Sasquatch to the Moon

3: Three taps means can I

HÅKON

Three taps means can I.

We don't use it too often yet.

Rocket is working on his low blocker stops and asked me to spend a little time helping him practice. He's got to watch how much time I spend practicing with him, I'll get ridiculously good at shootouts and then what? You send out an enforcer defenseman to take a shootout?

"Fuck!" Rocket swears, rolling onto his back in front of his net, staring up at the ceiling. "My reaction time is just ass today, that's what I'm going to blame it on."

I lean over him, staring down between the squares of his helmet. "I'm going hard on you, that's probably another reason."

He frowns. "But if I can't stop your shit then that's bad because you're the shit I'm supposed to be stopping."

"Right, but-"

"Right." He puts his glove over his face. "Fuck."

"On another note," I poke him in the stomach with my stick. "Your other boyfriend and his girlfriend just walked in."

He breaks into a grin, sitting up and looking out the window at Steph and August.

"I'll bother them in a couple minutes, do you think now's a good time to tell him?"

"I think now is probably okay." I respond. He heaves out a breath and sits up, looking all big and cuddly in gear that I know absolutely reeks. I'd love to hug him but there's only so much Rocket+hockey B.O that I can handle. I really like the guy but gross. It's like the desire to pet a bear. I want to hug him so badly in all that because he just looks so squishy but lord I wouldn't be able to breathe without searing all the hair out of my nose.

"Take another couple shots at me, I refuse to go home before I stop at least ten in a row." He drops into ready position and I pull a puck back on my stick, giving him a quick snap of a wrist shot to his blocker side. I send five more as fast as I can, knowing my aim is spot on and knowing that the faster I can go the less time he'll have to react. It'll help him switch that from a mental command to instinct.

He gets six out of six.

"Better," I comment, kicking over the bucket of pucks. "Can you do it in alternation?"

He seems worried about that proposal but I'm shooting again before he's even got the the time to respond. Lower left hand, five hole, top of the net, bar, side bar, other side, glove high, glove low, blocker low, glove high, pad low, pad high, blocker high, blocker low, blocker high.

I finish the bucket and collect a rebound, headed right at him, a quick fake to the left gets him out of position but he's quicker than that, leaping toward me and jabbing the puck off my stick.

I skid to a stop behind the net. "Nice, only four are in here."

Rocket pulls off his helmet. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"No." I say it with a stupid cheeky smile.

He rolls his eyes. "Who knew having a boyfriend meant I want to strangle you half the time." He bends over, hands on his knees, a little winded. "God you're fast."

"Thanks," I tap my stick three times on the ice and he taps back twice.

I pull my helmet off and grab the cage on his, lifting it up over his head but not pulling it off.

He takes it from me instead, setting it in the net on top of the goal.

"I still wanna murder you," he whispers against my lips. "Can't resist a kiss but you piss me off."