Chapter Text
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Clarence Deveraux (stage name Couture) digs his skates into the ice with his fists clenched at his sides, absolutely seething up at the huge hulking form of the man in front of him.
“Cool down kid.” Freddy pats Clarence’s shoulder with enough power to nearly knock him over. He’s smiling down at Clarence like he isn’t delivering the equivalent of a death sentence. “The other rink’s water line busted, so I’m taking on a few more clients! This is good!”
Nicknamed “the Yeti” by friends and acquaintances and complete strangers alike, it wasn’t just because of his giant stature and the body hair poking out of every crevice of his button up shirt—Freddy was the owner of an ice rink, particularly one where Clarence practiced as a figure skater. A star figure skater. One of the best. Clarence Couture was going to be a name in figure skating one day but apparently not for the next month or so because—!!
Clarence holds his hands clasped to his chest, looking up at Freddy pleadingly. “You can’t possibly expect me to share a rink with—“
As if on cue the doors are thrown open, letting in the hoots and hollers of Clarence’s worst enemy.
Hockey players.
Five of them, each louder and more annoying than the last. They each seem to be wearing a different color and labeled 1 through 5, but Clarence couldn’t make out anything else. They skate out decked in their layers of gear, slapping each other on the backs and hitting their sticks on the ice like barbarians.
“Aw man. I thought we’d at least be skating with a girl.” One of them says as they fall in line around Clarence, an obvious pout on his face. He’s labeled with the number 4 and he’s missing a tooth on his otherwise cute face—Clarence can guess the story behind that injury easy enough.
Clarence instantly feels on edge as all five of them surround him. They’re bigger than him, taller and wider. He wasn’t tiny by any means, a rightful athlete himself, but the muscles a figure skater developed were definitely different from a hockey player’s.
He hated hockey players. And for good reason!
He was only five or six when he had been stuck with his stupid-blockhead-disappointment twin brother and forced to try out for the kids team. He’d failed of course, miserably, while Dirk passed. Dirk hated anything to do with sports, or putting in effort in general, so he ditched the whole thing pretty fast. He liked hitting things with sticks well enough but had never worked well with a team.
So Clarence got his skates. He used them until they wore out and then more, going to the ice rink and skating in circles until they kicked him out.
He was about 8 when he discovered figure skating, and threw himself into it. Went right up to Freddy and demanded to be let into practice. He was good at it, even if he was the only boy. Even if Dirk’s friends on the hockey team now had another reason not to like him. Even if the bullying got worse when he came out in high school.
So yes, Clarence had plenty of reasons to dislike hockey players.
In the modern day one of them holds his hand out to Clarence in a peace offering. Clarence assumes he’s the leader because of the 1 emblazoned on his jersey.
“Ignore him. We’re real grateful to be sharing your rink for a bit bro—don’t worry, we’ll treat you right.” He winks at Clarence and the men behind him all smirk. Clarence fights the shiver that does down his spine as they eye him up shamelessly, blaming it on the ice. “We’re the Hanks by the way!”
“Your team is called The Hanks?” Clarence asks in mild disbelief, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh no, we don’t have a team name!” Hank 1 laughs, tucking his stick under his arm. He had thick gloves on, covering large hands. Hands big enough to wrap around Clarence’s wrists easily.
“Not yet!” Hank 2 calls out. He’s behind Clarence, a little too close for comfort. Even though he was the shortest of the five, he still had a good few inches over Clarence.
“We’re thinking Adrenalineers.” Hank 3 says proudly, stroking his chin while raising an eyebrow at him. Is—is he checking Clarence out? Clarence was grateful that the blush on his face could be excused by the cold.
“Hell nah man, we’re the Xtreme Team! And you have to spell it with a X.” Hank 4 crosses his arms, and Clarence purses his lips as his eyes skim over his defined muscles.
“Or The Hangers!” Hank 5 tacks on, throwing his arms over his bros shoulders. He looked the most friendly out of all of them, a guy Clarence would definitely call handsome.
“Cause we all hang together!” They all call out in unison. Clarence watches as they all high five with a slightly pained look on his face.
“But nah, we’re the Hanks cause we’re all named Hank! Isn’t that wicked cool?” Hank 1 smiles brightly at him, like he’s blowing Clarence’s mind with that simple, stupid fact. They all get into position, and Clarence senses he’s about to see a full-on performance.
“I’m Hank no. 1–“
“I don’t care.” Clarence interrupts them rudely. He spins on his toe sharply before skating away, not giving them a second glance. “Just stick to your side, and stay out of my way.”
They all go quiet, but Clarence can still hear their response as he puts space between them.
“Oh. So it’s gonna be like that.”
Clarence sets his jaw. Yes. Yes it was.
Managing his routine with only half the rink was annoying, but not impossible. It certainly was harder for the Hanks to manage a reduced space between all five of them—not that Clarence way paying them any mind. Definitely not glancing their way in between practicing his spins and jumps, and totally not catching their eye when they did the same.
The tension was palpable. They were clearly watching each other and they all knew it, in the silence between the ear splitting sounds of the hockey puck being slammed into the net and the ice shredding underneath Clarence’s skates.
Clarence takes a fall. It’s to be expected with a tight triple axel like that, and he’s eaten enough ice in his career to know how to fall the right way. It’s nothing to be ashamed of but his ego stings more than the ice on face taking a spill like that in front of the Hanks.
The feeling of sweat beading on his neck and forehead is expected from how hard he’s working, but it still sets his teeth on edge to feel it trickling down his skin. That’s one of the reasons he preferred ice sports over any other, the chill kept him from sweating too much. He skates off to the side of the rink to wipe himself off and drink from his water bottle, a small pout on his flaming face as he leans over the railing to reach for his stuff.
A sharp wolf-whistle grabs his attention, followed by rancorous laughter as he jolts back upwards.
Fucking hockey players. Clarence seethes hot enough to melt the ice beneath him. Usually he’d take off his jacket while practicing, but right now it was probably a bad idea to give the Hanks a strip tease.
He sets his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the thought that enters his mind unbidden. Why should he care about the thoughts of a bunch of sweaty meat headed muscled jocks?
He sighs as he takes off his jacket, trying to ignore the hoots and jeers from the team that inevitably come from behind him. They go oddly quiet when he raises his arm to drink deeply from his water bottle, seemingly discussing among themselves with hushed whispers.
Clarence ignores them the best he can, but before he can even put his water bottle down they’ve sent a messenger skating up beside him.
It’s Hank 5, and he has his hockey mask pulled up over his head so Clarence can see his face. They obviously know how to play up their strengths.
“Nice tats.” Hank 5 says, checking out Clarence’s arm.
Clarence looks down at it himself, eyes skimming over the dark ink. A row of laundry symbols, the result of a stupid inside joke with his brother when they were both young and dumb and drunk. Up his arm and down his abs—not like the Hanks would ever see those.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen a figure skater with tattoos before.” Hank 5 scratches the back of his head. “Kinda against the vibe.”
“I cover them up when I’m performing.” Clarence says, tossing his water bottle with the rest of his stuff.
Hank 5 smirks, and Clarence tries to ignore his stupidly cute dimples. “The one on your neck too?”
Clarence’s face flushes as his hand jumps to cover his neck. “Yes.” Fucking Dirk.
“They’re kinda cool—“ Clarence doesn’t let Hank 5 finish his sentence before pushing off from the side, going back to his routine.
He skates until his fingers go numb, until it hurts to breathe. Until he sees out of the corner of his eye that the Hanks are all heading towards the locker room.
His nose crinkles in disgust. He was used to having the locker room to himself, and now he had to share that as well as the ice. So totally unfair.
Clarence pushes himself back onto the ice with a sigh, feeling a bit lighter now that he was able to use the full rink. He was almost done himself, but he’d take advantage of the free ice until the Hanks left entirely.
He free skates for an additional twenty minutes before deciding that was probably enough time for the Hank’s to get ready and packed and out of his locker room.
A shower was going to be so nice. Clarence hums to himself as he knocks the door open with his hip, a smile on his face—that immediately drops when he sees what he’s walked into.
The Hanks were still there, all in various states of undress. Chests, arms, thighs and more, every body was part on display somehow between the five of them. Their conversation stops as soon as he enters and Clarence watches as their gazes all lock on him at once.
Clarence’s mouth is dry, his face flushing with embarrassment and anger. Was twenty minutes not enough time for these… himbos to get their shit together and leave?!
To his dismay, they seem to pick up on his pink face.
“Everything alright buddy?” Hank 1 smirks at him, shamelessly looking him up and down. “You’re looking a little flushed.”
“You were going pretty hard.” Hank 2 is completely naked, posed with hands on his hips and one foot proudly poised on the bench—Clarence’s view of his dick is thankfully blocked by Hank 5’s head.
“This locker room’s real small bro.” Hank 3 complains, flexing both his arms. He glances Clarence’s way and shoots him a saucy wink. “Cozy. I like it.”
“Don’t get comfortable.” Clarence says tersely as he trudges towards his locker, keeping his eyes strictly on the floor. Body hair and glistening sweat beads were absolutely completely absent from his mind as he squeezed in between Hanks 3 and 4. He grabs for the lock on his locker, relying entirely on muscle memory to turn the dial.
Hank 4 is stripped down to his underwear, boxer briefs that hugged his hips and huge thighs. Clarence manages to fumble his locker open, shoving his towel and water bottle in there blindly. A shower would have been nice, but getting out of there as soon as possible was looking better.
He jumps when a hand smacks right next to his head, making the lockers rattle. Clarence goes stiff, incredibly aware of the large body closing in behind him. “Y’know bruh, you’ve been really rude.”
It feels like the temperature in the room shoots up as Clarence feels five sets of eyes settle on his body. He turns around slowly and has to tilt his head back to look into Hank 4’s narrowed eyes, craning his neck.
“He’s probably never seen a real man’s body.” Hank 5 finally speaks up with a voice layered in innuendo, stepping in place next to Hank 4. Both of them trap Clarence against the row of lockers. “Can’t blame him for being intimidated.”
Clarence fights the shiver crawling down his spine. His eyes darted to the arm just by his head, lightly freckled pale skin bulging with muscle leading down to damp blonde hair in the armpits. He sets his jaw tightly, forcing his eyes away.
“We don’t even know your name, bro.” Hank 4 complains. Clarence can’t back up any further, his back pressed against the lockers so hard he’s going to have red marks. The Hanks don’t let up, as close as they can get on either side without physically touching him.
“It’s Clarence.” He says through gritted teeth. They smell. The whole locker room smells. Clarence could see used towels on the floor, sweat stained undershirts and jerseys hung up or tossed aside. Jockstraps. Cups.
“Clarence.” They all say his name in a different way, from genuine interest to a sultry drawl.
Oh he needed to get out of here yesterday.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Clarence seethes as he sticks his hands between Hank 4 and 5’s unfairly fit, toned bodies and parts them so he can push his way past.
Hank 4 and 5 jump as if strung by lightning, touching their hot bodies like Clarence had struck them. “Whoa man, you gotta ask before you play with the merch like that!” Hank 5 says, covering his chest.
“You can look but you can’t touch bro!” Hank 4 agrees right behind him, rubbing the spot Clarence had gently brushed like he’d been shot.
“Is it true that dudes only go into figure skating to hook up with hockey guys?” Hank 3’s voice is low, full of implications. He has a towel slung over his shoulders as he leans against the lockers across from them, his red chest hair on full display leading down to the loose waistband of his blue sweatpants.
“Give him space dudes, having so many hot guys around is probably frying his mind.” Hank 1 chimes in. He’s only wearing a towel, obviously having just stepped out of the shower.
The other Hanks laugh and Clarence feels his face start to burn hotter from something much worse than just being flustered. He feels humiliated, ashamed.
“If me being gay is going to be a problem for you, you should pack up and leave.” Clarence says with a forced smile, his voice absolutely dripping with venom.
The Hanks go silent, and Clarence would have had a snarky response about how they could be quiet if his insides weren’t tied in a knot
Hank 2 is the first one to break the silence. “Ah man, now we sound like assholes!” He exclaims, holding his head between his hands.
“You—you already sounded like assholes!” Clarence huffs. Despite himself he takes a deep breath as the Hanks step away from him.
“Hey bro we’re cool, I promise!” Hank 5 says sheepishly, raising his hands in front of him. “We’re bisexual!”
“All of you.” Clarence crosses his arms, jutting out his hip. “Are you some sort of hive mind?”
“That would be totally awesome!” Hank 4 says, raising his hand for a high five from his bros. They all go for it, cheering each other on.
Clarence sighs and rubs his forehead. It would be a lot easier to hate these guys if they weren’t so…
He clears his throat before slapping his hands together loudly, commanding attention from everyone in the room. He stands up on the bench, brandishing his water bottle like a weapon to point to each and every Hank in turn.
“Listen up.” Clarence’s voice demands attention, and the Hanks all look up at him in surprise. “I don’t care what you do on the ice, but as long as we’re sharing this locker room you are going to follow my rules.” They all nod in unison, thankfully silent. Clarence breathes out in relief, a bit of tension leaving his shoulders.
“Trash goes into trash cans. Any towels will be put in the designated towel bin. If you leave a puddle in the showers, clean it up. If you jerk off—don’t laugh.” Clarence glares at the chuckling Hanks until they settle back down like scolded puppies. “If you jerk off in the shower do not cum down the drain, that’s disgusting and it just clogs it up. Use the toilet.”
He finishes by crossing his arms, glaring down at the Hanks. “Understand?”
“Yeah dude, no problem.” Hank 1 says, scratching the back of his head and looking away.
“Totes reasonable.” Hank 2 nods fast enough that Clarence worries about his neck.
Hank 3 mumbles something before he’s elbowed in the side roughly by Hank 2. “I agree.” He groans out instead.
“Got it man!” Hank 4 smiles widely, showing off his tooth gap.
“We’ll keep it clean.” Hank 5 promises earnestly.
“Until you want to get dirty!” Hank 3 says it like it pains him to hold back and all the Hanks descend into scolding him and batting him around.
“Oh my God.” Clarence pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just—whatever.”
He walks to the door, ready to go—but before he does he looks over his shoulder. “Keep it clean.”
The door slams shut behind him.
“Is Clarence hot?” Hank 1 asks his bros as soon as the door closes.
“In a bratty kinda way.” Hank 2 nods, opening his locker to finally put clothes on.
“Fuckkk I love brats!!” Hank 3 groans and puts head between his knees, clutching at his red hair. “They’re so fun!”
“We know dude.” Hank 4 pats his back in sympathy before looking up at the ceiling, wondering out loud. “Do you think he jerks off in the shower? That’s hot. That’s really hot.”
Hank 5 sighs longingly, holding his face in his hand and gazing at the doorway. “I want to see more of those tattoos…”
Hank 1 holds out his hand for a high five and Hank 2 eagerly returns it. “Dudes, all things considered? This is a pretty sick deal we got.”
“Eye can-dy! Eye can-dy!” Hank 4 chants as he goes off to the showers, pumping a fist in the air.
“Don’t fucking jerk off in there man!” Hank 5 calls out at his retreating form.
“I’m gonna shoot in the toilet bro, get off my back!”
Clarence unlocks the door to his apartment and heads straight to the bedroom, throwing himself face first on the bed.
Fucking hockey players.
He shifts his hips on the bed, pressing his half hard cock against the mattress. He’s been in this state more or less ever since entering that fucking locker room full of the hottest guys he’s ever seen stripped down to their skin.
He punches the mattress and groans out uselessly before grabbing his dakimakura. The result of another inside joke, but it was a fantastic sleeping partner.
Clarence was so engrossed in fighting the urge to roll his hips against the pillow that he didn't notice the sound of the shower turning off—he hadn’t even noticed it was on.
“Hey.”
“Ahh!!” Clarence shrieks out in surprise and falls off the bed, looking up to see the soaking wet form of his brother. “What the—Dirk, why the fuck are you in my apartment?” He seethes, his face burning red.
“Harper kicked me out again.” Dirk shrugs, clearly not caring about how he drips water onto Clarence’s carpet. “Figured I’d crash here ‘til she takes me back.”
Clarence screams into his dakimakura. “At least cover yourself up so I can yell at you.” He glares at Dirk’s handsome face. He’s seen too many naked men today.
Dirk groans before wrapping a towel around his waist. Clarence knew all about Dirk’s love of nudity, but he wasn’t in the mood for that right now.
With his brother suitably covered, Clarence sits up with Batman dragged over his lap. “How did you get in?” He sighs out, covering his face with his hands.
“Spare key.” Dirk says casually. He looks at Clarence before nodding towards the dakimakura. “I’m surprised you still have that thing.”
“Of course I do.” Clarence chews on his lip before looking away.
“Thought you would have thrown it away after we…” Dirk’s words hang heavy in the air.
Clarence huffs, his face dusted pink. “No reason to throw away a perfectly good pillow.”
Dirk smirks and it eases the tension between them, leading Clarence to grin as well.
Dirk points to the bed. “So are we sharing, or—“
“Get to the couch!”