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in san jose it's always like this — hot during the day, and then toward evening the wind from the bay brings in the cold, and you're just walking around trying to decide whether to take your hoodie off or put it back on. will's hated this weather for as long as he can remember, but right now, sitting on the windowsill in the living room of their apartment, he's ready to forgive california everything. even this stupid climate.
macklin's in the kitchen clattering dishes, humming something under his breath. they had a day off today — the first one in like a week, where the nhl schedule finally took pity on the sharks and gave them a couple days to breathe. will spent his day off productively — slept until noon, scrolled through twitter, slept some more, and now he's sitting on the windowsill with a cup of cold coffee watching the sun go down somewhere behind the rooftops.
"you hungry?" macklin appears from the kitchen with a plate. on it is some kind of creation he put together from whatever was left in the fridge, because neither of them has gone grocery shopping in what feels like a week.
"what is it?"
"i don't know. pasta with cheese i guess?"
will snorts, jumps off the windowsill, and collapses onto the couch, pulling his legs up and taking the plate. macklin sits next to him, their knees touching, and it's so normal that will doesn't even notice — just eats, chews, occasionally comments "you oversalted the hot dogs," and steals a piece of cheese from macklin's side.
the tv's on in the background — some old movie they've both seen a hundred times, but can't be bothered to change it. it's getting dark outside, the only light in the room is the lamp in the corner, and it makes everything feel especially cozy — like they've shut out the rest of the world in their own little bubble.
"tired?" will asks, nudging him with his elbow.
"nah." macklin chews, staring thoughtfully at the tv. "actually feel rested today. weird — usually after a day off you feel kinda wrecked, but today's fine."
"probably because you slept in instead of dragging yourself across time zones for a road game."
"could be."
they fall quiet. will finishes eating, puts the plate on the floor, leans back into the couch and rests his head on mack's shoulder. mack automatically starts running his fingers through his hair, twisting the curls, working out the tangles — not even thinking about it, just because his hands do it on their own.
the movie's wrapping up, but neither of them is paying attention. will traces patterns on mack's knee without thinking. mack squeezes his shoulder in response to some movement, and these little touches spread warmth through his chest.
half an hour passes, maybe more. will loses track of time — he always does when they sit like this, quiet, together. the movie ends, another one starts, some dumb action movie they've also seen a million times.
"wanna go to bed?" mack asks when will yawns for like the third time.
"nah," will mumbles, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder.
they sit a little longer. then will lifts his head, looks at mack — long, careful, like he's seeing him for the first time. mack catches the look and frowns slightly:
"what?"
"nothing." will leans in and kisses him — light, barely there, just a brush of lips. and then immediately leans in again, and the second kiss is completely different — deep, slow, tasting like evening coffee and the cheese they ate.
mack answers slowly, lazily, like they have all night and nowhere to be. his hand slides into will's hair, pulls him closer, and will feels something warm and slow burning inside him.
they make out on the couch for a long time — so long the tv screen goes dark, and the only light in the room is the lamp and the glow from the streetlights. will climbs onto mack's lap, straddling him, light, barely putting any weight on him, and trails his lips along his neck, his collarbones, the sharp edges of his bones.
mack strokes his back, slow, wide movements, feeling every vertebra under his fingers. will melts under his hands, like he's sinking into every touch, and it makes something clench inside mack — tenderness, want, and the way everything feels so easy and right right now.
"come on," he says quietly, when will pauses, nose buried in his neck.
will lifts his head, looks at him with hazy eyes, and instead of answering just presses closer, making it clear he's not moving. mack snorts — the sound vibrates somewhere in will's chest — and just lifts him, hands under his thighs, standing up from the couch.
will immediately wraps his legs around his waist, presses closer, buries his face in the curve of his neck. that's how they go down the hall — macklin carrying him like he weighs nothing, and will just nuzzles under his jaw, exhaling happily — past the photos on the wall, past the open bathroom door where their towels hang side by side.
the bedroom's cool — mack likes to sleep with the window open, and the evening air drifts in, stirring the curtains. macklin steps inside, holding will with one arm, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand with the other. the small light fills the room with soft yellow glow, making everything feel even cozier.
will's still hanging onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, not even thinking about getting down — just turns his head, looks back at the door. mack catches the look, reaches with his free hand and pushes it shut, the click of the lock cutting off the rest of the world.
they undress slowly, no rush — pulling off each other's t-shirts, unbuttoning jeans, tangling in zippers. will laughs when his hoodie gets stuck on his head, and mack helps him out of it, taking the chance to kiss somewhere around his collarbone.
mack's just built big — solid, dense, with broad shoulders and strong hands that hold him so well when will's falling apart. will looks almost small next to him — thinner boned, lighter, more delicate. and even though he's got a couple inches on mack, the size difference still shows: mack's wider, thicker, more grounded, and for some reason it drives will insane. he loves that mack can wrap his arms around him and hide him completely, that when they stand like this will has to tilt his head down to bury his nose in his neck, but he still feels completely safe.
"lay down," will whispers against his lips.
macklin lies back, arms behind his head, watching will climb on top of him. will moves slow, teasing, settling on his hips, running his hands over his own chest, then mack's, watching the muscles tense under his fingers.
celebrini's breath catches, but he stays quiet — just stares, drinking in every movement, every expression. will catches his look and smiles — satisfied, a little predatory, because he knows exactly what he does to him.
mack runs his hands along his sides, stopping at his waist, and his fingers find that spot — the place where will's body narrows. he wraps his palms around it, fingers almost meeting, like it was made for his hands to hold. he squeezes a little harder, leaving marks, and will arches in response, head falling back.
will leans down, kisses mack near the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then his neck — slow, savoring, leaving wet trails. breathes warm against his collarbone, and the exhale says more than words.
then he sits back up, pulls off his boxers, helps mack out of his. under his fingers — hot skin, and will feels mack hard and ready pressing against his thigh. it makes everything burn again.
will reaches for the nightstand without looking — his hand finds the drawer, feels around, finds the box. while he fumbles with the wrapper, mack strokes his thighs, his stomach, his ribs — just running his palms over him, learning, remembering, even though he knows every inch by heart.
"let me," mack says, taking the packet, putting it on quickly. will watches his fingers move, and everything clenches inside him with want.
"ready?" mack asks when he's done.
will answers by lifting up on his knees, positioning himself, and sinking down slowly, so slowly. mack inside him — it always feels right, complete, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. will exhales, eyes closing, giving himself time to adjust, and then he starts to move.
he sets the pace — slow at first, rocking, letting him feel every movement, every touch. mack moans underneath him — quiet, choked, fingers gripping the sheets. will can see him trying not to take control, not to take over, letting will do what he wants.
"mack," will breathes, "look at me."
macklin looks up. in the dim light his eyes look almost black, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the iris. will catches his gaze and feels goosebumps run down his spine.
"you okay?"
"good," mack rasps. "so good. you're — the best."
will smirks, leans down, kisses him — messy, near the edge of his mouth, but it only makes things hotter. and in that moment his eyes catch something in the corner of the room.
there, on the wall, is a big mirror — macklin found it at some flea market when they first moved in, and will made fun of him for being so extra. but now, looking at it, he realizes it was a genius purchase.
in the mirror he can see both of them. will on top, curls wild around his shoulders, chest flushed, mouth open. he can see his hips moving, the muscles in his back tensing, mack's fingers gripping his waist, leaving red marks.
"mack," he calls, lips brushing his jaw. "mack, look."
celebrini forces his eyes to focus, turns his head to where will's pointing. and freezes.
because the mirror shows him something that makes everything inside him stop. will there — unreal. blond hair spread over his shoulders, some of it stuck to his forehead. eyes half-closed, lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, mouth open — and you can see his breath catching, the muscles in his neck moving when he throws his head back.
"god," mack breathes, and his voice sounds almost like worship.
will smiles — satisfied, a little drunk, that same smile that's been turning mack inside out for like five years now.
"look at us," he whispers. "look at me."
he changes the angle, leans forward, hands braced on mack's chest, and now mack can see even more. sees his shoulder blades moving under pale skin, sees the arch in his lower back, how narrow his waist is — perfect for holding, for gripping, for feeling it move under his hands.
in the mirror he can see will moving on him — smooth, slow, like he's stretching out every moment on purpose. and mack can't look away from the picture: the way his hips circle, the muscles tensing in his pale back, the curls flying with every thrust.
but the most devastating part is the contrast. mack sees his own hands gripping will's waist, sees how easily they fit there. sees his own chest, broad, solid, and will on top of him — so light, almost weightless. and the difference makes everything inside mack flip — because this beautiful, flexible, insane guy is moving on him right now, letting him touch, letting him look, letting him do anything — mack can't look away, because it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"you have no idea," he rasps, fingers tracing will's sides. "how you look. right now. like this."
"tell me."
"beautiful." mack swallows, searching for words. "the way you move — like you were made for this. for me."
will moans — louder than he meant to, because mack's words get under his skin, spreading hot through his stomach. he speeds up, riding harder, and sees in the mirror his own face twisting with pleasure.
"look," he breathes, making mack keep watching. "look at us, mack. don't look away."
macklin watches. sees will biting his lip, trying to hold back moans, but they still escape — high, almost desperate, and it twists everything inside mack into a tight knot. sees will reaching back, touching his thigh, dragging fingers down his own chest, leaving red trails.
"god," mack breathes, and it sounds like a prayer.
will catches his eyes in the mirror — there, in the reflection, their gazes meet, and it's somehow too much. too intimate, too deep, too right. mack sees will's pupils blow wide, sees him lose control of the rhythm, sees his body moving on its own.
"mack," will moans, "mack, i'm —"
"yeah," mack breathes. "yeah, smitty. don't hold back."
he sits up suddenly, pulling will closer, and now they're face to face — will in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, arms on his shoulders. the angle changes, the depth changes, and will cries out — loud, not holding back, head thrown back. mack takes the chance, mouths at his neck — where his pulse is racing — and kisses, almost bites, leaving marks over old ones.
in the mirror they look different now — will, arched back, mouth open, eyes rolled back, and mack, buried in his neck, fingers white-knuckled on his hips. will arching like a bow, mouth opening silently, body shaking through it. mack sees everything — every emotion, every movement, every second of will coming apart — and it's enough to send him over the edge too.
he buries his face in will's shoulder, feels will clenching around him in time with his own release. for a few seconds they just sit there, pressed together, unable to move.
then macklin pulls out carefully, helps will lie down, lies next to him. they breathe heavy, staring at the ceiling, fingers tangled somewhere between them.
"holy shit," will exhales after a minute.
"yeah."
"that mirror — best thing you ever bought for this apartment."
mack snorts, turns on his side, looks at his face.
"seriously? i thought it was the bed."
"bed's great. but the mirror..." will reaches up, kisses him somewhere near his nose.
"you looked so..." mack trails off, searching. "i was watching and thinking: fuck, that's my boyfriend."
will snorts at first, then starts laughing — quiet, satisfied, and the laughter vibrates somewhere in mack's chest. they lie there for a long time, legs tangled, listening to each other breathe.
after a while will finally crawls out from under the covers — for a shower, to wash off the sweat and everything else. mack listens to the water running, to will humming off-key, and smiles into the dark.
when will comes back, wet, smelling like their shared body wash, mack pulls him close, wraps them in the blanket, buries his nose in his still-damp curls.
"mack. thanks for being mine."
macklin freezes for a second, hearing the quiet whisper, then holds him tighter and breathes him in.
"thank you," barely audible, into the dark. "for being here."
will doesn't answer — just breathes evenly, falling asleep with that ease mack's always envied. and mack lies there for a long time, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, listening to the breathing next to him. thinking about practice tomorrow, about not oversleeping, about the empty fridge and how they really need to go grocery shopping. thinking about the boring, normal, everyday life — the stupid arguments about dishes, and this — a warm body next to him, familiar down to every mole.
thinking about how he, macklin celebrini, some canadian hockey player, got so lucky that every road led him here. to a blond princess curled up next to him.
and it's probably the best thing that ever happened to him.