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The Arizona sun burned outside, but inside Auston Matthews’ house, the air conditioning kept the environment cool—at least, that’s what was supposed to happen. However, over the past few days, Mitch Marner had noticed that the thermostat always seemed to be one or two degrees higher than usual. And, consequently, Auston was always shirtless.
Mitch tried not to look. He tried. But it was impossible to ignore the way Auston’s back muscles moved as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, or how his arms—defined, strong, much larger than Mitch remembered—flexed when he adjusted his cap before heading out for yet another training session.
“You’ve been working out more than usual, right?” Mitch commented, averting his eyes to his own phone, where he scrolled aimlessly through social media.
Auston smiled—that slow, calculated smile that always made Mitch a little nervous. “That’s what the offseason’s for, right? To improve.” He raised his arms, stretching on purpose, and Mitch couldn’t stop the flush that crept up his cheeks.
“You noticing a difference?”
Mitch swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. I can tell.”
Auston chuckled softly, satisfied, and Mitch felt a chill run down his spine. He knew Auston was observant. Too perceptive. Did he notice the effect he had on him?
In the following days, things only got worse.
Mitch would come back from the pool and find Auston on the couch, playing Xbox—wearing only boxer briefs—as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“Hot as hell today,” Auston justified, eyes glued to the screen as his fingers worked the controller. He didn’t even look at Mitch, who stood frozen in the doorway, towel still draped around his neck, droplets of water running down his torso.
“Y-yeah, it is,” Mitch agreed, his voice slightly higher than usual. He looked away, but not before taking in every detail: the defined V of Auston’s hips, the way the underwear clung a little too tightly to his thighs—
Shit.
Mitch fled to his room before Auston could notice how red his face had gotten.
Auston, of course, noticed everything.
Every stolen glance. Every blush. Every time Mitch stumbled over his words when Auston got too close.
And he loved it.
But there was something else—something darker—behind that satisfaction. Because Auston couldn’t lose Mitch. Not now. Not ever.
And with the contract negotiations dragging on, the anxiety was starting to eat him alive.
Training to exhaustion helped. Seeing Mitch react to his body helped even more.
But Auston needed more.
He needed to be sure that no matter what happened, Mitch would never go anywhere.
Xx
The Arizona sun was relentless, and the pool in Auston’s backyard shimmered under the midday light. Mitch was lying on a lounge chair, sunglasses covering his eyes—but not enough to hide the fact that he was absolutely watching Auston climb out of the water, droplets sliding down his defined torso.
Auston knew. Of course he knew.
He walked over, still dripping, and Mitch quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the drink he had barely touched.
“You’re burning,” Auston commented, his voice rough from the heat.
“I’m not,” Mitch protested, still refusing to look at him.
Auston grabbed the bottle of sunscreen sitting on the table beside them and gave it a shake, the liquid inside sloshing audibly. “You’re already red, Marner. Turn around.”
Mitch hesitated, but turned his back, swallowing hard when he felt Auston’s weight kneeling on the lounge chair behind him.
And then—warm hands sliding over his back.
Mitch held his breath.
Auston spread the sunscreen slowly, his fingers pressing a little too firmly to be merely practical. He started with Mitch’s shoulders, then moved down his spine, feeling the shivers that ran through the younger man’s skin.
“Relax,” Auston murmured, his voice low—almost a challenge.
“I am relaxed,” Mitch lied, his fingers tightening on the edge of the lounge chair.
Auston smiled and, deliberately, let his thumbs drag farther to the sides, almost reaching Mitch’s ribs. Mitch shivered.
“You’re tense, huh?” Auston teased, his fingers now moving upward again, lightly massaging the back of Mitch’s neck.
“It’s—it’s the heat,” Mitch replied, his voice slightly higher.
Auston laughed softly, and then—without warning—squeezed Mitch’s shoulders all at once, making the younger man let out a small sigh.
“Better?” Auston asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer was.
Mitch just nodded, unable to form words.
Auston leaned back, satisfied, but not before leaving one last touch—a finger tracing, almost casually, along the waistband of Mitch’s shorts, so close to his waist that it made the younger man shiver again.
“There. Now you won’t get all sunburned.” He stood up, stretching his arms as if none of that had affected him in the slightest. “I’m grabbing a beer. Want one?”
Mitch could only shake his head, still processing what the hell had just happened.
Auston smiled to himself as he walked into the house.
Working perfectly.
Xx
The day was hot, but not as hot as Mitch’s skin beneath the fitted cap he insisted on wearing even indoors. They had just gotten back from a light practice—Auston’s idea, of course, since any excuse to see Mitch sweaty and breathless was a good one—and now they were in the kitchen, Mitch leaning over the fridge in search of something cold to drink.
Auston noticed the crooked cap, the damp fringe of sweat sticking to Mitch’s forehead, and saw his opportunity.
“Your hat’s crooked,” he said casually, stepping closer before Mitch could react.
“It’s not—” Mitch began to protest, but Auston was already fixing the cap with that firm touch that left no room for argument.
His fingers moved deliberately slowly, brushing through Mitch’s damp hair, grazing his scalp in a way that made the younger man hold his breath. Auston felt the almost imperceptible shiver that ran through Mitch’s body when his thumb accidentally (or not) brushed against his temple.
“Better?” Auston asked, his voice low, his fingers still hovering a little too close, as if reluctant to pull away.
Mitch swallowed hard. “It’s… it’s fine, yeah.”
Auston smiled, satisfied, and gave the cap one last pat—purely to see the blush rise up Mitch’s ears.
Xx
The NHL game on TV was just background noise. Auston could barely pay attention—not when Mitch was sitting less than a hand’s width away on the couch, legs stretched out, barefoot, wearing those ridiculously short shorts that left almost nothing to the imagination.
It was unbearable.
Auston shifted, pretending to adjust his position, but in reality, he was just closing the space between them. His thigh pressed against Mitch’s—heat against heat—and he didn’t move away.
Mitch hesitated. He looked at the spot where their legs touched, then at Auston, who kept his eyes on the screen as if nothing were happening.
“It’s… it’s kinda tight here, isn’t it?” Mitch tried, his voice a little higher than usual.
Auston raised an eyebrow, finally turning his head to face him. “You complaining?”
Mitch opened his mouth, closed it, then swallowed. “No. Just—just saying.”
“Good.” Auston smiled and, just to make it worse, stretched his arm across the back of the couch, almost—almost—wrapping around Mitch’s shoulders. “’Cause I’m pretty comfortable.”
Mitch froze, his fingers curling into the fabric of the couch. He could move away. He should. But he didn’t.
And Auston?
Auston just sat there, smiling to himself, knowing exactly what he was doing.
Xx
The night was warm, the low music echoing through Auston's house as the group of friends spread out through the living room, the kitchen, the backyard. Laughter, exaggerated stories, the clinking of glasses – all perfect. All calculated.
Auston watched Mitch the entire time.
The younger one was sitting on the kitchen counter, animated, drinking his light beer, his eyes already somewhat bright from the alcohol. He was laughing at something one of the friends said, his head thrown back, his neck exposed, and Auston had to look away before someone noticed the intensity of his gaze.
That's when he saw the opportunity.
His drink – a strong Long Island Iced Tea, almost undisguised – was there, on the counter, next to Mitch's beer. Auston pretended to be distracted by a message on his phone, waiting.
And Mitch, distracted, picked up the wrong glass.
Auston watched, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly, as Mitch took a big sip – and immediately made a face.
"What the fuck is this?" Mitch coughed, looking at the glass as if it had betrayed his trust.
Auston approached, feigning surprise. "You grabbed my drink, Marner."
"Your– but this is basically pure alcohol!" Mitch complained, but he was already bringing the glass to his lips again, as if he couldn't stop.
Auston smiled. "Can't handle it?"
Mitch stared at him, his eyes challenging. "Of course I can."
And so it was.
The party wound down, friends leaving one by one, until only Auston and Mitch remained – the latter visibly altered, his face flushed, his movements slow and uncoordinated.
"You're really drunk," Auston commented, closing the door after the last friend left.
Mitch shook his head, trying to look sober. "I'm totally fine."
Auston laughed. "Of course you are."
Mitch tried to get up from the sofa, but his legs gave way, and he fell back with an oof. Auston was at his side in an instant, his hands firm on his shoulders.
"Come on, superstar. Bedtime."
Mitch mumbled something unintelligible, but he didn't resist when Auston pulled him up, holding him much closer than necessary.
"You smell like alcohol and sweat," Auston murmured, his fingers tightening slightly on Mitch's waist as he guided him down the hall. "You need a shower."
Mitch shook his head. "Later. I just want to sleep."
"No." The reply was firm, almost a growl. "You're taking a shower. I'm going to help you."
Mitch stopped, his eyes wide. "You– what?"
Auston gave him no time to protest. He gently pushed Mitch into the bathroom, closing the door behind them. The air was warm, steam from the shower already beginning to fog the mirror.
Mitch looked dangerously vulnerable there, his eyes glazed, his breathing rapid. Auston approached, his fingers finding the hem of his shirt.
"Lift your arms."
Mitch hesitated, but obeyed.
Auston pulled the shirt off slowly, his fingers sliding too much over Mitch's warm skin, feeling the tremor that ran through the younger man's body.
"Nervous?" Auston asked, his voice low, dangerously sweet.
Mitch swallowed. "No."
Auston smiled. "Liar."
The shower was... slow. Auston made a point of washing Mitch's hair himself, his fingers massaging his scalp with a firmness that made the younger one let out an involuntary sigh.
"You like that?" Auston whispered near his ear.
Mitch didn't answer, but the blush on his cheeks said it all.
Auston washed his back, his legs, every inch – always with the excuse that Mitch was "too drunk" to do it properly.
When it was over, he wrapped Mitch in a towel, drying him with an almost devout attention.
"You're so pretty all wet like this," Auston murmured, without thinking – or thinking too much.
Mitch looked at him, his eyes dark, his mouth slightly open.
Auston almost kissed him right then.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Mitch tried to grab his own sleep clothes, but Auston was already there, holding one of his own t-shirts – large, soft, smelling like his cologne.
"Put this on."
Mitch hesitated. "I can–"
"Put it on."
Mitch put it on.
And Auston loved seeing him like that – wrapped in his things, belonging to him, even if only for a night.
Auston laid Mitch down on the bed, covered him with the blanket, his fingers brushing his face one last time.
"Sleep," he ordered, softly.
Mitch was almost unconscious already, but he grabbed Auston's wrist, weakly.
"Stay," he murmured, drowsy.
Auston smiled.
As if he could go anywhere.
The dawn light filtering through the curtains hit Mitch like a punch to the skull. He groaned, turning his face to the side—and froze.
Auston was sitting on the bed, already dressed, already awake, his eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made Mitch's stomach flip.
"Good morning," Auston murmured, his voice hoarse, as if he had spent hours there just watching.
Mitch swallowed dryly. His mouth was pasty, his head throbbing, but nothing compared to the chill down his spine when flashes from the previous night came back:
Firm hands pulling his shirt off.
Water running down his body—and Auston's fingers following the same path.
That hot whisper: "You're so pretty all wet like this."
Mitch sat up suddenly—and immediately regretted it when the world spun. "What—what time is it?"
"Almost noon," Auston replied, his eyes darkening as the large t-shirt (his t-shirt) slipped off Mitch's shoulder.
"You... slept well."
It was a question disguised as a statement. Mitch felt his face burn. "I—"
How much of that was real?
Before he could ask, Auston reached out—slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal—and adjusted the collar of the t-shirt, his fingers deliberately brushing against Mitch's collarbone.
"You were adorable last night," he said, as if commenting on the weather.
Mitch held his breath.
It was real. All of it.
Xx
Three days later, Mitch was still recovering—not from the hangover, but from the night. From the way Auston looked at him now, as if he had tasted something and wanted more.
He was in the kitchen when he heard Auston swear in the bedroom.
"You okay?" Mitch called out, approaching.
The door was slightly ajar. Auston had his back to him, something shiny in his hand—
A phone.
Mitch was about to walk away when he saw it.
His own picture on the screen.
Not just any picture. A picture of him sleeping on the couch, the twilight light gilding his skin, his eyelashes casting shadows on his face.
Mitch froze.
Auston turned—and his eyes widened when he realized.
For a second, neither of them breathed.
Then Auston, calmly, locked the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket.
"You—" Mitch's voice came out strangled. "You took a picture of me sleeping?"
Auston didn't deny it. Didn't explain himself. Just stared at him, defiant, as if to say: So what?
Mitch felt his heart beating so hard it hurt. "How many—" he choked. "How many pictures do you have?"
Auston smiled. Slow. Predatory.
"Do you really want to know?"
The air in the guest room was heavy as lead. Mitch was standing, his fists clenched at his sides, the image still burning on his retina.
"You're not even going to try to explain?" His voice came out harsher than he intended.
Auston, sitting on the edge of the bed with a calm that made Mitch want to scream, lifted his eyes slowly. As if he already knew this conversation was coming.
"Explain what?"
"This!" Mitch shook an imaginary phone in the air, his fingers trembling. "The photos. The shower. The way you—" he swallowed dryly, "—the way you touch me."
Silence.
Then Auston smiled.
Not a smile of denial. Not an apologetic smile.
A slow smile, like a predator finally taking off the mask.
"Do you really want me to explain?" He stood up, step by step, until he was less than a foot away from Mitch. "Or do you just want me to admit it?"
Mitch felt his heart race. The smell of Auston's body wash, the heat radiating from him—it was too much.
"I want the truth," Mitch breathed, defiant.
Auston tilted his head, his dark eyes sweeping over every inch of Mitch's face.
"Fine." One step closer. "I take pictures of you because I can't stop looking at you."
Another step. Mitch retreated, his back hitting the wall.
"I touch you because I need to feel that you're real." Auston's hand found Mitch's waist, firm, possessive.
"And I helped you in the shower—" Auston's face came closer, his warm breath against Mitch's lips, "—because if I didn't, I would have ended up doing something much worse."
Mitch felt his legs go weak.
"That's the truth." Auston brushed his nose against his, an almost-kiss that hurt. "Now... what are you going to do with it?"
The air between them seemed electrically charged. Mitch felt the last thread of rationality snap as he closed the distance, his lips meeting Auston's in a hesitant kiss - an invitation, a question.
Auston responded like a starving man.
His teeth clenched on Mitch's lower lip before he could blink, pulling out a muffled moan. Auston's tongue invaded his mouth with the same intensity with which he dominated the ice - relentless, possessive, hungry. Mitch grabbed his shoulders, the hard muscles trembling under his fingers, as Auston pinned him against the wall.
"Like this," Auston growled between bites, his hands moving down to grab his thighs and force him to wrap his legs around his waist. "You always knew this was what I wanted."
His burning lips migrated to his neck, each bite calculated to leave purple marks that would scream ownership. Mitch arched, his fingers digging into Auston's hair when a stronger bite made his legs tremble violently.
Suddenly, Auston pulled his hair, forcing him to face those dark, dangerously focused eyes.
"I'd be lying if I said I respected any decision you make about your future with the team." Auston's rough voice was a blade cutting through the air. "You're mine. Every contract you sign, every night you spend away - it's going to be my choice, not yours."
Mitch gasped when Auston tightened his grip on his hair, exposing more of his neck for another series of possessive bites.
"I need to smell you," Auston licked a purple mark, "taste you," his teeth clenched on Mitch's neck, "possess you." His free hand moved down to grab the brunet's nape, crushing his lips again in a kiss that felt more like a punishment. "You will obey me."
Mitch moaned loudly when Auston rubbed his body against his, the raw excitement making his vision blur. He was lost - and Auston knew it.
"Look at you," Auston laughed, low and victorious, feeling the uncontrollable tremor running through Mitch. "You're already choosing me. Your body knows who it belongs to."
With one last painful pull of his hair, Auston sealed his lips again, turning any future protest into a submissive moan.
And deep down, even through the fog of desire, Mitch knew - there was no turning back now.
Auston's lips stopped inches from his, his warm breath mingling with the charged air between them. Mitch felt the words burning his throat before they even came out - a confession that would change everything.
"Do whatever you want with me." The voice came out hoarse but clear, his eyes clouded with desire fixed on Auston's. "I'm yours. And no one else's."
The silence that followed was sharp. Auston shuddered as if shocked, the fingers gripping his hair tightly loosening for a split second - the only sign of vulnerability Mitch had ever seen in him.
Then, like lightning, Auston's expression transformed.
His smile was slow, devouring, but in his eyes there was something new: a raw tenderness that made Mitch's stomach churn.
"I'm going to take care of you better than anyone else ever could." The promise came out like an oath, Auston's lips brushing against his as he spoke. "I'll dress you, feed you, train you... love you..." Each word was a soft kiss, brutally contrasting with the hands roaming his body with possession. "...in a way no one else could."
Mitch arched when Auston lifted him from the wall as if he weighed nothing, carrying him to the bed in firm steps. The mattress yielded under his weight, and for a moment, Auston just stood there, drinking in the sight of him lying there, panting, completely surrendered.
"Beautiful." Auston cocked the phone. The click of the camera echoed in the room. "I want to remember this exact moment forever. The day you finally understood."
His knees sank into the mattress beside Mitch, his large hands roaming every exposed inch with a mixture of reverence and hunger.
"You're my most valuable draft pick, Mitchy." His teeth clenched on his wrist, marking it. "My perfect hat-trick." A warm tongue licked his jugular. "My personal Stanley Cup."
When Auston finally took him there, in that bed under the Arizona sun, it was with a possessiveness that would leave marks much deeper than the purple ones on his skin - and Mitch embraced every single one of them.
The morning sun streamed in golden bands through the bedroom when Mitch's phone vibrated on the nightstand. Auston, who was tracing the map of the brunet's ribs with his tongue, growled against the warm skin when Mitch stretched to grab the device.
"Mom?", Mitch's voice was still hoarse from what Auston had done to him the night before.
Auston saw the brunet's shoulders tense even before he sighed. "Yes, I... I can go. Okay, I'll be back today."
When Mitch hung up, he found Auston already sitting up in bed, his eyes dark like a storm.
"Two days," Mitch explained, swallowing dryly. "My parents need help with..."
Auston didn't let him finish.
With a fluid motion, he pushed Mitch onto his back on the bed, pinning his wrists above his head. "Then we have hours to mark clearly where everyone can see."
What followed was a slow, meticulous devotion. Auston kissed every inch as if he were memorizing it—the curve of his hip, the beat of his wrist, the groove between his thighs. When he finally brought Mitch to the edge for the first time, he made sure to hold back his climax with a firm hand on his neck.
"You don't come until I say so," he ordered, licking the tear that streamed down Mitch's face.
And Auston loved taking care of him.
Teeth on the left pectoral muscle, where the t-shirt neckline would open.
Five purple fingers on the right hip, perfect for showing when Mitch adjusted his belt.
Auston ordered Mitch to look in the mirror while he took him from behind, one hand tangled in his hair, the other holding his chin so he could see exactly how beautiful he looked being wrecked.
"These," Auston kissed the teeth marks on his shoulder as Mitch trembled post-orgasm, "are to remind you who you belong to while you're away."
Xx
The airport was crowded when Mitch felt his phone buzz in his pocket for the third time in ten minutes.
[AUSTON]: 12:34 PM
Did you eat?
Mitch smiled despite himself as he typed a vague reply. He had barely sent it when a new notification popped up:
[Life360 – Auston added you to the circle “Home”]
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mitch muttered, tapping the notification. The map showed Auston at their house in Arizona… and a little blue dot exactly where Mitch stood in the terminal.
The phone rang before he could even process it.
“It’s just for safety,” Auston’s voice was honey-smooth in his ear. “You know… in case you get lost.”
Mitch could hear the smile.
“You’re unbearable,” Mitch grumbled—but didn’t turn off location sharing.
Auston laughed, low and intimate. “You love it.”
And the worst part?
He really did.
XX
The sound of the Arizona airport door closing behind them echoed like a sigh of relief. Auston hadn't let go of Mitch's suitcase since he saw him descend from the arrival gate - his fingers were dug into the handle as if it were the only thing stopping him from pushing Mitch against the first available wall and reclaiming him right then and there.
"We need to take a shower," Auston murmured after arriving home, his dark eyes scanning Mitch's body as if he could see through the clothes.
Mitch swallowed dryly. He knew that tone. He knew what came next.
The gift - a thin silver necklace with a small pendant shaped like a "34" - was still in his jacket pocket. He wanted to give it to him, but Auston's hands were already pulling him down the hallway, straight to the main bathroom.
The hot water had barely started to fall when Auston pinned him against the shower wall, his teeth finding the junction of his neck and shoulder.
"You smell different," Auston growled, his hands sliding over Mitch's wet torso. "You smell like Toronto. Like your parents' house." Each word was a bite. "I need to cover it."
Mitch arched when Auston knelt in front of him, his hands firm on his hips while his warm mouth took him in all at once.
"F-Fuck—!"
Auston looked up, his black eyes gleaming with possession under the water. He loved this - the way Mitch trembled, his thighs twitching when he sucked slowly, the way his fingers tangled in his hair trying to pull, but without any real strength to stop.
"You don't come," Auston ordered, pulling away at the last second, leaving Mitch moaning loudly and empty. "Not until I say so."
The bed was cold against Mitch's back when Auston finally threw him onto the sheets. The necklace - his gift - now gleamed on Auston's chest, the cold metal contrasting with his hot skin as he moved over Mitch.
"Did you like the gift?" Mitch gasped, his fingers trembling as they touched the pendant.
Auston pinned his wrists above his head with one hand. "I liked its owner more," he replied, before sinking his teeth into the muscle of Mitch's inner thigh.
What followed was a delicious torture. Auston kissed, bit, and licked every inch as if he were reasserting ownership - the back of his knees, his left wrist, the soft curve below his navel. When he finally allowed Mitch to come, it was with his fingers buried deep inside him and his teeth sunk into his shoulder - marking him again.
"Mine," Auston growled in his ear afterward, holding him so tight it hurt. "Only mine."
And Mitch, exhausted and completely possessed, could only agree.
Xx
The night was quiet until that moment.
The four of them were on the porch of Auston’s house in Arizona—Mitch, Auston, and their two long-time friends, Jake and Tyler—drinking beers and talking about the upcoming season. The mood was light, easy… until Jake let slip a comment that made Auston’s glass tremble slightly in his hand.
“You’re different, Mitchy,” Jake said, leaning forward on the wicker sofa, his eyes scanning Mitch’s face with a little too much interest. “More… mature. The offseason’s doing you good, huh?”
Auston felt the muscles in his jaw tighten.
Mitch, always the diplomat, laughed and raised his hands. “Ah, it’s just the Arizona tan, man. Auston’s been putting me through hell at the gym.”
“Yeah, sure it’s just working out,” Jake insisted, smiling in a way that made Auston want to crush something. “You’ve got a different vibe. Even your posture—”
“You’re analyzing my player too much, Jake,” Auston cut in, his voice sharper than he intended.
A heavy silence fell over the group. Tyler cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and Mitch quickly took a sip of his beer to cover it.
That’s when Auston felt it.
That.
Under the table, Mitch’s fingers found his thigh, squeezing firmly enough to make him flinch. The message was clear: “Calm down. It’s okay.”
Auston breathed deeply, feeling Mitch’s touch like a grounding wire. He swallowed the growl that threatened to escape, but couldn’t help placing his own hand over Mitch’s, holding it there with possessive firmness.
“Yeah, well, I take care of him,” Auston murmured, this time in a more controlled tone, but still laden with meaning. “Better than anyone could.”
Jake raised his eyebrows, catching the implied message. Tyler, more perceptive, gave him a light elbow and quickly changed the subject to next week’s golf tournament.
Mitch didn’t remove his hand from Auston’s thigh for the rest of the night.
And Auston?
He spent the whole time tracing circles on Mitch’s wrist with his thumb, a silent promise:
Later, you’ll pay me back for that intervention.
The door had barely closed when Auston pushed Mitch against it, his whole body trembling with pent-up tension. The kiss was devouring—teeth, tongue, and pure possession. Mitch moaned against his lips, his fingers digging into Auston's broad shoulders as he tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm.
"You think this is funny?" Auston growled, biting Mitch's lower lip until he tasted the metallic tang of blood. "Calming me down like I'm some irritated dog?"
Mitch tried to respond, but Auston was already turning him against the door, a heavy hand on the nape of his neck forcing him to bend over. The sound of the zipper being pulled echoed like a gunshot.
"You provoked this," Auston spat, lubricating his fingers with saliva before pressing one against the tight muscle, making Mitch cry out. "Now take it."
The penetration was without warning, without preparation—just one finger sinking in to the knuckle as Auston bit down on the mark he'd left on Mitch's neck hours before. The brunet arched, his fingers scratching the wooden door, but Auston gave no respite.
"They saw," Auston added another finger, the burn making Mitch choke. "They saw how different you are. Mine."
The cruel twist of his fingers inside him made Mitch's legs tremble. Auston smiled against his skin when he found the right spot—and attacked without mercy.
"Will you remember this the next time someone looks a little too long?" Auston asked, his voice a low roar as his fingers bombarded Mitch's prostate with surgical precision. "Will you remember who makes you like this?"
Mitch couldn't answer—he could only moan, his entire body tense on the edge of orgasm without even being properly touched.
Auston laughed, darkly, and suddenly withdrew his fingers. Mitch cried out in frustration, but was quickly silenced when Auston turned him and threw him to his knees on the floor.
"Swallow," he ordered, holding the back of Mitch's neck as he rubbed the already red and swollen head of his member against the brunet's lips. "And think carefully while you do it—this is the only taste you'll have in your mouth for the rest of the offseason."
And when Mitch, obedient, opened his mouth and accepted every inch until his testicles hit his chin, Auston let out a hoarse moan of possession.
"All yours," Mitch murmured against the salty skin, his teary eyes meeting Auston's.
The hand in his hair tightened.
"All mine," Auston corrected, and began to move with a cadence that left no room for regrets.
Xx
The morning sun hit Mitch's eyes like a knife. He groaned, turning over in bed—and immediately stopped.
Every muscle in his body protested. His thighs burned, his hip throbbed, and deep inside... a deep, pulsing ache that made his face catch fire as he remembered how Auston had bent him, stretched him, possessed him the night before.
"Good morning, superstar."
Auston's raspy voice came from the doorway, where he was leaning, already dressed, holding a cup of coffee with a smile that was 50% satisfaction, 50% predator.
Mitch tried to sit up—and failed miserably.
"Y-You son of a bitch," he grumbled, falling back onto the pillow.
Auston laughed, placing the cup on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers traced the bite mark on Mitch's shoulder, making him shiver.
"Wanted to make sure you wouldn't soon forget who you belong to," he murmured, his hand moving down to massage Mitch's tense thigh—right where it hurt the most.
Mitch let out an involuntary moan.
Auston smiled. "Every time you walk today... every time you sit down..." His fingers pressed right where Mitch was most sensitive. "...you're gonna feel exactly what I did to you."
That's when Mitch's phone vibrated.
Auston picked up the phone before Mitch could reach for it.
"Jake," he read the name on the screen, and something dark flickered in his eyes.
Mitch swallowed dryly. "Auston, give it here—"
[JAKE]: Hey, Mitchy! Wanna hit the golf course tomorrow? Just us – been a while since we caught up.
Auston smiled.
His fingers flew across the screen before Mitch could protest.
[MITCH]: Not happening. Mitch has plans.
[JAKE]: Plans with who?
Auston typed again, slowly, deliberately.
[MITCH]: With me. And if you call him "Mitchy" again, I'll rip your tongue out through your throat.
Mitch froze.
Auston locked the phone and placed it back on the table, kissing Mitch's forehead as if nothing had happened.
"There. Problem solved."
Mitch opened his mouth—and then closed it. Because...
Because deep down, he loved it.
Auston saw the submission in his eyes and smiled, satisfied.
"Good boy."
Xx
The Arizona afternoon sun burned outside, but inside Auston's private gym, only the sound of Mitch's ragged breathing and the creak of the weight machines broke the silence. Mitch was lying on the bench, his legs visibly shaking after the exhausting set of squats Auston had forced him to do—"Five more, Mitchy. You can do it. Almost there."
Auston watched, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every drop of sweat that trickled down Mitch's neck. He didn't help. He didn't need to. Mitch already knew what would happen if he stopped before the limit.
When the final squat was completed, Mitch fell to his knees on the floor, his muscles burning.
"Good boy," Auston murmured, stepping closer and pulling Mitch up by his hair, forcing him to look up. "You were incredible."
It was ridiculous how those words, even spoken with possession, made Mitch's stomach flip with pleasure. He should feel controlled, suffocated. Instead, he felt protected. Desired. Necessary.
Auston pulled Mitch to his feet, holding him firmly by the hips, his fingers pressing into the purple marks he himself had left the night before.
"You feel it, don't you?" Auston whispered, his lips brushing against Mitch's ear. "Every step. Every movement. I am in you, even when I'm not touching you."
Mitch didn't answer. He didn't need to. His body had already answered for him—the shiver, the tremor, the way he leaned into Auston's touch like a plant towards the sun.
Auston smiled, satisfied, and then, in one fluid motion, lifted Mitch into the air, wrapping his legs around his waist.
"You are mine," he said, simply, as if stating a universal fact.
And Mitch, finally, finally, let himself fall.
"I am," he agreed, his voice hoarse, his fingers buried in Auston's hair.
It was as if something clicked into place.
Auston held him tighter, his eyes closed for a second, as if memorizing the moment. When he opened them again, there was something more there—something beyond the obsession, beyond the possession.
Something that frightened and soothed Mitch at the same time.
"I'm not going to let you go. Never," Auston declared, as if it were an oath.
Mitch smiled, small, secret.
"I know."
XX
The meeting room in Kyle Dubas’s office was far too cold, the air conditioning blasting at full power, but Mitch couldn’t stop sweating. Maybe it was the fact that Auston was sitting beside him—too close—his leg pressed against Mitch’s under the table. Or maybe it was the way Auston’s fingers tapped lightly on the contract in front of him, as if he were already dissecting every clause with a killer’s focus.
“So, Mitch,” Dubas began, adjusting his glasses. “We’re very excited to keep you with us. We’re offering 8 years, $11 million per season. I believe that’s fair, considering—”
“No.”
Auston’s voice sliced through the air like a knife.
Dubas froze, surprised. Mitch swallowed hard.
Auston leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on the general manager. “You think he’s only worth $11 million?”
Mitch’s heartbeat quickened. Auston wasn’t asking—he was challenging.
Dubas hesitated. “It’s a great value for—”
“He’s the best playmaker in the league,” Auston cut in, voice low but dangerous. “He carries the team on his back. And that’s what you want to pay him?”
Mitch placed a hand on Auston’s thigh, trying to calm him, but Auston simply turned his hand over and gripped Mitch’s fingers tightly.
Dubas glanced between them, confused. “Mitch, do you… want to negotiate on your own?”
Mitch opened his mouth, but Auston answered for him.
“We negotiate together.”
The we echoed through the room.
Dubas frowned. “Auston, with all due respect, this is between Mitch and the organiz—”
“Respect?” Auston let out a dry laugh. “You want respect, but you bring this crap offer?”
Mitch squeezed Auston’s fingers, feeling the anger in him. He should’ve been upset. He should’ve wanted to speak for himself. But…
But no one fought for him like Auston did.
And he loved that.
Dubas sighed. “What do you suggest, then?”
Auston smiled.
“$12.5 million. And a no-trade clause.”
Mitch looked at him, surprised.
Auston didn’t take his eyes off Dubas, but his hand tightened around Mitch’s.
“Because if you ever try to trade him,” he continued, voice like a warning, “I’m gone too.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Dubas looked at Mitch, searching for any reaction, but Mitch only shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Sounds fair,” Mitch said, and felt Auston relax beside him, victorious.
Xx
The SportsNet studio was stifling under the hot lights, but the atmosphere turned ice-cold when reporter Dave McCarthy dropped the bomb:
“$12.5 million per season for Mitch Marner? With all due respect, that sounds like an… emotional number. Is he really worth that much?”
The camera cut to Auston, sitting beside Mitch at the roundtable for the post-contract discussion. His fingers, which had been tracing idle circles on the table near Mitch’s arm, froze.
Mitch felt the air beside him crackle before he even saw Auston’s expression.
“What do you mean by emotional, Dave?” Auston asked, his voice so calm it was almost terrifying.
McCarthy, ignoring the warning, smiled. “Well, we all know you two are close. Maybe this negotiation was more about… loyalty than numbers?”
It was like someone had lit a fuse.
Auston leaned forward, his dark eyes locked on the reporter.
“Let me explain something to you,” he began, each word sharp as a bullet. “Mitch has led the league in assists for three straight seasons. He plays twenty-five minutes a night. He carries this team on his back while people like you sit around and criticize.”
Mitch slid a discreet hand onto Auston’s knee under the table. He could feel the muscle trembling with anger.
McCarthy tried to interject. “Auston, I just—”
“I’m not done.” Auston cut him off, raising a finger. “You want to talk about value? Let’s talk about value. What’s a player worth who’s doubled my stats? What’s the price of the guy who makes everyone around him better?”
The room went silent. Even the cameraman seemed to stop breathing.
Auston looked straight into the lens, as if addressing the entire league.
“If $12.5 million is ‘emotional,’ then the whole league is underestimating what Mitch Marner’s worth.” He paused, deliberate. “And if anyone’s got a problem with that, they can come talk to me.”
Mitch, under the table, gripped Auston’s knee tightly. His face was burning — not from embarrassment, but from adoration.
The host, sweating, quickly changed the subject.
When the cameras went off, Auston turned to Mitch, fury still burning in his eyes.
“No one underestimates you in front of me,” he growled, low enough for only Mitch to hear.
Mitch, blushing, just whispered back:
“I know.”
Xx
The gate of Auston's house had barely closed when he threw his keys onto the counter with excessive force, his shoulders still tense from the interview. The silence of the house contrasted with the whirlwind in his head - all the things he wanted to say and couldn't, all the times he wanted to put his hands on Mitch and had to avoid.
Mitch watched for a moment, lips slightly parted, before disappearing into the bedroom without a word.
Auston let himself fall onto the sofa, his head reclined, eyes closed. Until -
The scent of his own shampoo.
He opened his eyes and swallowed dryly.
Mitch was there, wearing his jersey - the blue game jersey, so big it slipped off one shoulder, the hem of the fabric stopping exactly halfway up his pink thighs. The black boxer briefs visible underneath made Auston clench his fists.
"Marner..." his voice came out rougher than he intended.
Mitch didn't answer. He just approached and, with a courage he only had when they were alone, sat facing Auston on his lap, his bare thighs rubbing against the player's legs.
Auston let out an involuntary sigh when Mitch's soft thighs met his hands - as if they belonged there.
Mitch lifted his face, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening with shyness and desire.
"I want some affection," he murmured, so low it was almost inaudible.
Auston felt the smile appear before he even realized it. His hands slid under the jersey, finding Mitch's warm waist.
"I know what kind of affection you want," he replied, his fingers squeezing Mitch's hips, feeling him slowly grind against him.
Mitch moaned, his fingers digging into Auston's hair.
"Can you give it to me, please?"
It was the 'please' that broke Auston.
In one fluid motion, he turned Mitch onto his stomach on the sofa, the jersey pushed up to his waist, the tight boxer briefs right where he wanted them most.
"Always," Auston growled before sealing his lips against the warm skin of Mitch's thigh, nibbling his way up.
Auston didn't wait. With a fluid motion of someone who knew that body better than the ice itself, he turned Mitch face down on the sofa, the blue jersey pushed up to his waist, revealing the black boxer briefs already scandalously damp in the front.
"God, Mitch," Auston growled, his teeth closing on the soft flesh of the inner thigh, leaving a purple mark that would make the brunet remember this night with every step tomorrow. "You're already all wet just from asking me?"
Mitch moaned into the cushion, his fingers digging into the sofa fabric when Auston sniffed the boxer briefs, his warm lips pressing against the dampness through the cotton.
"Aust—"
"Say it again," Auston ordered, pulling the boxer briefs aside with his teeth, finally exposing Mitch—red, throbbing, perfect. "Say what you want."
Mitch tried to turn, but Auston pinned his hips firmly against the sofa.
"No. Like this." His large hand gripped the inside of his thigh, spreading him wider. "I want to see you squirm."
The first contact of his tongue was devastating. Mitch screamed, his body arching like a bow, but Auston gave no quarter—licking, devouring, as if he could drink every sound that came from the brunet's mouth.
"Yeah, this is how you like it, isn't it?" Auston murmured against his skin, his fingers finding Mitch's mouth. "Suck. You'll need to."
Mitch obeyed, his eyes rolling back when Auston spat directly onto his hole before pressing a finger inside, slowly, feeling every internal tremor.
"All yours," Mitch whimpered, his lips shiny with saliva around Auston's fingers. "Only yours, always—"
Auston lost what little control he had left.
Three fingers and a tongue later, when Mitch was unexpectedly open, Auston pulled him by the hair, forcing him to taste himself on his fingers before finally burying himself to the hilt in a single brutal motion.
The sound Mitch made—part scream, part moan—echoed in Auston's head for weeks.
"Now everyone will know," Auston growled, his hands marking Mitch's hips with enough force to leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. "They'll see you walking funny tomorrow and know it was me who left you like this."
Mitch came without even being touched in the front, his whole body shaking like an earthquake, Auston's name coming out like a mantra from his swollen lips.
And when Auston finally turned him over and took his mouth too, it was with a possessiveness that left no doubt:
His "affection" was a sentence.
And Mitch?
Mitch loved serving his time.
Xx
The ice at the Ford Performance Center felt especially hard that morning. Mitch adjusted himself discreetly on the bench, the muscles in his thighs burning with every slight movement. The practice jersey rubbed against the hidden marks like a cruel—or delicious, depending on the angle—reminder.
Angle.
Auston chose that exact moment to pass behind him during stretches, his dark eyes fixed on the spot where Mitch's legs met the bench.
"Sore, superstar?" The warm whisper against the nape of his neck made Mitch choke on his sip of water.
Their nearest teammates—Morgan Rielly and John Tavares—turned with raised eyebrows.
"You okay, Mitchy?" Rielly asked, innocently.
Before Mitch could answer, Auston let his hand linger too far down his back as he leaned over to grab his water bottle.
"He just slept in a weird position," Auston said, his voice full of false concern while his fingers—the same fingers that had opened Mitch up the night before—pressed lightly against his lower back. "Right, Marner?"
Mitch could feel Auston's smile against his neck.
"Y-yeah," he agreed, his voice two octaves higher. "Weird... position."
Tavares looked between the two of them, his eyes narrowing.
That's when Coach Keefe blew the whistle for the shooting drill. Mitch stood up too quickly—and a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure sent him falling back onto the bench with a muffled moan.
Dead silence in the locker room.
Ten pairs of eyes swiveled towards him. Auston, a few feet away, froze in the act of tying his skates—his shoulders tense, his knuckles white from gripping the laces so tightly.
"You good there, Mitch?" Matthews asked, a little too innocently.
Mitch swallowed dryly. His face was so hot he could have melted the ice on contact.
"Cramp," he lied, avoiding looking at his thighs where Auston's fingerprints still ached beneath the fabric.
Auston coughed—a sound that suspiciously resembled "liar"—before standing up and offering a hand.
"Come on, Marner. I'll help you."
The heavy double entendre hung in the air like a check into the boards.
When Auston's fingers closed around his wrist to pull him up, Mitch saw the look in the center's eyes—pure I told you you'd feel me—and realized two things:
He would never be able to hear the word "help" without blushing again.
And Auston would make a point of testing that fact. Repeatedly.
Xx
The sound of Mitch's body colliding with the boards echoed through the empty rink. Auston saw it all – the impact, the flash of pain the brunet tried to disguise, the way he got up too quickly, rolling his shoulders as if nothing had happened.
Liar.
Auston waited until the locker room emptied. He waited until they got home.
The door to Mitch's apartment barely had time to close before Auston pushed him against the wall, his heavy hands hiking up the brunet's shirt to expose the purple bruise forming on his ribs.
"Fuck, Mitch," he growled, his fingers hovering over the bruised skin without touching. "Who was it?"
Mitch tried to look away. "It's nothing, just a normal check—"
Auston gripped his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "You. Do. Not. Hide. From. Me."
The kiss that followed was more bite than affection – Auston licking the taste of Mitch's mouthwash as if he could extract the truth by force. When he pulled away, they were both breathless.
"Lie down. Now."
Mitch hesitated.
"Auston, I just need some—"
A snap of fingers.
"Now."
Mitch trembled. Obeyed.
Auston emerged from the bathroom with a bottle of massage oil and that look that made Mitch's stomach flip.
"Turn over."
Warm hands found his tense muscle, working the pain with firm movements – until Mitch moaned and arched his back on instinct, trying to escape the pressure.
Auston laughed.
"Does it hurt, baby?" His fingers pressed harder right on the most sensitive spot. "Imagine how much it'll hurt tomorrow if I don't take care of it."
Mitch buried his face in the pillow, his fingers twisting the sheets. It was too much – the pain turning to pleasure, the massage turning to torture, Auston's hands that seemed to know exactly when he was about to beg.
"S-stop," Mitch moaned when the fingers moved down to his hip, slipping dangerously close to his boxers.
Auston bit the nape of his neck. "No."
The hand entered his boxers without ceremony.
"You're going to learn," Auston whispered, his fingers finding Mitch hard and ready. "Every time you hide something from me..."
A cruel tug.
Mitch screamed.
"...I will find out." Another tug.
"And when I find out..." The free hand grabbed his hair, pulling his head back.
"...I'm going to fix you like this."
When Auston finally made him come – without a single gentle touch, just pain and possession and Auston – Mitch cried for the first time in years.
And Auston?
Auston licked the tears away with devotion.
Xx
The crystal chandelier of the gala hall cast silvery reflections over the subtle necklace adorning Mitch’s neck. A simple silver chain, almost modest, if not for the small pendant resting against his collarbone — the initials AM34 laser-engraved, so tiny they’d only be noticed by someone who came far too close.
Mitch smiled at a group of teammates, pretending not to notice the weight of the gaze burning into his back from across the room.
Auston stood near the bar, an untouched glass of whiskey in his hand, his fingers gripping the crystal tightly enough to nearly crack it. His dark eyes followed Mitch’s every movement — each tilt of his head that made the pendant sway, each carefree smile he offered the world as if it were just an ordinary accessory.
As if it weren’t a declaration.
Mitch felt the air grow heavier when he finally allowed himself to look at Auston. The center stood still, his breathing visibly slower, like a predator calculating the exact moment to strike. His black tuxedo seemed even darker under the soft light, his broad shoulders tense beneath the fabric.
And then — that look.
The one that made Mitch’s stomach twist.
Auston didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. He just watched, with an intensity that could make anyone tremble. But Mitch knew that look. He knew what came after it.
And by the way Auston slowly brought the glass to his lips without breaking eye contact, Mitch knew:
Their night was only just beginning.
The car hadn't even come to a complete stop in the apartment's garage when Auston pulled Mitch by the collar, dragging him up until his lips were a breath away.
"You knew what you were doing," Auston accused, his voice hoarse with pent-up desire.
Mitch let out an innocent smile, his fingers playing with Auston's tie. "I just wanted to wear your gift. Is that a problem?"
Auston answered with a kiss that felt more like a punishment, his teeth biting Mitch's lower lip before invading his mouth with tongue and possession. When they parted, the collar was twisted, Mitch's tuxedo was disheveled, and both were breathless.
"You're going to pay for that teasing," Auston promised, his dark eyes scanning the brunet's body as if he were already planning every second of the retribution.
Mitch, blushing but brave, just adjusted the collar and smiled.
"I'm counting on it."
The elevator was ascending towards Auston's apartment when Mitch felt the grip on his wrist tighten. Auston hadn't said a word since the car – just dragged him through the lobby with that expression that made security guards look away.
The ding of the elevator echoed like a gunshot.
Auston pushed him against the hallway wall, his hands digging into his hips with enough force to leave marks.
"You wanted me to see," Auston accused, his voice a low growl. "You wanted everyone to see."
Mitch could feel Auston's body trembling against his – anger, desire, something deeper that neither of them had named yet.
"Yes," Mitch admitted, brave, his fingers tangling in the center's hair. "I wanted them to know that I—"
The sentence died when Auston grabbed him by the thighs and lifted him as if he weighed nothing, carrying him down the hall while his lips devoured his. The apartment door slammed behind them, and Mitch barely had time to catch his breath before being thrown onto the bed, Auston hovering over him like a storm about to break.
"Say it," Auston ordered, his teeth nibbling the chain of the collar, making the cold metal rub against Mitch's warm skin. "Say why you did it."
Mitch arched when Auston's lips found his wrist, where his heart was beating far too fast.
"Because I love you."
The air left Auston's lungs like a punch. He froze, his dark eyes suddenly vulnerable, the hands holding Mitch so tightly now trembling slightly.
"What?"
Mitch, blushing to his ears but determined, rose on his elbows until his lips were a breath away from Auston's.
"I love you. That's why I wore the collar. That's why I want everyone to know."
Auston stood still for a second that lasted an eternity – until, with a sound between a growl and a moan, he buried his face in Mitch's neck, his arms wrapping around him with an almost painful strength.
"You idiot," he murmured against Mitch's skin, his voice choked. "I've loved you for years."
And when Auston finally kissed him, it was different from all the other times – slower, sweeter, as if he were trying to convey everything he didn't know how to say.
Mitch laughed against his lips.
"I know."
Auston pulled his hair back, his eyes shining. "You're going to pay for that one too."
Mitch just smiled and pulled him down again.
He couldn't wait.
Auston kissed him as if he were starving - slowly, deeply, as if every touch of his tongue could convey everything the words still couldn't carry. His large hands roamed Mitch's body with a mixture of possession and reverence, as if now, finally allowed to touch without restrictions, he wanted to memorize every inch.
Mitch arched when Auston's lips found the collar, his teeth gently pulling the chain before moving down his chest.
"Mine," Auston growled against the warm skin, his fingers undoing the shirt buttons with deliberately slow movements. "All mine."
Mitch responded by pulling Auston's shirt over his head, his nails lightly scratching the muscular back when he finally felt bare skin against his.
"I always was," he whispered, breathless, when Auston pushed him back into the sheets.
Auston stopped, his dark eyes sweeping over Mitch's face with an intensity that made the brunet's heart race. "Say it again."
Mitch smiled, his fingers tracing Auston's face. "I love you."
It was as if something inside Auston had snapped. He captured Mitch's lips in another kiss, more urgent now, his hands roaming the brunet's body as if trying to make sure he was real.
"You have no idea," he murmured between kisses, "how much I needed to hear that."
Mitch felt Auston's smile against his skin as he slid down, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire across the brunet's torso.
"Auston—"
"Shh," Auston ordered, his hands firm on Mitch's hips. "Let me love you the way you deserve."
And when Auston finally took him, it was with a sweetness Mitch never imagined that man capable of - slow, deep movements, each thrust accompanied by a whisper of adoration, each shared moan a promise.
"Mine," Auston repeated, his fingers intertwining with Mitch's as he pinned them above the brunet's head. "Only mine."
Mitch couldn't answer - not with words. But when his body trembled beneath Auston, when his lips formed the center's name in a soundless moan, he knew Auston understood.
And later, when they were lying entwined in the messy bed, Auston surprised him again - his face serious, his fingers tracing the collar that still adorned Mitch's neck.
"I love you," he said, simple, direct, as if stating a universal fact.
Mitch smiled, his heart so full it hurt.
"I know."
Xx
The first thing Mitch noticed upon waking was the weight of Auston’s gaze.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the center’s bare torso as he sat on the bed — already awake, already watching. His dark eyes traced every detail of Mitch’s face with an intensity that might have been terrifying — if Mitch didn’t love it so much.
“How long have you been staring at me?” Mitch murmured, his voice rough with sleep. He stretched under Auston’s gaze, deliberately showing off, knowing exactly what effect it had.
Auston didn’t smile. Didn’t look away. He simply raised a hand and traced the outline of Mitch’s face with his fingertips, as if committing it to memory.
“Since the sun came up,” he answered simply.
Mitch felt warmth spread through his chest. The necklace was still around his neck, Auston’s initials resting against his collarbone like a seal.
“Are you going to keep looking at me like that forever now?” Mitch asked, half joking, half hopeful.
Auston finally smiled — that slow, dangerous smile that made Mitch’s heart race.
“Worse,” he promised, leaning in to capture Mitch’s lips in a morning kiss. “Now that I can, I’ll never stop.”
And when Auston pulled him close, Mitch realized it wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.