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It actually feels pretty good when he gets traded. He’d known it was coming, anyway, and at this point in his career Mike’s not exactly a stranger to new locker rooms. Besides, there are advantages to Ottawa that his other NHL teams have definitely lacked.
It’s a small market, especially for Canada, so the media’s not so obtrusive. The captain is Swedish and has a history of dressing as women for Halloween, so it’s probably pretty safe to be not-quite-straight. And then there’s Ryan Dzingel.
Dzings looks like he belongs in a parody of a toothpaste ad, all large bright smiles and corn-fed American mien, and he’s one of the first people to talk to Mike on his first day as a Senator. “You know,” he says, sidling up with a badly-hidden grin on his face, “I’m close friends with 24 letters of the alphabet.”
“Are you?” Mike asks, waiting for the punchline in horrified fascination.
“I am,” he says. “But I don’t know u, and I don’t know y.”
Mike holds his poker face. Andy calls over, “Dzings, what did I tell you about bothering goalies?”
“I’m not!” Dzings protests. “Am I?”
And at the worried and beseeching look on his face, Mike finally cracks. “Oh my god,” he says through his laughter. “I think I’m really going to like it here.”
--
As the season goes by, he still really likes it, too.
Even after losses, the guys never seem to get tense the way they had in Pittsburgh, nobody dancing oddly around Karly like they might disrupt some important thought process or be snapped at for no reason. And after wins, they definitely don’t get as antsy as the guys in Montreal, and Karly never sounds like the weight of everything is on his shoulders, on the verge of becoming too much.
And then there’s Dzings, who can easily tip the mood in the room with one well-placed bad pun.
“You know, I’m really looking forward to my new reversible suit jacket,” he says before their first playoff game, in what Mike is already recognizing as his pun voice.
Most of the guys don’t seem to notice. “Reversible?” Boro asks with distaste.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”
There’s a long silence, broken by Mike’s snort and a chorus of groans. Someone throws a sock at Dzings’ head. He’s too busy laughing to notice.
--
“So, where’s that reversible jacket?” Hoffs asks before the second round.
“Oh, I gave up on that,” Dzings says, too casually. “Anyway, what I really wanted was a camo suit.”
“I hate to break it to you…” Ryaner says, gesturing at his definitely-not-camo suit.
“Oh, dude, I know,” Dzings tells him. “I just couldn’t find one.”
“Fuck off, Dzings,” calls Smitty, head in his stall.
“If you actually want a camo suit I can text Burnsie and ask about his tailor, you know,” says Karly thoughtfully. Dzings just rolls his eyes at him.
--
Actually, the only time Mike ever sees the pun thing not work is after the third round, after game seven of a series where four calls in five seemed to go against them. It’s not Mike’s first time on the wrong side of a handshake line, but it is the first time the guys on the other side all think they know him.
It’s weird, and that’s probably why he’s looking at Dzings to ground himself, even as he’s trying to comfort Andy, whose fault this is definitely not. So he sees the moment when Dzings stands, a little shakily, and clears his throat.
“Did you hear about the guy who was buried alive last week?” he says, smiling weakly. “It was a grave mistake.”
“Ha,” Andy says, morosely, and Mike has to resume patting him on the back.
Karly hobbles over to Dzings, pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks for trying.”
--
The new season arrives after a summer that feels too long, and Dzings is weirdly pun-free through the preseason. Mike is kind of worried about him.
Maybe this shows, because when they get on the plane for their first roadie, it’s him Dzings looks at when he takes a deep breath and says, “A guy sued an airline when his checked bag went missing.” He pauses. The whole team seems to be holding their breaths, but maybe that’s just Mike. “He lost his case.”
The plane immediately erupts into boos. Mike is already laughing so hard he can’t breathe when Ceci throws his shoe.
“I hope you don’t need this back,” says Dzings, and then he gets tackled.
--
When one of their games gets moved up to 6:30, everyone’s pissed. Nobody likes to be thrown off their routines, and the loss of nap time only makes it worse. Still, Mike doesn’t want to encourage anyone by complaining.
Burr doesn’t seem to have had the same thought. “Man, fuck 6:30 start times,” he says, fastening his fight strap. There’s a general grumble of agreement.
Mike is about to say something; Andy and Karly look like they’re about to say something.
Dzings gets there first. “Guys, just look at the clock. 6:30 is the best time - hands down.”
Burr throws a roll of stick tape at him, but the complaining stops.
--
Team dinners are always better the day after a win, and best of all when they’re steak-based. This one is both, and Mike is efficiently separating meat from T-bone when Dzings sighs, loudly.
“What’s up?” Andy asks him.
“I was just thinking, I’m glad I’m not a vegetarian, because this would have been one big missed steak.”
Someone flicks mashed potato at him. “No food fights,” warns Karly before it can escalate further.
--
Mike is a little jealous of Duchene, getting to have his pun initiation. He probably won’t even appreciate it.
Mostly, Mike’s just hoping it won’t be a flirty one this time.
Dzings pounces immediately. “A short psychic escaped from prison.” Duchene just stares at him. “The headline? Small Medium At Large.”
“O...kay? I’m not really sure what to do with that,” he says, and everyone cheers.
--
The thing about being not-quite-straight is that he’s still mostly straight. Consequently, he doesn’t actually pick up a guy in front of the team until they’re in Sweden.
The next day, Dzings is staring at him. A lot.
Mike sighs and goes to talk to him.
“No, I’m fine with it,” Dzings says, panicking. “It’s just, I don’t know how to feel? Because I lost my mood ring. Yes, I lost my mood ring and I don’t -”
“Okay,” Mike says, smiling, and Dzings smiles back.
(“Do you have a type?” he asks.
“Not really,” Mike replies, because there’s no good way to say, “No, but I’d sleep with you whenever you wanted,” to a teammate. Especially not one who’s sort of in a panic.)
--
Dzings sticks a lot closer to him after that - overcompensating? - so it’s not a surprise to run into him waiting by the stairs at the arena.
“What-?” he begins.
“I don’t trust stairs, they’re always up to something,” Dzings says.
Mike laughs. “Have you been standing here so you could try that on everyone?”
“Mostly you,” replies Dzings, and Mike laughs again, delighted.
--
Mike has always liked puns. This is a good thing; despite people constantly making fun of his sense of humor, he feels like he can still laugh at Dzings without making him uncomfortable.
Sometimes, though, it’s hard not to overstep his own boundaries on this. Now, for instance.
Dzings is standing in the middle of the room, half-dressed, a sheet of paper in his hand. He holds it up like he’s going to read from it and clears his throat officiously. “Do you want to hear something terrible?” he asks.
“Nope,” Whites shouts.
“Please don’t,” Ryaner begs.
“Yeah, go for it,” says Mike, blushing when everyone turns to look at him. He really hopes it’s not obvious that he’s pretty much flirting.
Dzings looks thoughtful. Mike might be imagining the answering flush on his face. It’s gone by the time he squares up, says, “Paper,” and rips the sheet in half. “I told you it was tearable,” he says, grinning around at the room. And if, after he ducks two wads of used stick tape and an empty water bottle, his smile mostly seems to land on Mike? Well, it might just be coincidence.
But Mike’s starting to think he’s had the wrong end of the goalie stick all along.
--
He hands a note to Dzings after the game, watches him mouth the words from across the room. “That pun was just not write,” it says, and Dzings shoots Mike a smile before looking back down at it.
This time Mike’s definitely not imagining the blush.
--
If there’s one place it’s important for him to look put-together, it’s Montreal. He’s trying to wear a new tie, but it refuses to lie quite right.
He’s already given up on it when Dzings comes over to him. “Looking good,” he says, “Except… that.” He gestures to Mike’s chest. “Let me fix it?”
“Please,” Mike says, and Dzings does.
He unties it very gently. “So these two silkworms got into a race,” he says, obviously reveling in his captive audience as he counts loops and gently tugs the end through them. “It ended in a tie,” he says, and his hand smooths down Mike’s.
He hopes Dzings can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest as he chuckles - or, then again, maybe he does.
--
After the game, Mike heads straight back to the hotel. Dzings still beats him there somehow. That’s not really his biggest question, though, because he also doesn’t know where he got those three giant limes from or why he’s trying to juggle them here in the lobby.
Thankfully, no other guests seem to be around, but the woman working the front desk looks like she’d really like him to stop. Mike is happy to come in with the assist. “Hey, Dzings,” he says, walking closer.
Dzings takes one look at him and promptly drops the limes. Every time he grabs one, another falls from his hands, until finally the last one rolls over to Mike. “Here,” he says, handing it to Dzings, who doesn’t drop it this time.
“Thanks,” he says. “Sorry, I’m just no good at these pick-up limes.”
“Oh,” Mike says, and then it sinks in. “Oh.” He takes a lime in one hand, Dzings’ wrist in the other, and they make good time to the elevators, for post-game. He backs Dzings into a corner of it, slowly but surely.
Dzings presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw and whispers, “We can’t fuck on this elevator.”
“Why not?” Mike murmurs against the side of his head.
“Because it’s wrong on so many levels.” Dzings grins. The doors open. “Also,” he says in a more normal tone of voice, “you forgot to press the stop button. And there’s probably a camera in there. Plus, limes.”
Dzings gets his door open, bowls all three limes across the floor. They thump against the far wall, but Mike doesn’t notice, because he’s kissing Dzings and it’s really nice. Eventually, though, they have to stop.
Mike looks at his face in the near-dark and knows exactly what to say. “Do you have a Condon?” He can feel Dzings’ chest kick with silent laughter when he figures it out.
“Not quite sure yet,” he says, “but I think I’m gonna need one for as long as I can have him.”
--
(This time Dzings and Mike are standing in the middle of the room together, pretending they’re not about to piss off the entire team.
“I just don’t get why you’re the only one who laughs at my jokes,” Dzings says.
Mike takes his hand, patting it gently. “I guess we’re just too much better off in the Sens of humor department,” he says, and Karly starts pelting them with hair ties.
They’re too busy laughing to care.)