well, no one could blame him for feeling that way, knowing what he knows.

Alex must be out of it because he doesn’t even let that distract him into a minor slap fight. “Whatever,” he says, grabbing his things and heading for the door without so much as glancing in Brendan’s direction.

He hasn’t really left yet, but Brendan has the sinking feeling that he’s getting a taste of what it’s going to be like when Alex is finally gone.

---

The game against the Sabres is fine. They pull out a disgusting 2-1 win off a couple of lucky bounces. Brendan scores one of the goals. Alex gets an assist on the other. The feeling in the room afterwards is buoyant if not downright cheerful, and that’s how Brendan notices that Alex is wearing one of his nicer suits, one that makes his legs look unreal and his does nice things to his shoulders. Not just a game day suit. A date suit. Brendan’s known Alex long enough and played hockey with Alex long enough to know that.

There’s a visitor waiting for Alex outside the locker room that Brendan has never seen before. She’s short, a bit mousy looking, with long brown hair and chunky black hipster glasses. She seems more interested in her phone than any of the hockey stuff going on around her.

“Hello,” Alex says to her, while Brendan hovers in the background like a creep. “Are you ready to go?” He’s being polite in the way he is when he’s trying to impress somebody.

“Sure,” she says. “Let’s get this over with.” Brendan thought that maybe she’d be Russian, too, but her voice has a distinct Californian snap to it.

They walk off side-by-side down the hallway as Alex tries to make stilted conversation and she doesn’t seem interested in it at all.

Brendan bugs Alex the next day before practice. “So who was the mystery girl?” he asks as they’re pulling on their pads. He can tell the other guys are listening in, which means that there’s this whole werewolf-shaped hole in the conversation.

“Just someone my parents tried to set me up with,” Alex says, face twisting up in distaste. “It didn’t go very well. She kept trying to talk to me about the Large Hadron Collider.”

“Jeez,” Patches says, butting into the conversation. “I’m pretty sure your parents know you better than that.”

Alex shrugs. “They want me to settle down. They were just trying to help.”

Get wolf-married so he can keep playing hockey, Brendan’s brain translates for him. Alex’s parents want him to find a nice werewolf girl who he can bond with as soon as possible, because they want Alex to be happy and not stuck doing pack leadership things that Alex would be shitty at anyway.

“I get that,” Patches says. He gives Alex’s hair a friendly ruffle. “But you know you don’t have to settle down until you’re good and ready, right? No sense in compromising on the rest of your life when you’re still so young.” He’s got his fatherly captain voice on, and somehow that almost makes it worse.

To Alex’s credit (and Brendan refuses to give Alex much credit for anything), he doesn’t visibly flinch at Patches’ words, but the expression on his face does make it look like the school bully stole all his lunch money and also his pudding cup. “Right,” Alex says. “Thanks.”

---

The next week and the games that come with it are rough. Alex goes on a scoring tear, but it’s the reckless, awful kind where he gives up as many goals as he gets, because he can’t be bothered to give a shit about anything but putting the puck in the net. The team loses as many games as they win. He gets chewed out by Coach a few times, benched for half a game even, and Alex is very quiet and very serious and very polite about it all, but it’s also just as clear that all of it goes in one ear and out the other.

Patches and Webs are worried about it, but Brendan’s the only one who has enough context to know what’s going on. Alex is playing like this is the last few NHL hockey games he’ll ever play in his life. Alex is getting ready to walk away for good.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Brendan promises Patches during their next team leadership meeting, and he tries not to feel guilty at the relieved look Patches shoots him.

He shows up at Alex’s place with a bag full of Chinese takeout, and when Alex answers the door, he shoves his way in before Alex can object.

What Brendan means to say is, Hey, you know it’s not the end of the world, right?, but what comes out is, “Uh, so about this wolf-marriage thing, does it have to be with another werewolf?”

Alex frowns, his forehead furrowing. “What does that have--”

“Or with a woman?” Brendan continues. “Is the werewolf community progressive about that sort of thing?”

“It just has to be with another person,” Alex says. He pauses, gives Brendan a curious look. “Are you trying to set me up with someone, too?”

“Well, yes,” Brendan says, before he can stop himself. “Me.” Despite what opposing teams might think, Brendan does actually have a good brain-to-mouth filter, but it’s not functioning very well at the moment. Alex always messes with it, just by being big and obnoxious and stupid and funny and soft-eyed and weirdly sweet.

“What?” Alex asks.

“Me,” Brendan says, and everything about this conversation is like a slow-moving car crash. He can’t stop it, though. Just have to keep barreling through and trust that you’ll make it out the other side alive. “You could marry me.”

“Uh,” Alex says. “What?” He’s not disgusted or anything, which is good. Brendan is definitely going to take that as a positive sign.

“It’s like, you need to marry someone so you can keep playing hockey. I could be that person. It’s perfect. I know you’re a werewolf already. I’m already on the team. And I’m not going to like, expect things from you besides you being your normal weirdo self. It’s basically like you’re marrying hockey.”

“Marrying hockey?” Alex repeats.

“Yes,” Brendan says.

Alex opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to think better of it and closes it again.

“Well,” Brendan says. “I hoped my first marriage proposal would work out better than this.”

“You just proposed in the name of hockey,” Alex says, because he always has the words to insult Brendan, even if he doesn’t have the words for anything else. “What is wrong with you?”

“I just want to give you options so that you don’t have to be all sad martyr boy about this.”

Alex stares at Brendan with an intense sort of scrutiny, and maybe it should be different, knowing that Alex spends part of his time as a wild animal that could eat Brendan for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it’s still just Alex, who has the worst cellys when he scores and who is obsessed with peanut butter cups and who laughs at all the poop jokes in the stoner comedies they watch together. That’s still who Alex is. He’s also just-- a werewolf, too. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Alex asks.

Brendan says, “It’s like that whole green card marriage thing, except with werewolves, right?”

“That doesn’t work in Canada,” Alex points out.

“Whatever, it works with werewolves, apparently. Oh hey, we could sign a prenup and everything.”

“It’s not-- what-- we don’t need a prenup.”

“Are you sure? You get paid more than me, bud.”

“If we go through with your stupid fucking plan, it’s not like-- we don’t have to get legally married.”

“Even better,” Brendan says. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to having to explain any of this to the front office.

“You would probably have to move in, though.”

“Huh,” Brendan says. Alex does have a nice place, and it’s well situated, and it’ll be cheaper to share an apartment, and Alex’s guest room is pretty nice. “Sure.”

“It’s a-- smell thing. It helps with the bond.” Alex pauses and takes a deep breath. “I just-- I just don’t understand why you want to do this for me.”

Brendan very carefully doesn’t mention anything about fantasies involving long honeymoons on a tropical beach somewhere with Alex tanned and mostly naked and happy. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” he says instead. “Friends help each other out.”

“Okay,” Alex says.

“That’s it? That’s all I get? Just an okay?” Brendan is a little offended by it, but he’s also relieved that he hasn’t been kicked out yet.

“Yes,” Alex says. “That’s all you get. Now give me the food. I’m hungry.”

---

They eat dinner, which is exceedingly normal. Alex insults Brendan’s taste, and Brendan insults Alex’s table manners, and Alex growls in the back of his throat in a distinctly wolfish way that is not at all hot when Brendan steals some of his noodles.

What’s less normal is everything that happens after dinner. Alex makes a bunch of phone calls where he argues in fast-paced Russian while Brendan tries not to freak out about the whole marriage thing, even if it isn’t going to be sanctioned by the Province of Quebec.

Soon enough, there’s a whole kitchen full of Galchenyuks arguing in Russian. Brendan stays out of it and raids Alex’s semi-secret stash of chocolate chip cookies. Alex seems to be making the case to his parents, grim-faced and scowling, while his parents keep shooting Brendan skeptical looks.

Even Anna takes some time away from her important pack leader responsibilities in order to eat all the remaining dumplings, get into a different intense conversation with Alex, and then turn to Brendan and say, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” in a low voice that makes Brendan concerned about the future of his gonads.

The whole thing only lasts two hours, but by the end of it, Brendan is sure that a decision has been reached.

“So,” Brendan asks when it’s just the two of them again, standing around in Alex’s neat, nearly spotless, stainless steel kitchen, “what’s the verdict?”

“They don’t understand why you volunteered for this,” Alex says, shoving his hair back away from his face, “but they agree that it’s the best shot I’ve got.”

Brendan’s stomach flips a little bit at the thought. A blessing from the family. Maybe he should tell his own family about this, but it would involve explaining the whole werewolf situation to them. “What’s next? Do they have to witness the ceremony?”

The looks Alex shoots him is odd and assessing. “No, they don’t.”

“Cool. What does this involve?”

“Uh, I bite you,” Alex says.

Brendan’s eyebrows climb upwards.

“No, not like that. It’s not contagious.” Alex hesitates. “I-- it’s important to solidify the bond.”

“Okay,” Brendan says. “That’s it?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Alex blinks in confusion, like maybe he didn’t expect Brendan to be so blase about getting bitten by a werewolf.

“That’s fine. So what are we waiting for?” Brendan asks. He can feel his heart rate kick up, like the spike of anticipation before a game.

Alex takes a deep breath. He looks at Brendan straight-on. “Are you sure?” His voice is quiet and serious, a tone he rarely takes when speaking to Brendan.

“Yeah,” Brendan says, and he puts on his most goading smile, the kind that often gets him punched in the face. He’s sick of all this talking and beating around the bush. That’s one of the things he appreciates about being a professional hockey player. His actions can always speak louder than his words.

Alex steps closer into Brendan’s space, and the room seems to go quiet. Just the low hum of the refrigerator, the syncopated rhythm of their breathing. Brendan is used to Alex in his space -- they’re teammates, friends, former roomies -- but this moment is drawn out and tense, different from a celly on the ice or wrestling in the locker room. Like this, with Brendan backed up against the kitchen island, the marble countertop digging into his spine, the full size of Alex’s body relative to Brendan’s own becomes apparent. Brendan has to look up-and-up-and-up to meet Alex’s eyes, which are soft and hooded, fixed on the exposed line of Brendan’s neck. “Are you a werewolf or a vampire, here?” Brendan asks.

Alex doesn’t respond to the chirp, just curls in closer, tucking his nose into Brendan’s neck. He takes an audible inhale there, just smelling Brendan in a way that has no reason to be as hot as it is. Brendan ends up closing his eyes and tries to think of unsexy things. Alex throwing up in their shared bathroom rookie year after drinking too much. Coach Julien in a jockstrap. Walking in on his sister making out with her high school boyfriend.

It works, but only as long as it takes for Alex to pull the collar of Brendan’s t-shirt to the side and breathe wetly on Brendan’s collarbones. Alex smells familiar, like he always has and does, but also somehow more, a little like the woods, pine needles and damp ground, and Brendan wonders if he’s going to turn even a little bit right here. He hasn’t seen Alex’s wolf form yet, but he wants to. He wants to know what Alex is the same as a wolf as he is a human.

The bite is both expected and unexpected at the same time. Only using blunt human teeth, thankfully, but it still stings where Alex is digging into the muscle at the base of Brendan’s neck, more shoulder than anything else. And then Alex bites harder, a sharp, deep pain. It’s going to leave a mark, Brendan knows -- that’s the point after all -- and he’s going to have to come with an explanation that satisfies the rest of the team, a team that’s still going to include Alex after this.

Brendan gets his hands on the counter behind him, using the leverage to push himself up and closer. Alex makes an aborted sound in his throat, and he replaces his teeth with tongue, wet and more than a little filthy. Brendan bites back a moan, but it still comes out as a strangled gasp.

Almost as soon as it started, Alex is pulling away. His forehead is furrowed, and he’s breathing hard. “You okay?” he asks.

Brendan smiles, because he can’t not smile right now, even if he’s sporting an inconvenient semi right now, and he’s pretty sure that Alex can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Anything else?” he says.

“No, that’s it. We’re bonded now. I can-- I have to tell Anna and Dimitri that it’s done.” He yanks back so quickly Brendan almost topples over, and then he flees the kitchen before Brendan can say anything else.

---

Brendan doesn’t move in until the next week, but he does end up at quite a few awkward Galchenyuk family functions before that happens, even meeting the infamous Dimitri, who turns out to be a slightly older, grouchier, gothier version of Alex with black hair and an entertaining abundance of grungy black clothing. But he does seem to be on good terms with Anna, smiling at her jokes in a way that makes the family resemblance clear.

“You take good care of him, yes?” Dimitri says to Brendan in his halting, careful English, nodding towards where Alex is helping his mother set the dining room table. Alex is smiling that quiet, secret smile he saves for friends and family, and Brendan thinks he could maybe stare at him forever.

“I’ll try,” Brendan promises.

The mark that Alex gave him is vivid and dark, and Brendan’s eyes are always drawn to it when he’s shaving or brushing his teeth in the mornings. Every once in a while, he’ll poke at it, but that deep throb of pain will usually only remind him of what it felt like to have Alex’s teeth digging into his skin, and there’s only so many inconvenient boners that Brendan wants to deal with.

The team does give Brendan shit about the bite and also about the fact that he’s moving in with Alex. Brendan makes up some excuse about the plumbing at his old place that their teammates seems to accept. Brendan’s family are a lot less convinced, having been forced to listen to him complain about living with Alex for several years, but Brendan tries to explain that Alex has grown up some, and it’s even true.

That’s still easier than dealing with Pricey’s knowing questions about whether or not his new girl is okay with Brendan’s new roommate.

“There isn’t a new girl,” Brendan insists. Alex is listening in on their conversation from a few feet over and is pretending not to do so, his head bent and his fingers tangled in his laces.

“Well, just make sure she doesn’t break skin, okay? That shit can get infected real easily.” Pricey gives Brendan a friendly pat on the head and a beatific goalie smile.

“Got it,” Brendan says, and he reminds himself that there’s plenty of reasons why Pricey would know that. Heaps of reasons.

Living with Alex is, well, not so different from being his road roommate. Easier, even, because they have separate bedrooms and separate bathrooms. And there are always pets underfoot, which is really fucking great.

“Is that a werewolf thing?” Brendan asks as he picks Maxi up and settles him on his chest while sprawled out on Alex’s fancy leather couch. They’re watching basketball highlights on ESPN, and it’s not so different from what they usually ended up doing on their nights in on the road. Just hanging out. Spending time together when they want to. They’ve gotten pretty good at knowing when to leave each other alone over the years.

“Is what a werewolf thing?” Alex asks through a mouthful of baby-cut carrots.

“The fact that you’ve got your own menagerie going on here.” Brendan scratches behind Maxi’s ears. Maxi decides that this is the perfect time to fart on Brendan’s t-shirt.

“I have two dogs and a cat,” Alex says. “That’s not a fucking menagerie.”

“That’s not the point,” Brendan says.

Alex looks away from the television just long enough to shoot Brendan his most judgemental look. “Then what is the point?”

“That you can tell me werewolf stuff, you know? I get that it’s been this secret you’ve been carrying around forever, but I want to know this shit about you. As your sort-of husband.”

He meets Alex’s gaze. Alex breathes out. “Okay, fine,” he says. Then he rolls his eyes and gives Brendan a friendly cuff to the side of his head.

---

The headaches start around week two of their marriage -- bonding, whatever. At first, Brendan’s worried about a concussion because he did take a bad check in their last game against the Flyers, but he isn’t showing any other symptoms. Backlit screens don’t bother him at all. His memory is fine. There’s a bit of nausea, but he thinks that might be more because he has to watch Alex pretend to scarf down breakfast every morning.

To top it all off, Alex is grouchier than usual, rubbing at his temples during team meetings and snapping mean(er) things in the mornings and stealing from Brendan’s not-at-all-secret stash of Oreos when he thinks Brendan isn’t paying attention.

It’s all exacerbated by a bad practice day -- one of those days when all the shots seem to be going wide, everyone’s on edge from a brutal loss to the Devils, and even Pricey, normally unshakeable, seems to be on the verge of whacking every single one of their D-corps with his blocker. Alex just clenches his jaw and keeps his head down, while Brendan gets in the face of anyone and everyone who looks at him the wrong way.

Afterwards, Alex sulks through their shared apartment, playing his weird Russian music way too loud, while Brendan’s already-vicious headache gets steadily worse. It reaches the point where Brendan ends up pounding on Alex’s door, telling him to turn it the fuck down. When Alex yanks open the door to yell something back, Brendan shoves him in the shoulder, just to punctuate it.

The instant his hand brushes Alex’s bare arm though, his headache recedes, too quickly to be a coincidence. All of the insults Brendan had lined up in his head vanish. “What-- man, what the fuck?”

Some of the tension that had just leached out of Alex’s shoulders comes right back in again. He blinks at Brendan with wide eyes. “It was affecting you, too?”

“This is some weird werewolf shit, isn’t it?” Brendan says. He’s pissed, but he also grabs onto Alex’s arm, palm flat against the curve of Alex’s bicep. It only takes thirty seconds for the headache to disappear entirely. “What did we say about telling me about these things?”

“I thought-- since you’re human, I thought that you’d be fine,” Alex says.

“Jeez, and what did I say about being sad little martyr boy, Chucky? C’mon, we’re in this together. We’re a team.”

Alex is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, it comes out in a bit of a mumble. “You’re already doing all this for me. I didn’t want to-- ask you for too much.”

“You haven’t asked me for anything at all. I still have no idea what this even is.”

Alex clears his throat. “It’s the bond. It’s better for it if we-- touch.”

“Sure,” Brendan says. Hockey players are a tactile lot, and they touch plenty -- hugs, slaps on the back, headlocks during stupid arguments, body checking drills during practice -- but doesn’t seem to be enough.

He watches as Alex’s face flushes, some red peeking out from behind the beard. “It’s-- most bonded couples sleep in the same bed, and that helps.”

Brendan stares at him. “So all we have to do is sleep together? And be cuddle buddies?” It’s not going to do anything good for the way he wants to lick Alex’s lats every time Alex takes his shirt off, but if it means that they’re both not suffering from weird headaches and general grumpiness, it’s more than worth the tradeoff.

Alex frowns. “Don’t ever call me your cuddle buddy.”

“Fuck you, I’m a great cuddle buddy,” Brendan says.

“Oh, just like you’re great at checkers?” Alex asks, but the smile is starting to come back to his face, and Brendan’s just relieved to see it again.

“You cheated!” Brendan yelps.

“How do you even cheat at checkers?” Alex asks. “You should just admit that I’m better than you.”

“Liar,” Brendan says. He squeezes Alex’s arm and drags him into a hug. Brendan hadn’t even realized how high strung he was getting until he’s pressed up against Alex from shoulder to hip and his whole body relaxes. Home a small voice in the back of his head says, and he’s not sure if that’s the bond or himself.

---

Alex is, despite his protests, a serviceable cuddle buddy. He radiates heat, which is great considering the fact that they’re in the depths of a Montreal winter. He doesn’t snore, and he only makes fun of Brendan a little bit for talking in his sleep. He isn’t grabby, but he does like to curl their legs together, and he doesn’t complain when Brendan gets grabby.

On the road, they still have separate beds, but then Brendan will claim the seat next to Alex on the plane or on the bus, so that their shoulders and arms can be pressed together while they argue about who gets which snacks.

The headaches go away and are replaced with mornings suffused with warm, pleasant feelings of comfort. Brendan is not a morning person at all, so it is a surprise to find out that he enjoys waking up now, just for that fuzzy moment between sleep and wakefulness, when all he’s aware of is the presence of another body, Alex’s body, wrapped up in his own.

It’s great, except for the part where Brendan goes from thinking about kissing Alex once a week to thinking about kissing him once a day. Maybe that’s the bond again, but he’s pretty sure that’s just Alex. Alex making stupid expressions at the television when he plays video games. Alex trying to hide his face while he’s breaking down into giggles. Alex mumbling and extra incomprehensible first thing in the morning. None of these things are new, but now Brendan gets to see Alex like this all the time, and it’s messing in his head.

“Your coffee’s garbage,” Brendan tells Alex one morning as they go through their morning routine.

“Your everything is garbage,” Alex replies as he rubs at his face. It’s a post-snow sunlight-bright coming in through the windows, and something about the way it catches in Alex’s hair and eyes makes Brendan’s heart stutter in his chest.

“Fuck off,” Brendan says, for lack of anything else to say.

Alex laughs and shoves at Brendan’s shoulder, his hand lingering there. His smile softens into something smaller and sweeter, and Brendan wonders what it would taste like, bad coffee and all.

---

The holidays -- Christmas and New Year -- come and go. Brendan goes back to Tawwassen for a couple days and feels guilty about talking around Alex and their not-relationship when his parents ask him if he’s seeing anyone these days. He texts Alex a bunch about how great his mom’s food is. He gets a few pictures back of the Galchenyuks enjoying the Florida beaches. Apparently even Anna gets a holiday once in a while.

They play more hockey. Good hockey and bad hockey. Alex is back playing the way he was before the whole werewolf marriage bomb was dropped, which is to say, better but not as good as he wants it to be. Brendan’s own way of handling rough patches is to keep his head down and focus on his own game, just pushing himself every game, every shift.

It’s hard to miss the impact that it has on Alex, though, considering how much time they spend together. He ends up restless and edgy after bad games, over-analyzing his mistakes and biting out bitchy insults to everyone to talks to him.

“I think-- would it be okay if I shifted for a few hours?” Alex asks in their foyer, as he pulls off his hat and unwinds his scarf. He had a post-game scrum after going -4 against the Lightning, and even Brendan could tell from across the locker room that the media was out for blood.

“Sure,” Brendan says. “What is that?”

“Just spending some time in wolf form,” Alex says, chewing at his bottom lip. “It’s-- it helps when I’m stressed.”

“Cool,” Brendan says. He hasn’t seen Alex do a whole lot of wolf things. Despite their conversation earlier, he thinks that Alex might still be a little embarrassed for Brendan to see him like that.

Alex vanishes into the bathroom after he sheds his outer layers, and when he re-emerges, it’s as a tawny wolf with a grayish-brown coat, edged in a reddish orange, with a white belly.

“Hey, Chuck,” Brendan says from where he’s gathering snacks from the kitchen. “Can I pet you?”

Wolf-Alex bares his teeth at Brendan, and Brendan takes that as a ’no’.

Brendan ends up watching TV with a bowl of popcorn while Alex pads around the apartment sniffing every nook and cranny. He does get bored of that after a while and then comes back to the living sit at Brendan’s feet and watch How to Get Away with Murder, his furry head resting on his furry paws.

Half the episode is over before Alex decides that he doesn’t have a good enough view from the floor and then jumps up onto the couch. Some instinct in Brendan is ready to yell at Alex about not being allowed on the furniture, but this is Alex’s couch that he paid for with his own money. If he wants to leave claw marks all over the nice leather, that’s his own business.

Alex plants his giant wolf-butt right next to Brendan’s thighs. That isn’t the problem. The problem is that Alex’s wolf-tail is sticking into Brendan’s popcorn bowl and is probably getting fur all over it.

“Come on, man,” Brendan complains. “I’m actually eating this.”

Alex gives him a baleful glare -- his eyes are still the same clear blue that he has a human -- that says that he’s seen Brendan pick food up off the floor and put it in his mouth. But he also flicks his tail to the side, out of the popcorn.

“Thanks, bud,” Brendan says. He gives Alex a quick scratch behind the ears, expecting Alex to growl or snap at him. But Alex just leans into Brendan’s hand, something approximating a wolfy smile on his long face. It was Alex all over, prickly and ridiculous and judgemental but still hiding a gooey, vulnerable core.

Brendan leaves his hand there, scratching a little bit every time something suspenseful happens on screen. During a commercial break, Alex even makes a turn on the couch so that his body is now facing Brendan, and he can lay his head on Brendan’s lap. Brendan scratches underneath the hinge of Alex’s jaw, and Alex gives him a friendly lick to his fingers, probably tasting the salt and fake butter there.

After the show’s over, Brendan brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed while Alex wanders out onto the porch to roll around in the snow a little bit. Brendan would follow him, because wolf-Alex is fucking adorable, but he gets the feeling that Alex needs some alone time.

Brendan is most of the way asleep when Alex finally crawls into bed, human again, still smelling a little bit of the outdoors, pine needles and wet ground. “Thank you,” Alex rumbles, his accent thicker than normal. “It was good. To have that with you.”

Hearing the words suffuses Brendan with a warmth that has nothing to do with Alex’s body heat. He mumbles out a, “I can rub your belly next time,” somewhere in the vicinity of Alex’s shoulder.

Alex punches his thigh in retaliation.

---

After that, Alex seems willing to shift more often, not just after a bad game or a bad practice, but also just when they have a day off, napping in his wolf form in a patch of sunlight with Diego sprawled all over him. Brendan takes five million pictures of it, but the only person he can send them to is Anna, who replies with a laughing face emoji six hours later.

The other great thing about it is that Alex really does relax about the werewolf stuff around Brendan. He learns a little bit about how the phases of the moon and how they affect werewolves.

“Just mood things, mostly.” Alex says. “It’s like, in the back of my head, I can tell what time of the month it is.”

“Wow, I would never have guessed that werewolf PMS was a real thing,” Brendan says. The two of them are scarfing down some lunch that Alex’s mom, who is in town for the week, made for them. Pelmeni and soup and something that is mostly cabbage and still somehow manages to be delicious.

Alex throws a napkin at his face. “Humans,” he mutters.

“Hey, no need to resort to insulting my whole species here,” Brendan protests.

“You’re right,” Alex says. “You’re a horrible example of one.”

“You’re even worse,” Brendan says.

Alex rolls his eyes, but then he pauses, clearing his throat. “The pack is celebrating the blue moon this Friday. We don’t have a game that night, so I’ll be expected to be there.” He glances at Brendan out of the corner of his eyes, hesitant all of a sudden. “Along with my mate.”

Brendan blinks. Sure, things had already changed when he got werewolf-married to Alex, but they haven’t been put into a situation where they have to be in any way public about it. “Okay,” he says. “Sure. I can do a dinner party with the extended family.”

“They’ll expect-- they think this is a normal bonding,” Alex explains.

“So we’ll have to be couple-y. I think we can pull that off.”

“If you’re fine with it.”

Brendan shrugs. “How hard could it be?”

---

Before the party -- blue moon celebration, whatever -- Brendan showers, tries to comb his hair into something that looks more ‘I am someone you introduce to your parents’ and less ‘I once got wasted on PBR and tried to make out with all of my teammates’, puts on a nice shirt that his mom insists does nice things for his eyes, even does a few spritzes of cologne.

When Brendan leaves his room to meet Alex in the front hallway, Alex sniffs the air and winces. “What?” Brendan asks. He sticks his nose into his armpit and nope -- he definitely did not forget the deodorant today, so he has no idea what has Alex’s panties in a bunch.

“You don’t smell like me,” Alex says. He sticks his face into Brendan’s neck, takes another deep inhale. Brendan fights down both the urge to shove Alex away and the shiver that threatens to run through his whole body.

“Okay,” Brendan says, “I guess I should, though?” That whole pretending-to-be-married thing, werewolf-style. He probably should have expected this.

Alex backs Brendan up against the wall, and Brendan lets him, refusing to acknowledge the way his breath goes short and shallow, the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. Alex plasters himself to Brendan, curling around Brendan until Brendan feels swallowed up, enveloped. Alex’s beard scrapes over the sensitive skin of Brendan’s neck. It reminds Brendan, ridiculously, of Diego rubbing himself against Alex’s bare calves in the mornings while Alex empties a can of cat food to a bowl.

The whole thing only takes all of a minute, but Brendan’s pretty sure his brain shorted out somewhere in the middle of it. When Alex pulls back, he’s smug and smirking, pleased with himself the way he gets when he thinks he’s thought of a good chirp. Brendan clears his throat in an attempt to clear his head. “Uh, are we good now?”

“Yup,” Alex says, his voice taking on a low, rumbling quality that Brendan really fucking likes. “We’re good.”

---

The celebration isn’t being held in the city proper but in a huge cabin in the woods a few hours north of Montreal. This far away from the lights of the city, the full moon is obvious and bright in the night sky.

The cabin already full of people when they show up, maybe a couple hundred hundred of them. Brendan knew Alex’s pack had to be big for him to consider leaving hockey for it, but it’s still intimidating to be surrounded by them all. There’s one main room where most of the party is taking place, filled with tables that have plates of tiny hors d’oeuvres on them. It reminds Brendan of doing Habs social events, except rustic instead of opulent.

As soon as they step inside, Alex gets recognized and dragged into conversation. In English, thankfully. Brendan sticks to Alex’s side and nods when he’s expected to nod and just does what he always does, which is keep smiling through it all. He feels a little bit like a Stepford wife, and that isn’t the worst possible comparison. His job right now is to hang off Alex’s arm and look pretty and to provide Alex cover so that he can continue to play for the Habs.

He notices Anna on the far side of the room, surrounded by a cluster of people who are hanging onto her every word. She’s shorter than most of them, but she projects her authority with an ease that takes Brendan by surprise. He’s known her for years. Over that time, he’s only ever thought of her as Alex’s cooler, hotter older sister. That’s was never fair of him, and now he’s beginning to see that. Dimitri also makes the rounds, his black-on-black look surprisingly distinctive in this crowd.

“We’d heard you found a mate recently,” a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a French-Canadian accent says to Alex, “but I didn’t expect it to be one of your teammates. I have to admit that the two of you make a very handsome couple.”

“Hi,” Brendan says, and he knows his smile is taking on a ‘fuck you’ edge to it that he can’t help, “my name’s Brendan Gallagher.” He holds out a hand for the man to shake.

The man pulls back, blinking at Brendan, surprised, like he didn’t realize Brendan could hear them or speak for himself. Alex is fighting back a smirk. The corner of his mouth keeps twitching. “My apologies,” the man says. “It’s nice to meet you Brendan. I’m Marc.”

“Cool. I’m going to grab something to eat. You hungry?” He directs the question at Alex. Alex shakes his head, and Brendan shrugs. If Alex wants to starve, that’s none of his business.

Brendan finds a mostly empty table and stacks a small plate full of mini hot dogs and smoked meat and stuffed mushrooms, and when he looks up, he recognizes the woman standing next to him. She’s the one Alex went on the date with that one time.

She shoots Brendan an odd look before leaning in closer to him and taking a long sniff. Apparently that’s not rude amongst werewolves, because Brendan’s seen it happen at least three times since he entered the room. “Oh,” she says. “You’re the one he bonded with.”

Brendan’s mouth is full of mushroom, so he can’t respond immediately. He swallows. “Yes?” he says.

Her name is Selena, it turns out. She’s a nuclear physicist. Her parents and Alex’s parents have been friends for decades. “And they’re huge hockey fans,” she says with undisguised distaste.

“Not into it, huh?” Brendan asks. She probably hasn’t realized that he’s also a hockey player yet.

Selena shrugs. “Not my thing,” she says. She drops her voice to a lower register. “Gotta admit he’s hot, though. I probably would have invited him back home with me if it wasn’t there wasn’t an expectation for a longer term thing going on.”

Brendan doesn’t manage to hide his flinch at that. Not that he has a real claim on Alex or anything, but it does kind of suck to be reminded of that.

“Oh shit,” she says, covering her mouth. “Sorry. I’m a little tipsy.”

“It’s fine,” Brendan says. “At least you’re willing to talk to me.” He wonders if he has a giant sign over his head that says HELLO I AM A HUMAN. This close to Montreal, it’s rare for him to go more than five minutes without being approached by a fan.

She drops her voice. “It’s still kinda a newfangled thing for us to take human mates. Some people are still getting used to it.” She glances around the room. “Let me introduce you to some of the other ones.”

That’s how Brendan ends up in a group with Danicia and Kevin, a couple of the other human mates. Danicia’s in her mid-twenties with jet black hair and bright red lipstick and a wicked smirk. Kevin’s older, rocking a dad bod and a flannel shirt and an ugly beard. They’re boisterous and friendly and they welcome Brendan into their group immediately.

“C’mon, you have to tell us all about your bonding,” Danicia says. She’s sipping on a drink that looks like it’s alcoholic. Brendan didn’t notice a bar when he came in, but he wants whatever she’s having.

“Uh,” Brendan says, making sure not to let the smile slip off his face, “we talked about it a bit and then decided it didn’t make sense to wait?”

“It all happened very fast,” Kevin explains. “A little scandalous to be sure. Me and Lissy, it took months for her parents to agree to let us get bonded.”

It’s not like Brendan’s become an expert at werewolf mating behaviors since bonding with Alex, but that still takes him by surprise. “Oh,” he says.

“We were all speculating about that for weeks,” Danicia continues. “It made quite a splash to see the two of you walk in together. No one knew who his mysterious new mate was and Anna was telling everyone to mind their own business. So to see that it was you, well. No one could have guessed.”

Brendan shrugs. He didn’t exactly expect them to be anonymous in this crowd, and he’s used to rampant media and public speculation on all sorts of shit about his life, but there’s something different knowing that the entire pack is apparently deeply invested in his relationship with Alex. “When you know, you know,” he says. Conversations like this are a little like handling a media scrum. Just keep picking the most relevant cliches until the whole thing is over.

Alex shows up at Brendan’s elbow few moments later with what seems to be an alcoholic beverage as well. “Hey, Chucky,” Brendan says. “Everyone here wants to know how you swept me off my feet.” He then steals the drink from Alex’s hand, earning himself a stink-eye. This is a public place that isn’t a locker room. That’s probably enough to save Brendan from being punched.

“Yes, Alex,” Danicia says, her smile wide and more than a little predatory. “Tell us all about it.”

Alex looks a little wide-eyed under the attention. He fumbles out a few words about having known Brendan for years while Brendan tries to hide his smirk behind his drink, which is way stronger than he usually likes but not bad. He’s not expecting it when Alex throws an arm around his shoulders and says, “He’s annoying, but you get used to it.” His voice is laced with the same sort of affection it has when he’s complaining about Maxi peeing on something he’s not supposed to. “And then sometimes, you know, you just want to keep him around.”

“Wow,” Brendan says, “you really sold our relationship right there.”

“Oh, so now you want to tell this story then?” Alex asks.

“You could at least make it sound like you want me for something other than my hot bod.”

“Your bod is not that hot,” Alex says immediately.

“My bod is totally hot,” Brendan says.

Their audience is practically cooing at them, which Brendan doesn’t understand at all. Most of the team leaves them alone or starts throwing things at them when they get like this. “Well, Anna’s about to call the hunt,” Alex says, “so you should probably finish that before we head outside.”

“Wait, outside?” Brendan asks.

Before he can make any more outraged noises in Alex’s direction, Alex has already vanished into the crowd, probably in search of Anna.

Kevin pats Brendan on the shoulder. “Blue moon celebrations suck,” he says, helpfully.

---

The only thing Brendan can say about the hunt is that at least it’s late January and not early January and miracles of miracles it’s only -4 and not -40 outside.

There’s snow on the ground, the crunchy kind, not the soft powdery kind. Brendan huddles with Kevin and Danicia, who have brought extra blankets and a travel mug of hot chocolate. The air is dry and cold, and Brendan wraps his scarf around his nose and mouth to help protect himself from the wind. The light of the moon is enough to see as the entire pack starts to shift into their wolf forms, and even in this mass of people, Brendan can pick Alex out just from the way he moves. In their apartment, Alex plays the house pet, but out here in the woods, he’s every bit the wild animal, untamed and free.

The pack disappears into the trees, following after a sandy-colored wolf that Brendan assumes is Anna. A chorus of howls echoes through the night air.

“So this is really what what you do every time, huh?” Brendan asks, burying his face in his scarf as much as possible. There are a few other huddled groups of humans, but it seems like a lot of work to try to merge with any of them.

“It’s not so bad when we get a blue moon in the summer,” Danicia says.

“How long do we have to be out here?” Brendan asks. He’s pretty sure his eyeballs are starting to go numb. Yeah, they’ve played outdoor games in colder weather than this, but at least then they could stay moving.

“Depends on how long it takes for them to get first kill,” Kevin explains. He’s smiling, and because he doesn’t seem to have Brendan’s tendency to wear one all the time, it’s almost like he enjoys this.

“Wait, so when they say ‘hunt’--” Brendan says.

“They mean eating an actual deer,” Kevin finishes for him.

Thankfully, it only takes the pack thirty minutes to come bursting back out of the forest dragging a dead deer behind them. There’s a bunch more werewolf ceremony stuff that needs to happen, but Brendan is just happy to go back to where there’s internal heating.

Alex shows up at Brendan’s side flushed and giddy and happy, like he’s come off a good shift. His grin is bright, and his eyes are shining, and Brendan wants to feed him a million pucks in front of the net just so he can always look like this.

“I fucking hate you,” Brendan says as Alex presses his shoulder against his. “I was afraid my balls were going to freeze out there.”

Alex breaks down into giggles as Kevin’s wife/mate, Lissy, shows up along with Danicia’s wife/mate, Karen. “You should have seen the look on your face, though,” Alex says.

Karen ruffles Alex’s hair. “Look at you, getting all grown up and bonded,” she says. “I like him. He’ll keep you in line.” She’s a good decade older than Danicia, her hair cut short, and she reminds Brendan of his sisters. Aggressively affectionate.

Alex rolls his eyes and laughs again, and Brendan tries to think up some more insults for his face, but then Anna shows up to drag him away for more werewolf things.

---

On the trip back to Montreal, Alex is still smiling like a loon. “It’s a werewolf thing, moon-drunk,” Alex explains.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, Chucky,” Brendan says from the driver’s seat, because there was no way Brendan was going to let Alex behind the wheel like this.

“You’re the one who came with me, so what does that make you?” Alex snipes back, but there’s no bite to it.

“I guess I’m pretty ridiculous, too,” Brendan says. “Thanks for sharing your weird werewolf shit with me.”

Alex says, “Thanks for not being too weirded out by my weird werewolf shit.” His smile softens a little. “And thank you for-- for being willing to do all this. For letting me keep hockey.”

Brendan turns away so he can keep his eyes on the road and not crash while staring at Alex’s face. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, bud,” he says, and it’s almost painful how true that is. He would-- he would do a whole lot of embarrassing things if Alex needed him to. Brendan’s got it bad, and it’s going to be a real problem. He wants too much. Wants Alex smiling and stupid and moon-drunk or regular-drunk or just plain happy, wants Alex to feel the same about all of this as him, wants to kiss Alex before they fall asleep at night and to kiss Alex when they wake up together in the mornings. All of the things he wants, and Alex only werewolf-married him because it was convenient. Alex thinks he only werewolf-married hockey.

Brendan is so fucked.

---

They go on a western road trip, and Alex lights it up. He’s all over the ice, dangling and deking his way through defenders, firing off one-timers, picking the puck away from their opposition. Brendan doesn’t do too badly himself either, picking up a few more goals in a few more games in the process.

“I think living together is working out for both of you,” Patches says while they watch Alex run drills at the Kings’ practice rink during morning skate.

“Yeah,” Brendan says as he pours half a bottle of water into his mouth, “it’s great.” They’re coming up on the end of the road trip, and not sleeping in the same bed as Alex has itching at the back of his head for at least a day now. Even napping next to each other on the plane doesn’t seem to be doing enough.

Alex glances over towards them, and even underneath his helmet, it’s impossible to miss the quirk of his lips. Brendan feels his heart flip over in his chest. Patches says, “You should probably tell him, you know.”

“What?” Brendan says, because he was too busy staring at Alex’s ass, even if it’s obscured by the his hockey pants and shorts.

“How you feel,” Patches clarifies, in that understated way of his.

Brendan swallows. “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine now, but it’s probably not going to be fine in the future,” Patches says. “It’s gonna come out sooner or later. Better if it comes out on your terms. I’m not saying you have to do something about it right now. Just think about it, okay?”

“Sure,” Brendan says, but then they’re getting called up to do more drills.

---

They lose to the Kings 5-3. Alex puts up a goal and an assist. Brendan gets some pretty good shots, but none of them go in.

So it makes sense that when they go out that night, he’s feeling a little annoyed and frustrated, ready to drink some of his sorrows away. The team isn’t in low spirits, but it’s not in high spirits, either. They’re already sitting out of a playoffs spot, so even this loss doesn’t mean much right now.

The club they end up in feels very LA. Shiny and glittering and golden and full of beautiful people. Not that Montreal doesn’t have its share of beautiful people, but in LA it’s like they’re all constructed with perfect bodies and unreal jawlines. Most of the team disperses a little bit, and Brendan finds himself at the bar talking to a leggy blonde named Miranda who is wearing a very short skirt and who knows nothing about hockey but who knows a shit ton about football and only makes fun of Brendan a little bit for rooting for the Bengals.

She leans in a little closer after Brendan buys her a second drink, giving Brendan an excellent view of her cleavage. “So,” she says, “my place or yours?” They’re on the road, so Brendan has his own room, and it’s not like Alex is going to be expecting him tonight. Plus, Brendan hasn’t gotten laid in months, and realizing that he’s in love with his roommate/werewolf-husband has done nothing to help with his general state of sexual frustration.

“I’ve got a hotel room,” Brendan says. He can feel his smile getting wider.

“Works for me,” Miranda says.

But then a heavy arm gets slung around Brendan’s shoulders. “Hey, Gally,” Alex says. His accent’s a little thicker than normal, and when Brendan glances up at him, his smile is a little sharp, a little aggressive. More likely to be seen on the ice across the faceoff circle than off of it.

“Uh,” Brendan says, “hi, Chucky. What’s up?”

“Lehky and Shawzy were looking for you,” Alex says. He’s draped all over Brendan, but he doesn’t sound or smell drunk or anything.

“You can just tell them I’m busy,” Brendan says. He tries to use his eyebrows to indicate that he has other options right now and that he would like to be left alone.

Alex just ignores him. “Come on, they’ll be pissed if you ditch on us.” He tugs on Brendan’s shoulders. Not enough to force Brendan off his stool, but there’s the threat of it there.

Miranda is looking between the two of them, clearly confused by what’s going on.

“Sorry,” Brendan says to her. “I’ll handle this, and then we can get out of here.”

She doesn’t seem all that convinced. “I think I’ll just get out of your way,” she says, grabbing her bag. “It was nice talking to you.” Then she books it as fast as she can.

Brendan watches her leave, but he only stays confused until he gets a good look at Alex’s face, which is sporting a dark, pissed off expression that was a lot less intimidating when he didn’t have beard covering up his babyface. “Jeez,” Brendan says. “Come on, Chuck. What the the fuck was that? She was ready to go home with me and everything.”

Alex’s frown just gets deeper. He doesn’t let go of Brendan’s shoulders. In fact, Alex pulls him even closer, close enough that Brendan can feel his stomach do funny things. “I just--” Alex says, but words seem to fail him. He tucks his face into the crook of Brendan’s neck, rubs his beard against the hinge of Brendan’s jaw.

Brendan knows he can be pretty thick about these things, but it’s hard to mistake what’s going on here. “Are you like, trying to make me smell like you again?” he asks, and even though this is LA, it still feels reckless to do this in public, where anyone (and probably everyone) can see them.

Alex yanks back, ducks his head, looks more than a little embarrassed. “Uh,” he says.

Brendan stands up and grabs his arm. “Okay, we’re going back to the hotel now.”

“Um,” Alex says, but he doesn’t resist.

---

The cab ride back to the hotel is tense, but a good sort of tension, Brendan thinks, like the wind up before a slapshot. Alex doesn’t seem willing to look Brendan in the eye, so Brendan gets to stare at him all he wants. Alex is chewing on his bottom lip. His profile lit by the passing streetlights. His hair, getting long, falls over his forehead, and Brendan’s fingers itch to push it back.

Alex still looks like he wants to bolt when they’re in the hotel lobby, but Brendan herds him into the elevator and then into his room.

“Look,” Alex says, once the door is shut behind them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-- that wasn’t fair.”

“No,” Brendan says, “it wasn’t.”

“I just-- I didn’t want-- I saw you, and--”

“This isn’t a bond thing, right?” Brendan asks. There are still plenty of things about werewolves that Alex hasn’t told him, mostly because he doesn’t know what Brendan doesn’t know.

“What? No,” Alex says. His face broadcasts his confusion so clearly.

“Cool,” Brendan says, “so now you can explain why you’re being a jealous asshole. And just for the record, I hope this ends in makeouts.”

“Uh,” Alex says. He squints at Brendan. “You’re not upset.”

“I’m a little upset,” Brendan says, crossing his arms across his chest. “I wanted to get laid tonight, and my werewolf-husband cockblocked me.”

Alex frowns. “I just didn’t like the way she was looking at you. She could have been a serial killer or something like that.”

“Hey, Alex,” Brendan says. He steps in closer, and he doesn’t even slow down when Alex takes an instinctive step back.

“Yeah?” Alex’s head is furrowing, and it’s ridiculously cute.

“It’s okay if I kiss you, right?” Brendan asks. They’re close now, close enough that Brendan could bump his forehead against Alex’s nose if he wanted to.

Alex looks down, wide-eyed. He nods, and that’s all Brendan needs. He pushes up onto his toes, grabs the back of Alex’s head, brings their lips together. Alex’s mouth parts for Brendan’s. His beard is scratchy against Brendan’s cheeks. He tastes like vodka, because he’s a goddamn walking stereotype, and his chest is broad and solid, and his hands are huge where they’re resting on Brendan’s hips, and Brendan’s been jerking off to this for months, for fucking years, and now it’s he gets to have it.

He tangles his fingers into Alex’s hair, yanks a little bit just to be a pest about it. Alex growls against Brendan’s lips, and then shoves Brendan towards the bed. Brendan lets himself be pushed, flops backwards onto the scratchy comforter, works on the buttons of his shirt. Alex watches him with dark, intent eyes. He clears his throat and says, “I-- It was always real to me. I know it’s different for you, because you’re-- you’re human, but for me, we were-- it’s a real bond.”

“Yeah,” Brendan says. “It wasn’t real for me.” Alex flinches away. Brendan manages to grab one of his arms before he can retreat too far. “But I wanted it to be. So fucking bad.”

“Oh,” Alex says, his body going still, his voice going soft.

Brendan tugs him closer. “Come on, Chucky.” He yanks his shirt the rest of the way off, and he doesn’t miss the way Alex’s eyes go straight to his bare shoulder, where Alex’s mark used to be. It’s healed up now, has been for weeks, but Brendan hasn’t forgotten what it felt like underneath his fingers, what it looked like in the wan bathroom light.

He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows in Alex’s direction. Alex takes it for the invitation that it is and practically falls on Brendan, plastering him to the bed. He’s heavy, but it’s a comforting weight. Brendan’s job involves goading plenty of giant hockey players to fall on top of him, so this is nothing. Alex’s shirt rubs up against Brendan’s bare chest, the heavy chain Alex likes to wear pressing against Brendan’s sternum. Brendan lets out a laugh, grinning up at Alex’s face.

Alex just rolls his eyes before tucking his nose into Brendan’s shoulder again. He just stays there for a moment, breathing deep. Brendan pokes Alex’s side. “Go for it. I know you want to. I want you to.”

When Alex bites down this time, Brendan knows what to expect. The sting of pain and the rush of pleasure that follows. He clings to Alex’s arms and lets out an undignified moan, because he doesn’t have to hide any of his reactions any longer.

“Wow,” Alex says, pulling back just long enough to mumble against Brendan’s shoulder. “I had no idea you were such a slut for pain.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Brendan says. He punches Alex in the side.

Alex snickers at him before digging his teeth into Brendan’s neck and shoulder again.

Brendan’s hips arch up as Alex worries the skin there, pressing his rapidly hardening cock against Alex’s stomach as the line between pain and pleasure starts to blur in the haze of arousal. Alex smells like locker room sweat and the perfume and cologne that lingers in every LA club, and Brendan thinks he understands the desire to sprawl over Alex and rub himself all over Alex’s body until every werewolf in a ten mile radius knows exactly who Alex belongs to. He thinks of the mark that’s going to be there when he steps onto their plane back home tomorrow, and he thinks of the way it will feel underneath his shirt when he moves.

Alex pulls back, and Brendan is about to say something snippy, but then Alex kisses him, dirty and wet, with a lot of teeth and tongue.

When they finally break apart, Brendan says, “Hey, Chuck.”

Alex’s eyes look a little unfocused, his lips red and wet, his hair falling messy over his forehead, and fuck, Brendan just wants to mess him up some more. He’s pretty much wanted to mess Alex up since he walked into training camp as a fresh-faced jailbait eighteen-year-old. “What?” he asks.

Brendan brushes the hair back away from his face. “You definitely want my hot bod,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Alex glares at him for approximately five seconds before breaking into laughter. He pulls back, leveraging himself until he’s sitting on Brendan’s thighs, leaving Brendan feeling cold and bereft without his body heat. Alex gives Brendan a careful once over, his gaze raking over Brendan’s arms and chest, almost as intimate as a real touch. “It’s not so bad,” Alex says. He shrugs. “But you’re still wearing too many clothes.”

“Well, stop sitting my fucking legs, asshole,” Brendan says. He sits up as well and gives Alex a little shove. Alex doesn’t budge, because he’s a shithead, smirking when Brendan shoves again. That time, Brendan puts more power into it, and Alex rocks back a little bit.

Brendan raises his eyebrows at Alex, and Alex laughs as he stands up. Brendan wriggles out of his nice jeans and boxers, catching the sight of Alex pulling his shirt over his head and stripping off his pants. And nothing about it is new. Brendan’s seen him naked countless times before. Brendan knows the width of those shoulders, the lines of ink that trace their way down his arms, the cut of his abs, the curve of his thighs, the weight of his cock.

Brendan’s staring, but Alex is staring right back. Brendan says, “I knew it. You’re so into it.”

“It’s okay,” Alex says, but then he leans over, skims his hands up Brendan’s legs. Not much pressure at all, a frustrating tease.

“You liar,” Brendan says as Alex’s hands make their way up Brendan’s torso, over his chest and shoulders.

Alex kisses him then, probably in an attempt to shut him up, and Brendan’s a mouthy asshole, but he’s willing to go along with it when it’s just bare skin against bare skin, the heat and weight of Alex’s body settling on top of his own. Alex tilts his head, scrapes his teeth along Brendan’s jaw. He bites there, hard enough to hurt. Brendan can’t fight back the shiver that runs through his whole body.

“How did I know you’d like it rough?” Alex asks, and his voice is doing that thing where it’s trying to be mocking, but it just sounds breathless.

“Who cares? Just shut up and do me,” Brendan says.

Alex licks his neck, wedges his thigh between Brendan’s. It’s all hard muscle, nudging between Brendan’s balls and pressed up against Brendan’s cock. Brendan manages to grab two handfuls of Alex’s ass and drag him closer, enough pressure to rub up against.

He moans when Alex bites down again, leaving a bruising hickey on the side of Brendan’s neck, high enough that he won’t be able to cover it up with anything besides one of Pleky’s turtlenecks. Alex’s hands find their way to Brendan’s hips. Not holding him down, just-- holding him.

“Turn over,” Alex says.

“What?” Brendan asks, because he has about two functioning brain cells and they’re busy wondering how long it will take to get off rubbing against Alex’s thigh. (The answer is probably ’not long’.)

“Turn over,” Alex repeats.

“Make me,” Brendan says, just to see what Alex will do.

Alex lets out a long-suffering sigh and manhandles Brendan onto his front with an ease that is more than a little hot. Brendan prides himself on being difficult to push around, no matter how tall he is, but he’s also seen Alex in the weight room plenty, and he knows exactly how strong Alex is.

Brendan crosses his arms in front of his face, rests his forehead there and closes his eyes. He can feel Alex’s body hovering over his own, radiating heat, close but not touching. After a long moment, Brendan has to fight not to squirm. Alex notices and presses the flat of his tongue against the ridge of Brendan’s spine, just licking there, tasting Brendan’s skin. He makes a pleased noise that goes straight to Brendan’s dick.

He slides down Brendan’s back, leaving a shivery, wet trail of goosebumps in his wake. Maybe Brendan should have been able to predict that biting is Alex’s thing, but it’s still a surprise when Alex digs his teeth into the fleshy part of Brendan’s ass.

Brendan lets out a yelp. Alex lingers for a long moment, worrying the mark deep and bruising until Brendan knows he’s going to be feeling it for the entire length of their flight back to Montreal. Alex pulls back and says, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“I think I have some idea,” Brendan manages to hiss out. He has a fucking alphabetized list of all the inappropriate things he’s wanted to do to Alex’s body given half a chance.

Alex chuckles. He licks over the bite mark, then drags his tongue over the nub of Brendan’s tailbone.

“Yes,” Brendan says, arching his back so that he can shove his ass closer to Alex’s face. “Fuck yes.”

There’s a pause, and Brendan can’t see, but he suspects that Alex is shooting him his most judgemental look. But he can’t even care when Alex is parting his cheeks and licking over the sensitive rim of his hole.

“Fuck,” Brendan hisses. Wet heat and pressure right where his body wants it, lighting up all sorts of shivery-good nerve endings. He jerks back into it, wanting more, but he also jerks forward so that he can rub his hard cock against the sheets.

Alex follows, using more spit and pressure, and Brendan has to wonder if his tongue has any interesting werewolf powers, but he doesn’t fucking care when it’s pressing in just a little bit, opening him up. Alex takes his time, just trying different tricks, seeing what will make Brendan shake and what will make Brendan moan.

It’s not enough, though. Brendan wants to be split open, wants to get wrecked. “Just, fuck. Get something in me.”

Alex snorts. But he also spits on his fingers and presses them against Brendan’s hole.

“Yeah,” Brendan mumbles. This has been one of Brendan’s favorite jerk off fantasies since the first time he saw Alex taping up his stick, those fucking long, gorgeous fingers, and watching Alex practice his dekes right afterwards didn’t hurt either.

It’s as good as Brendan thought it would be, as Alex pushes his way inside, blunt and strong, stretching him open. It stings a little, because it’s been a while, but in that good way, like getting a deep muscle massage. He arches into it and groans. If he could, he’d tell Alex how good it feels, but words are escaping him right now. Alex adds more fingers, and fuck, Brendan loves the feeling of being filled up. He’s close. He can feel the orgasm coming on. Every thrust of Alex’s fingers pushes him closer and closer.

And then Alex changes the angle, finding Brendan’s prostate -- those fucking hands -- and Brendan thrusts his hips once, twice against the mattress before coming, spilling all over the sheets.

“Fuck,” Brendan mumbles, his head and body still buzzing with pleasure.

Alex flips him over again, kissing him fiercely, and Brendan wants to return the favor, he really does, but he’s too blissed out on the afterglow to be of any use. Thankfully, Alex doesn’t seem to mind. He curls himself over Brendan’s body, his teeth finding the mark on Brendan’s shoulder all over again, and he reaches down to jerk himself off until he’s coming all over Brendan’s stomach.

He pulls back after that, his smile smug and pleased, like he’s just managed to pull off a great prank. He crawls down Brendan’s body and spends some time licking his own jizz off Brendan’s skin, which is a little gross and a more than a little hot. When he’s done, he buries his nose in Brendan’s stomach and takes a deep whiff.

“Oh, so that’s what that was about?” Brendan asks. He pats Alex on the head, runs his fingers through Alex’s hair.

“You smell better when you smell like me,” Alex says. He rests one cheek on Brendan’s hip and looks up at Brendan. He’s still wearing that stupid smirk.

“You and your weird werewolf shit,” Brendan says. “Just be glad that I like it so much.”

Alex meets Brendan’s gaze. “I do,” he says, his voice serious and quiet. Brendan can feel his heart grow three sizes in his chest.

“Good,” Brendan says, and he gives Alex’s neck a little squeeze, just because he can.

---

Brendan gets a phone call in the next morning, right after his shower. Alex left to go back to his own room after giving him a blow job, affectionate and sleepy-eyed and grumpy.

“Hello, Brendan,” Anna says. “I had an interesting conversation with my brother this morning.”

Brendan swallows, because he’s seen Anna, in her wolf form, tear open a deer’s stomach with nothing but her teeth. It was an image that made quite an impression. “I hope you mean ‘interesting’ in a good way and not a bad way,” he says.

Anna hums. “Relax,” she says. “He was happy. You made him happy.”

Brendan lets out the breath he was holding. “Good. That’s good.”

“I just wanted to congratulate you two for pulling your heads out of your asses. Our parents are going to be pleased to hear this.”

“Blame him, not me,” Brendan says.

“Oh no,” Anna says. “You’re definitely on the hook for this too. But seriously, I’m glad for the two of you. Keep making him happy, okay?”

Brendan’s hotel door opens then, and Alex sneaks in, carrying his travel bags. His hair is still kind of a mess, and his red shoes are ugly, and his beard needs to be trimmed, and the collar of his shirt has slid down to show off the matching mark on his collarbone that Brendan gave him when they woke up this morning. He’s a disaster, and Brendan fucking loves him. Brendan says, “I will.”

“Good,” Anna says. “That’s all I had to say.”

“Thanks,” Brendan says, and then they say their goodbyes and hang up.

“That was Anna?” Alex asks. He shuffles in close, wraps his arms around Brendan’s neck and drapes himself all over Brendan’s back.

“She thought some congratulations were in order,” Brendan explains.

“She would,” Alex says.

Brendan turns in the circle of Alex’s arms. “I was thinking--”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Alex says.

Brendan punches his arm and continues his train of thought. “I want to tell my family about this, all of this, even the werewolf part.”

Alex frowns, but he doesn’t look upset or anything. That’s just how his face looks when he’s considering things. “Okay,” he says.

“And they’re going to be pissed at me for marrying you without telling them, so you can probably bet on my mom planning a human wedding as soon as they find out.”

“As long as I get to choose the cake,” Alex says.

Oh, that’s an unpleasant thought. “Ugh, no. You’d just pick something weird and gross.”

“And you’d just pick something boring and cheap,” Alex snipes back. He smiles, though, that tiny one he gets when he thinks he’s being straight-faced and funny, and he’s really not.

“But you’d be cool with it, right? Being married to me?” Brendan asks, and he feels his throat close up just a little bit, because he can imagine it all. Arguing over tuxes and the floral arrangements and the guest list. But also getting to kiss Alex in front of their friends and family and slide a ring on Alex’s finger and publicly claim Alex as his.

“You idiot,” Alex says. He presses a kiss to Brendan’s forehead. “I already married you.”

FIN.