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It’s the first game of the season and they lose to the Canucks in Vancouver.
Johnny isn’t that superstitious, okay, thank you, Hanny, but he can’t help but feel as though it’s some premonition for how the rest of the year is gonna go.
“Do you even know what that word means?” asks Nealer.
“Do you?” Johnny snaps back.
Johnny frets the whole way back to Calgary, bouncing his knee and earning himself a scowl from Lindy and a pat on the head from Ritter. He’s tense. Sue him.
“You need to chill,” Chucky says to him as they head across the parking lot to their cars. “Like, smoke weed with Hanny and eat candy chill. You are dialled all the way up to a hundred. Surprisingly on brand for you, but I think you’re gonna vibrate out of your skin. We need you to not do that.”
Johnny snorts. “Eloquent.”
So Johnny might be a little superstitious, but he thinks a case could be made because it’s habits, not superstitions. He’s not like, Sidney Crosby or anything like that. He’s pretty sure their equipment manager is glad about that.
But he has habits.
His skittles and candy and magic purple Gatorade have yet to let him down. He just needs to find a new habit and everything will be fine.
Johnny tells all this to Monny the next morning as they get ready for practice, and Monny looks at him like he’s crazy.
“What?” Johnny says, a touch too defensively.
“And you say you aren’t superstitious.”
“I’m not!”
Monny is laughing at him. Whatever. Johnny huffs and then goes for his cool down and tries to think as he pedals on the stationary bike.
He absolutely does not want to lose like that again. Johnny knows it’s all part of being in the NHL, but he, like every other player, loves winning. He’s determined to do a lot of that this season, but he has to make sure they win.
Johnny thinks about the various habits other NHLers have. There’s Sidney Crosby, which. Yeah, he’s not even gonna go near that. There are players that eat the same meal, tape their sticks a certain way, sit out on the bench, all that stuff. That’s fine for them, but Johnny wants something that’s just for him.
He notices Hanny staring at him from the bike beside him.
“What?” he asks.
Hanny shakes his head, a fond little smile on his face. “You’re so weird.”
“Shut up,” Johnny scowls at him. “Are you gonna help me with this?”
Hanny shrugs and then spends two minutes listing dumb ideas that Johnny shoots down immediately.
Eventually, Hanny huffs. “What about doing something when you’re heading out onto the ice? Crosby and Malkin have that handshake thing, right? Do something similar.”
Johnny wants to protest because he’d wanted to do something that was just him, but it’s better than doing cartwheels or whatever the hell Hanny had suggested.
“I’ll ask Chucky.”
Hanny cackles and nearly slips off his bike.
He throws an arm around Chucky’s shoulder as they head to their cars. “Lunch?”
Chucky glances at him. “Sure, I guess you can come to mine? I have pasta.”
“Don’t bowl me over with your enthusiasm, Chucky,” Johnny laughs as he splits away to head to his car. “See you in fifteen!”
He follows Chucky’s car to his apartment and then follows him inside. He doesn’t say a word about what he’s thinking about until they’re sitting at the kitchen island, demolishing bowls of pasta, although Johnny picks the tomato out and nudges it to the side of the bowl. Chucky watches him with amusement, but says nothing.
“So I need you to kiss me,” Johnny says casually as he takes a bite of pasta.
Chucky chokes on his forkful of pasta.
“Excuse me?” he asks after gasping for breath, and Johnny frowns at him, concerned.
“Are you okay? Coach would kill me if you died choking on pasta,” he reaches across the table to poke at Chucky’s face, and laughs when Chucky bats his hand away. “Like, seriously, you can’t die choking on pasta, Chucky. We need you.”
Chucky still looks like he’s been beaned over the head. “I mean, why do you want me to kiss you? Aren’t you on Tinder? You could find someone within a hundred meters to kiss.”
“True,” Johnny acknowledges, “But this is for hockey!”
“You want me,” Chucky drawls, “To kiss you for hockey.”
“Exactly!”
“How?”
“Well, we lost to the Canucks, and I don’t want that to happen again, so tonight, when we head out onto the ice, you kiss me, and we win.” Johnny takes another enormous bite of pasta and feels very satisfied with himself.
“You want to me to kiss you to make sure we don’t lose.” Chucky is looking at him like he’s crazy, which... Okay, Johnny knows he says stupid things sometimes and his eating habits are weird and maybe the whole magic purple Gatorade thing is doing nothing but create greater chances for another mumps outbreak, but he wants to do this.
“Look, it doesn’t have to be on the mouth. Just kiss me on the cheek or the hand or whatever,” Johnny tells him as he finishes up his meal.
“The hand. Like a weird Victorian thing?” asks Chucky.
Johnny doesn’t really know what he’s getting at, but he nods anyway. “Sure.”
“How did you even come up with this, anyway?” Chucky asks him as he takes their bowls to the dishwasher.
“I wanted to do something to make sure we didn’t lose again. It was either do something that I came up with or I’d end up copying Sidney Crosby.”
Chucky blanches and shakes his head. “Good choice, I’ll kiss you to stop you turning into Sidney Crosby.”
“Like Cinderella?”
“What the fuck, Johnny?”
They win.
The feeling crashes into Johnny all at once, and he can’t stop himself from beaming widely. The feeling rushes through him, and he can’t stop cheering as they head into the locker room. He remains in his stall through the post game speech from Coach and Gio, and then nothing can stop him from bounding over to Chucky with a grin on his face.
“It worked! We won!” Johnny enthuses as he crashes into Chucky, throwing his arms around him.
“I guess it did. So, before every game then?”
“Obviously. You have to kiss me before every single game for this to work, Chucky,” Johnny says to him, and it’s rather telling how the surrounding guys don’t even bat an eyelid at their conversation.
“And if I kiss you before a game and we lose?” Chucky arches an eyebrow at him, his mouth curling into an amused smirk.
Johnny thinks about that for a moment. “We’ll keep doing it. I mean, I think we’ll be winning a lot this year.”
Chucky rolls his eyes but nods.
He grins at him widely before hitting the showers. He’s pleased his plan worked, and now all they have to do is keep it going.
They lose. They lose often and frequently, but they also keep winning. The first time they lost after starting the hand kissing thing, Chucky had found him on the plane and double checked that this was what he wanted to do.
Johnny had remained firm. He wanted to keep this going.
So they win and lose and win and lose, and suddenly, New Year is upon them. Johnny tries not to follow what the media is saying, but he knows they are doing remarkably well. There’s a shift in the locker room too, and it seems that every time they skate out onto the ice, they are becoming a more and more cohesive unit, working together.
Johnny is immensely proud.
By now, the hand kiss is something that nobody bats an eye at, or even teases him over. Monny even sagely nodded his head when Johnny had told him he was keeping it up.
But, there’s the other thing that Johnny’s thinking about.
Mainly, the butterflies in his stomach every time Chucky pulls his glove to his mouth to drop a kiss on it.
It’s all very inconvenient. Johnny doesn’t want to think about it, he just wants to win.
He rambles about this to Hanny as they get drinks at Gio’s New Year party at his house. Hanny just nods and rolls his eyes as usual.
“Dude, we’ve been winning. Chill out. Go find Chucky and tell him you want to kiss him for real.”
Johnny gapes at him. “But I don’t want to kiss him for real… I mean… I don’t-”
“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there, because I am literally not paid enough to play Cupid.”
“You’re in the NHL, Hanny! You make millions!”
“I know what I said.”
So Hanny’s unhelpful. Johnny scans the party and spots Ritter, and decides to ask him, only to find his path blocked by Chucky.
A very handsome looking Chucky who smells very nice, and he’s smiling and yep, Johnny definitely wants to kiss him.
Feelings are wildly inconvenient, so Johnny grabs Chucky around the waist and tows him onto the dance floor. He’s avoiding kissing Chucky for real as he wildly throws shapes while Chucky cackles at him, drink in hand. He knows he has to talk to Chucky about this one day. Preferably when they are both old, grey, and retired.
“I’m gonna grab another drink, want one?” Chucky leans close to ask, and Johnny gets another whiff of his aftershave, and he barely stops himself from whimpering as he nods, then watches Chucky weave his way through the party to the kitchen. Chucky is… he’s just a lot.
Johnny finds himself an empty love seat somewhere and flops down on it, letting his eyes drift shut as he thinks about the team. They’ve done so well, and Johnny knows they still have another uphill battle before they can clinch their playoff spot, but he truly cannot shake the feeling that this will be their year.
“Are you sleeping?” Chucky’s amused question makes him open his eyes. Chucky’s looming over him, two drinks in his hands, that dumbass smirk he directs at every opponent on the ice firmly fixed on his face.
Fuck. Johnny finds that hot.
“No. Resting my eyes. Gimme,” Johnny makes grabby hands at the bottle of beer. “Thank you.”
Chucky snorts in amusement and then squashes himself onto the love seat beside Johnny, and the whole thing creaks alarmingly under the weight of two fully grown hockey players. Johnny shoves at Chucky a little, but he eventually settles as Chucky’s warm weight along his side is welcome.
“So, our little tradition,” Chucky turns to him, his face oddly serious for a moment. “Do you… do you still want to continue it?”
Johnny gapes at him, his mind suddenly racing. Is this Chucky backing out of it? Will he have to find someone else to kiss? He doesn’t really want to kiss Monny or Hanny or Lindy or even Ritter. Does Chucky find it weird now? Has someone said something about it?
“Uh. Yeah,” Johnny says eloquently.
“Okay, cool.”
Johnny tries to ignore the fact that his heart is racing. The stupid kissing tradition is making them win, and Johnny really doesn’t want to lose it.
“Do you… Do you not want to do it anymore?” Johnny asks hesitantly.
“Oh… No, I mean, we’re winning, right?” Chucky says, taking a drink from his bottle, and Johnny totally ignores his mouth. Totally.
“Okay, good.”
Chucky looks at him then rolls his eyes, before shoving at him affectionately. “Shut up and drink your beer, Johnny.”
Johnny shuts up and drinks his beer.
There’s a countdown going on, because of course there is. Johnny ducks Ritter and even worms his way out from under Gio’s arm as he tows him around the party looking for someone to kiss.
Johnny doesn’t want to kiss anyone.
Except Chucky.
Hanny somehow manages to sneak attack him and shove him into the kitchen with a hushed, “He’s in there, plant one on him at midnight!”
Johnny blushes as he looks at Chucky. He can’t help it. Chucky looks so good, and he’s got that stupid half smirk curling at his mouth that makes Johnny want to kiss him.
“You don’t have a kiss for midnight?” Chucky asks, stealing a cucumber sandwich from a platter.
“Nope.”
“Did Hanny volunteer me to be your midnight kiss?”
Johnny wants to murder Hanny. A slow and painful death would be wonderful for him. “Maybe.”
Chucky laughs, leaning against the counter. “Well, I guess I’m kissing you before every game. Kissing you at midnight won’t be a hardship.”
Johnny rolls his eyes and steps closer. They can hear the raucous cheering coming from the room where the rest of the team is, and Johnny smiles as Chucky steps closer. They really are going to do this. Johnny tries to ignore the fact that his heart is pounding uncomfortably, his body tight with nerves and happiness and anxiety rolled into one enormous ball.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven-” The team is shouting from the other room, and Johnny tilts his head upwards.
“Six, five, four, three, two-”
Chucky’s mouth is on his. It’s warm and soft and gentle, until Johnny moves his head and the angle changes suddenly. It’s perfectly sweet but then he feels Chucky’s hands at his waist, and without him realising it, his own hands have crept up to rest on Chucky’s shoulders.
They pull apart. Chucky is breathing heavily, his eyes hot, and Johnny shivers under his gaze.
“That-”
“Yeah-”
Johnny pauses sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, unable to take his eyes off Chucky.
“That was better than I expected,” Chucky remarks. “I was almost expecting you to be a disaster.”
“Hey!”
“Johnny, have you seen yourself dancing tonight? I’m surprised you haven’t passed out in Gio’s bathtub yet.”
Johnny laughs and grabs Chucky’s hand. “Well, the night is still young. Come on, come dance with me.”
Johnny doesn’t want to admit it, but something's changed after the New Years kiss. There’s a lot of lingering looks and touches, a lot of inside jokes and smirks and secret smiles.
It’s driving the rest of the team crazy.
“You should just tell him how you feel, bang him, and get it out of your system,” Hanny says sagely. “You’ll both feel better.”
“Oh, like you told Jack, banged him, and got it out of your system?” Johnny responds, raising an eyebrow at him.
Hanny rolls his eyes and mutters something about being ungrateful, but Johnny just laughs and throws an arm around him.
The thing is, he wants to tell Chucky. They can’t exactly dance around it. The whole damn team knows, and Johnny doesn’t even know what’s holding them back from making out for real.
Gio is the one to pull him aside and check that everything’s good, that no one is unhappy, and Johnny rolls his eyes.
Gio’s such a dad.
Johnny’s not shocked when it’s Chucky who makes the first move. Johnny’s been visibly fretting over this for so long that Chucky would be blind to miss it, so he’s unsurprised when Chucky grabs him after practice and tows him to his car. It’s reminiscent of the time that Johnny grabbed Chucky to talk about setting up the tradition.
Chucky starts the car and looks at him. “We’re going to your place to eat and talk.”
“Okay, but you should know that I only have ham and Gatorade in my fridge.”
Chucky sighs, before taking a different turn. “We’re going to mine.”
Johnny settles back into the seat and tries not to visibly panic about what’s coming. Contrary to popular belief, Chucky is not stupid. He’s actually pretty smart, he just makes stupid choices. Johnny’s well aware that Chucky knows, and yet somehow he’s still trying to come up with ways to talk himself out of this.
But he also wants this so badly that it feels as though he might be sick.
It’s confusing, but Johnny knows the reasons why he’s feeling like this. It’s a combination of fear and hope.
When they head up to Chucky’s apartment, they still haven’t said anything. Johnny shoots Chucky uncertain little glances as Chucky leads the way into his kitchen, dumping his keys on a kitschy little side table that his mom totally picked out for him.
“So.” Johnny sat on one of the stools. “I feel like we’re about to do something either really stupid or really awesome.”
Chucky cracks a grin at that. “Awesome, definitely awesome.”
Johnny stares at him. “Really?”
Chucky ducks his head and laughs. “Well, how awesome is this?”
Chucky is moving across the kitchen, and then he’s reaching out to him, cupping Johnny’s face in strong hands, and then finally, finally kissing him.
Johnny makes a hungry noise and pushes Chucky back right up against the fridge. “Oh thank god, I thought we were gonna dance around this for a while.”
Chucky kisses him again, then bites his lip as he pulls away, which makes Johnny’s dick jump eagerly. Going by Chucky’s grin, it doesn’t escape his notice.
“You thought we were going to dance around this? I had to deal with like, everybody pulling me aside and telling me to just kiss you properly and put you out of your misery.”
“I will kill Hanny. And Monny. And-”
Chucky shuts him up by kissing him again, his hands drifting down to squeeze at his ass and pull him closer, before pulling away again.
“So, not that this isn’t fun and all, but I have a bed.”
“Yes.”
Johnny sends Hanny and Monny a snap of himself in Chucky’s bed. Because he listens to PR, he makes sure Chucky isn’t in the picture. He adds text that says “took ur advice and kissed him, does this mean we need to change our pregame tradition now”.
His phone vibrates.
“No wtf we’re winning”.
“Dude if you stop and we lose i might need to kiss Nealer”.
Johnny laughs and puts his phone down, rolling over to wrap an arm around Chucky’s waist.
They dance around the conversations they need to have, like the boyfriend question, telling the team, not to mention their families. They decide on some things, and spend more and more time together. Their tradition continues, much to the relief of Hanny and Monny. They have dates and dinners and lunches together.
They kiss a lot.
They make it all the way to the playoffs, and Johnny screams with joy in the locker room.
“We’re gonna do this all the way through the playoffs,” he tells Chucky. “We’re gonna win.”
Johnny prepares to skate out onto the ice in the first game of the playoffs, automatically reaching back to give Chucky his hand, he turns to smile at his boyfriend, confidence surging through him as Chucky drops a kiss to his glove.
He’s got a good feeling about this game.