When Brent gets a boot to the face against Vancouver, he doesn't think it's that big of a deal. It's kind of a big deal, but his concussion is just a minor thing, Johnny's the one who really got thrown for a loop that game.

"Duncs, I'm fine," he says for the ninetieth time.

"The docs said you have a concussion," Duncs says, pushing him back against the cushions.

"Just a mild one," Brent insists. Yeah, he should take it easy, but that doesn't mean he can't get his own glass of water.

Duncs picks up the empty glass and points at him. "Stay."

Sometimes Brent wonders if Duncs has some how figured it out. But there's no way. If Duncs had figured it out, it would've come up at some point, because Duncs isn't in to bullshitting. If he'd figured it out, he would probably say "so hey, what's with you turning into a wolf once a month?" and then go back to reading about Ted Bundy, once Brent explained the whole recessive gene thing.

But he might also be kind of hurt, that Brent hadn't told him about it before.

Or you know, he might flip the fuck out if he found out that his best friend could maybe eat him.

"Here you go," Duncs says, handing Brent a cold glass of water. And he brought out the Doritos Seabs keeps on top of the fridge in case of emergencies.

"I'd never eat you," Brent says gratefully, not really thinking.

Duncs holds on to the glass for an extra moment. "I'm staying here tonight, your brain really is rattled."

Brent opens his mouth to explain what he meant, but realizes he can't, and just closes it again. "You were going to stay anyway."

Duncs just shrugs, because he can't try to deny it. "I'm glad," he says then. "That you wouldn't eat me. I wouldn't eat you, either. Not even in a Donner Party scenario."

"Or that soccer team in the Andes," Brent adds.

"What'd be the point?" Duncs asks, settling next to him on the couch. "If you were dead, why would I want to eat you to live longer?"

Brent smiles as he takes a sip of water. His head really is feeling better already.

*

He's fine to play after two games off, but he does notice that things are a little off. Not that he'd mention it to Q or the medical staff, because it doesn't affect his game. He just has a harder time concentrating on stuff. His mind keeps wandering when he meditates, and he can just hear his grandmother's voice.

Brent, you must focus. You're in charge of yourself, not the moon, not the wolf. You can control this, just focus.

It's his oldest memory, and one of the clearest, because that wasn't the first or last time she'd said that to him. Every month, they went through it, so she could help him reign it in enough that he could travel with teams or play games during the moon. It wasn't easy, especially during puberty, but it was necessary if he wanted to play hockey, and by the time he was drafted by the Hurricanes he was able to pick which nights he changed. And if he hit a little harder during games on the night of the full moon, no one thought anything of it. Who would?

The only thing anyone ever commented on were his pregame rituals; the fact that he had a very set routine wasn't anything different, just the number of steps involved. People always wanted to know where they came from, or what he thought they were supposed to do. Most of the time, they weren't supposed to do anything, except provide cover for the nights when they kept him from literally destroying the opposing team.

He's thought about it a lot – what might happen if he changed on the ice – he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. The wolf side isn't terribly aggressive, but it would be aggression that would bring Junior out, and that used to scare Brent. Then he realized that Junior would be so tangled up in hockey gear he'd never get a chance.

The idea of the interviews afterward, those scare him the most.

So not being able to focus is stressing him out a little, at least until his dad calls.

"Hey kiddo, can't wait to see you next week," he says.

And that's when Brent remembers the golf trip. It's the longest break of the season and all the dads are coming down to Arizona to play golf, and watch the team play. There's no game on the night of the full moon, and his dad will be there. They can find somewhere to go that night and just let it all out.

The tension in his shoulders just melts away. "Yeah, Dad, it's gonna be great."

He lets his dad talk about how they're totally going to beat Duncs and his dad on the links – Brent isn't so sure about that, Dave is kind of a ringer – and flips through his calendar. He checked the game schedule and the moon cycle back when it was released back in July, but it's been a busy few months and he's forgotten.

There's no game the night of the moon in December, either, and he sighs in relief. He's got plenty of time to sort this all out. No one will get hurt and no one will find out. They'll all be safe.

"That was a heavy noise, Brent, is everything okay?" his dad asks.

"Everything's fine, just checking the schedule," he says.

"Oh, yeah, Grandma mentioned that. What do you say, think you'll be up for a run with your old man?"

"No leashes," Brent says, shrugging off the memory of the restraint. "I'm not five anymore." He knows better than to go running into neighbors' yards or into the street.

"Of course not," his Dad says. "Wouldn't dream of it."

*

The dads all get their own rooms, which Brent isn't entirely sure is fair, but he helps his dad settle in to his room. It looks identical to the one he's sharing with Duncs, except it only has one king bed instead of two queens. Helping him settle in consists of Brent flipping through channels on the TV while his dad unpacks his suitcase, but it's the thought that counts.

"Ready for some lunch?" he asks, once his dad has his golf shoes tucked away in the closet.

"Sure," his dad says. "Are we meeting the Keiths?"

Brent texted Duncs about it before his dad even asked. "Yeah, they'll be a few minutes behind us, but we should grab a table."

It's a short elevator ride down to the lobby, and the hotel restaurant is off to the right.

"Oh, remind me when we get back upstairs, your grandmother sent along some treats for you," his dad says as the hostess gathers up menus.

Brent grins. his grandma makes the best treats for the change. Sometimes he hides them around his backyard the day before he the full moon - or alternate change night - and spends the first half of the night trying to find them.

"Treats?" Brent hears in his ear. Duncan and Dave have appeared out of nowhere.

"Um," Brent says, sharing a nervous look with his dad. "You know, like uh." he flounders for a moment. "Biscuits."

At the same time his dad offers, "Cookies."

"Cookies?" Dunce repeats hopefully. "You're going to share those right?"

"Erm," Brent says. This is like the time Duncs found his secret stash of dog treats in the back of the cabinet at their first apartment in the city. Maybe worse.

"They're not normal cookies, they're kind of...different," Brent tries, as his dad and Dave take seats across the table.

Duncs leans in close. "Are they 'special' cookies?"

Brent laughs. Those would be easier to share. "No man, I wouldn't have dad take those through customs."

"What do you think you'll have, Duncan?" Brent's dad asks, changing the subject quickly.

Brent just hopes Duncs will forget by the time they finish lunch and the team meeting Q has scheduled for the afternoon.

*

They get their asses kicked on the golf course.

It's clear by the eighth hole that the Seabrook men don't even have a chance of making it competitive against the Keiths.

"Sorry, son, your mother is really much better at this than I am," Dad says after slicing another shot to the edge of the fairway.

"It's just a game, Dad," Brent says.

"Good thing you don't have that attitude on the ice," Duncs says from behind him.

Brent snorts, but doesn't reply as he tries to focus on the weight of the club in his hands and swinging through the ball. It goes straight, which is something, but only about a third of the way down the course.

"If you want some help with your form, all you have to do ask," Duncs says into his ear.

He's trying so hard to sound smug and superior, but it's Duncan, so he just looks kind of goofy, so Seabs doesn't even consider using the nine iron for more nefarious purposes. "I'll manage."

"It's all about the follow through," Duncs says, pushing on Brent's hip with his hand.

And Christ, he knows the wolf side can get competitive around the full moon, but it was just a game of golf, there is no reason for him to knock Dunc to the ground and hold him there. "Just hit the ball, Tiger," Brent says. "Kane and Versteeg are going to catch us if we don't get a move on."

*

"So what do you think we should do for dinner tonight?" Duncs asks, buttoning up his shirt. "Steak? Tapas? Mexican?"

Brent glances out the window. The sunset over the desert is an awesome sight. "Actually, my dad and I were just going to stay in I think, order room service, you know. One on one time."

Most of that is true, but it still feels weird lying to Duncs. It always does.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Does he still think room service is exciting?"

"He likes taking off the lids," Brent says, watching Duncs slip on his shoes. "I might end up crashing in there with him," he adds, "but I'll see you before practice."

"Okay," Duncs says, pulling on his jacket and heading for the door. "Say hi for me."

"I will," Brent says. "Wait," he calls, crossing the hotel carpet.

"Your collar," he explains, smoothing down the back of it, and picking a spot of lint off Duncs shoulder.

"Thanks," Duncs says with a small smile.

Brent has to glance out the window to see if the moon has risen yet, because suddenly he's feeling like his skin is too small, and so is the room. He reaches out, like he's going to stop Duncs from opening the door, before he knows why. "Uh, have fun."

*

His dad's room is the one closest to the stairs, which is convenient for Brent, even if he can hear Duncs' voice in his head saying "murder zone". But Glendale isn't exactly Baltimore, so he figures his dad is safe, and appreciates the reduced chance of running into teammates on the way in or out of the building.

His dad drives the rental car off the mains streets, past where the housing developments sit nestled together with their terra cotta roofs and too green lawns, to where the streets give way to scrub grass and red dirt. The ground looks more purple now that the sun is down, and the moon isn't quite up yet, but Brent is already fighting the urge to roll around in it. He's been looking forward to this for weeks, it's better since he bought a place with a back yard, but the biggest yard in Chicago can't compare with this kind of open space.

"Think this will be okay for a few hours?" his dad asks, putting the car into park.

"It's great, dad. Thanks."

It isn't until he's pulling off his shirt that he hears the first howls, and really, they shouldn't be a surprise. It's not like they're in town to play the Phoenix Cacti, but the chance of running into any other animals out here hadn't really occurred to him.

The rabbits that wander the neighborhoods in Chicago have long since learned to avoid his back yard, so he's not used to there being much wildlife in the States. It's not like his grandma's place up in BC.

"You think they'll be a problem?" his dad asks, tightening his running shoes.

"Nah," Brent says, kicking off his sweats. "If they start anything, I'll protect you."

"You just came back from an injury," his dad says. "I don't want to have to think of a lie to tell Quennville tomorrow morning about the wild animal bites."

"It'll be fine, dad."

And that's the last thing he says before giving in to what's been building all day.

It doesn't hurt - he's been doing it for longer than he can remember - it's more like the feeling of finally sneezing after not being able to for a few minutes, only more. It feels good to be back on four feet, and he does roll around in the dirt for a few minutes, before he hears his dad laughing at him.

Brent's spent the past three days with him, but Junior hasn't seen dad in months, and goes bounding to greet him. It's family, it's pack and he can't help jumping up on him.

"Oof. Hey, buddy," his dad says, scratching his ears. "Yeah, we missed you, too."

Junior drops back down to the ground and circles his dad, sniffing him, before zeroing in on the pocket of his windbreaker.

"No fooling you, huh, Junior?" dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of his grandma's treats and tosses it to Junior so he can snatch it out of the air.

"Now how about that run?"

Junior doesn't need to be asked twice; he takes off running, four feet flying over the loose dirt. He runs until stopping doesn't feel like it would hurt, and then turns around and goes back for dad.

Dad is slow, he only has two feet and can't keep up. It'd be better if he had four. Junior circles around behind Dad and yips.

"I'm going as fast as I can, Junior. I don't want you carrying me back to the car," dad says. Junior bumps the back of his knee with his nose, and the goes running on ahead, but not as far. There are rocks and cacti to be smelled – carefully – he remembers cacti. His aunt Sharon had one when he was little.

Dad catches up and Junior takes off again, and it continues that way, running and waiting, occasionally circling back for company. He whines when Dad calls his name and nods his head back the way they came. There's so much time left, and so much space!

Junior walks backwards, trying to lead Dad into following him further into the desert, but Dad shakes his head. "Sorry, Junior, I'm getting tired, and you and Brent have practice tomorrow morning."

Junior huffs and mopes as he walks back towards Dad.

"Don't look at me like that," Dad says, reaching into his pocket. "Treat?"

Junior's ears perk up immediately and he pads more quickly across the soft ground to get it. He also gets his ears scritched. Following Dad back isn't all bad.

Changing back to two legs is more of a challenge than it usually is, even with the moon overhead, and as Brent couches on the ground, trying to catch his breath, he knows his dad can tell.

"You okay, kiddo?" his dad asks, tossing Brent his sweats.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just. Didn't want to change back. It's supposed to be his turn, you know?" Brent says, catching them easily.

"You can stay with me tonight, we can see if Balto is on TV. I don't mind sharing a bed, you steal the covers less that way."

Brent sighs and rolls his neck, stretching out the muscles there. "Yeah. Might be a good idea."

*

The actual hockey part of the golf trip doesn't go as well as the rest of it. Tazer's stuck up in the pressbox, and though Madden tries, and Sharpy and Duncs do their best to live up to the As on their sweaters, no one can replace him and they just can't beat the Yotes. Or the Avalanche.

"Well, that sucked," Brent says to Duncs, as they pack up their shit in Denver. He hates losing in a shoot out.

Duncs just grunts in agreement. "Kaner says Johnny should be good to play Monday."

Brent's just looking forward to going home. He doesn't mind being on the road because travel is part of hockey, but there are times when he just needs to be in his own territory. Not like, peeing on things or anything, just his own space. Maybe being home will help him get Junior back under control.

He hopes so, at least.

*

He tries, he really does. He goes through all the steps his grandma taught him back when he was in elementary school and when he started playing for the Vipers and traveling all over the province for half the summer. He should really call her, but there just isn't time. The Olympics means that they've got games every other day before it's time to clear out of the United Center so the circus can take over for two weeks.

And it's not like he can call her while he's relaxing in the hotel in Edmonton with Duncs. "Hey grandma, yeah, I think the wolf side is getting a bit feisty and I'm not sure what to do about it. Duncs, could you turn the TV down, I can't hear."

Yeah, not going to happen.

Besides, it's not like it's hurting anything. The Hawks are dominating and he and Duncs are playing great. They haven't lost a game since they got back from Colorado, and if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?

And it's not like there's any rush. The next moon is an off night at home. He'll just let it go and hang out in his back yard. Maybe there will even be some snow to play in.

"What are you grinning about?" Duncs asks as they board the plane for Calgary.

"Nothing, just thinking of plans for when we get back," Brent says, not even lying a little bit.

"Oh, is Sharpy trying to set you up with some of Abby's friends, too?" Duncs asks.

"What? I mean, no. Sharpy's playing matchmaker?"

"Yeah, I mean, I think it was Abby's idea, but Sharpy's going along with it. The couple need to multiply or whatever," Duncs shrugs.

"Yeah," Brent says, lifting his carry on into the bin. "Hey, do you mind if I take the window?"

It's totally Duncan's turn, but Brent suddenly needs to more quiet time. And that's not going to happen sitting across the aisle from Sharpy.

"Sure," Dunc says stepping further down the aisle, so Brent can slip in first.

This is why Duncs is Brent's favorite. "Thanks, man."

He sighs as he settles into his seat, pulling out his iPod and putting in the earbuds. He glances across the aisle to see Sharpy telling Ladd some story, and yeah, he's definitely not in the mood right now.

He looks out the window instead, all airports look the same from this angle, but he likes watching the baggage handlers load things up, it's relaxing.

Brent briefly considers using the flight to try meditating, but it's really not long enough to accomplish anything. He'll try on the flight from Vancouver to San Jose.

*

The thing is though, not trying to leash the wolf part of himself every day is really liberating. Especially on the ice. Brent's energy feels endless. He always knows where Duncs is going to be, and there's a little extra oomph in his checks. It's like what he feels near the moon, only threefold and every night. It makes it hard to feel too worried about locking every thing down again, especially when he's got a free night for the next moon.

Sure, he still goes through some his usual meditation, disguised as his pregame rituals, but that's just habit, and to be honest, it'd probably freak the rest of the guys out if he didn't.

Taking nine of the twelve possible points on the road trip puts some pep in everyone's step, even after six games and traveling seven thousand miles, or whatever Sopes said it was. Brent's feeling pretty good, as they deplane at O'Hare and he throws an arm around Duncan's shoulder. "Hey, we should go to the Tavern tomorrow night."

Duncs grins at Brent. "Yeah, for sure. Oh, wait, I'm going out with Sarah, Abby's friend, tomorrow night. How about Wednesday?"

Brent tries not to let his disappointment show as he drops his arm back to his side. "I uh, I have a thing on Wednesday night."

Duncs just nods. "Seabs time?"

It had been impossible to expect Duncs to just ignore the fact that Brent needed a night to himself once a month when they were living together, but Duncs was cool about Brent's vague explanations. Duncs understood. He needed his alone nights, too, and he wasn't a werewolf.

"Yeah," Seabs says.

"We'll figure something out," Duncs says. "I know where you live."

*

Duncs doesn't mention the date at practice, or before the game on Tuesday, and Brent's not sure what that means. He thinks it's kind of weird, because usually if you do something like go on a date, you'd mention how it went, good or bad. But Duncs hasn't brought it up at all, and Brent wonders if it'd be weird if he brought it up.

They're buddies, they're supposed to talk about these things. And probably Duncs doesn't want to say he had a bad time where Sharpy could hear. He'll ask after the game.

*

Of course, the game goes to a shoot out, and Brent sits on the bench listening to the crowd cheer and sigh through ten rounds rounds. Hoss scores early, and Huey lets one by, but after that both goalies turn into brick walls. Coach runs through half the bench before calling out "Seabs, you're up."

Duncs and Soupy holler and pat him on the back as he goes over the boards. It's fucking nerve wracking, having twenty thousand people staring at you, and Brent is okay letting the other guys do this the rest of the time. He doesn't try any fancy dekes like Kaner or Versteeg, he just charges the net and fakes once to the right before shooting to the left.

And the puck goes in.

The crowd goes nuts, and the goal music starts playing as Seabs celebrates. The guys come pouring off the bench for high fives and hugs. "That's my Seabsie boy!" Duncs yells over the crowd.

Brent isn't one of the three stars, so he gets to go back to the locker room while Hoss and Duncs take a spin around the ice under the spotlight. All of the reporters are waiting for him. He's pretty sure every reporter in the Chicagoland area is in the locker room and wants to ask him questions. There are even more than there was two months ago when he scored the OT winner against Calgary.

He laughs when Johnny catches his eye and raises his eyebrows, a "now you know how I feel" kind of deal.

Brent's giving all of the reporters the same "first shoot out, first shoot out goal" line and trying to ignore the itchy feeling under his skin. He's still amped up and wants to go do something – probably just hit the bikes in the gym, but he needs to not be penned in.

Some of the other guys are quick out of the shower, and the beat writers start filing over towards them, and Seabs can finally finish changing and grab a shower himself.

Duncs is doing some interviews when Brent comes out, but he comes over to the lockers as Brent's getting dressed. "I knew you'd do it," he says.

"Yeah? You should've told Q, we could've gotten out of there faster."

"What, do you have big plans tonight?" Duncs asks.

"Nah, but we could've given Huet a break," Brent shrugs. "You never said how your date went. Was is that bad?"

"Huh? No, it was fine, we're going out again next weekend," Duncs says.

"Oh," Brent says. He's surprised - not that it's surprising that someone would want a second date with Duncs, he just thought that he had a better read on the situation. "That's great, buddy."

It's great for Duncs because Abby's friend is probably a smart woman who knows that Duncs is a great guy and would be an awesome husband and they'll make great babies and get two dogs once the kids are a little older. And she'll probably introduce Johnny to her sister and they'll all be in the married club and Brent will be stuck hanging out with Kaner forever.

Brent sighs.

"Are you okay, Seabs?" Duncs asks.

"Yeah, just a little tired," Brent says, even though it's a lie - he's hardly ever tired the night before a change.

"Do you need a ride home?" Duncs offers, leaning toward Brent.

"Nah, I'll be fine, I should get going though. See you at morning skate?" It's optional, but he'll need to kill time before dusk somehow.

"Yeah, probably," Duncs says. "Drive safe."

Brent feels unsettled the next morning, there's the usual hum of energy that's only going to build as the hours tick down, but he's also on edge. He can't help looking over his shoulder, like someone's about to blindside him.

He considers skipping the morning skate, but he has to do something or else he's going to start climbing the walls.

So he finishes his breakfast and once he's dressed, grabs one of the Kong toys he keeps in a boot he never wears, and one of the really good organic dog treats, before stuffing a few inside and tossing it over his shoulder into the back yard.

That should keep Junior occupied for an hour or so later.

Suiting up in the locker room at the Ice House is soothing in it's familiarity, but it's counteracted by the way it feels to step out on to the ice. Sure it's just practice, and there aren't twenty thousand screaming fans – just a few, and the beat writers – but he's ready for action just the same.

Unfortunately for him, the only action he gets is a warm up skate and a few defensive drills with minimum contact. It'd be a bad idea to break Fraz during a practice.

He breaks three sticks even though it's only a light practice, and the guys are giving him some extra space.

If Brent had to wait until eight o'clock for the sun to go down, he'd probably go stir crazy. But it's December, so he only has to wait until about 4:30. Before he can give in to the change, he has to get the house ready, setting the doorstop in place, so he can't get locked out and closing up the upstairs so he can get dressed in the morning without freezing his balls off.

He could just leave a spare key out, and sleep in the snow – he's got plenty of fur – but if he changes back before he wakes up, it'll suck the most. He wishes he could put in a doggy door with out getting weird looks from everyone.

At 4:15 Brent just can't stand it any longer, so he strips down in the laundry room and then noses the back door open.

Junior skitters down the back steps and rolls into a pile of snow that has formed next to one of the bushes against the fence. Snow's the greatest, it's wet and it's cold against his nose, but he can't help rolling over on to his back and wriggling around in it.

He rolls back to his paws and begins exploring the yard. It's been three months since he was here last and he needs to know who has been here while he was gone. Brent thinks a fence is enough to protect their territory, but Junior's found all the holes that the mice and rabbits use to go from yard to yard. Unfortunately, they seem to learn quickly that this is not land they should trespass upon.

It's too bad. He gets hungry.

Junior raises his head and glances around the yard. There's food in a ball somewhere. Somewhere under the snow.

He must find it.

The snow covers up the tell tale rubbery smell, so he has to put his muzzle down into the snow and push it around, looking for a clue.

The lights are on in the house next door before he picks up the scent, but once he does it's quick work finding the ball, and he sets to work getting the food out from inside. It takes some doing, and he has to lick the inside thoroughly before he can be sure that nothing is left behind. Once he is sure he's gotten it all out, Junior picks the ball up in his teeth, turning to demonstrate his skill to... no one, because Dad isn't here, and he hasn't seen Mom or Grandma since summer.

Junior drops the ball in the snow with an unhappy huff and goes to nose around the yard some more, but he's lonely. If Brother were here he would make balls of the snow and throw them for Junior to chase, or wrestle with him in it. But there is no family here, and Team never comes to play with him. He doesn't even have Duncs or Tazer outside the door, making noise and smelling like home.

Once Junior marks up the trees and the corner of the fence as his territory, outside has lost its appeal. So he trots up the steps and shakes the melted snow out of his fur before pushing the door to inside open. He can't go upstairs, but there's plenty to do in the lower level, and Junior is pleased to find half a sandwich left behind on the kitchen table.

Spirits slightly higher, he meanders through the rest of the rooms, hoping to find more forgotten food. In the living room, he noses at the plastic machines on the floor, but they are uninteresting. But there, hanging off the arm of the couch is a sweatshirt Duncs left behind a few days before.

Junior tugs it down on to the floor and moves it into a suitable arrangement before curling up in the middle of it. It's not as good as actual Duncs – he's sure that Duncs would be the best to play with – but it'll do for now.

*

The next morning, Brent awakes on the floor surrounded by the smell of wet dog. It's only about a three on the scale of uncomfortable places he's woken up the morning after, so he can't really complain. It's freezing in the living room though, so he takes the hoodie and puts it on quickly while he goes to shut the back door.

He tosses the smelly sweatshirt into the laundry room and cranks the heat before jogging upstairs to get dressed. He needs to pack before he leaves for the arena – they leave for Pittsburgh immediately after the game tonight. It'll be tiring, but it's a short flight, and packing in with the team for a few days has it's appeal.

*

The game against Nashville is forgettable, but Pittsburgh is electric. Brent wishes they could've gotten Nemo the shut out – he deserved it – but Brent has been humming since the first period, when that asshole Cooke took that shot at Duncs' head. He wanted to tear the guy apart but had to stick to playing his game instead, and before he got a chance the next time he was out there with Cooke, Duncs took care of it himself.

"That Duncan Keith is such a goon," he says to Ladd, loud enough that Duncs can hear him over the post game chatter in the locker room even though Brent is facing away.

"Our number one enforcer," Ladd nods.

Duncs elbows him. "I could get suspended for that. It was close."

Brent snorts. "It's Cooke, you're doing the league a favor. Anisimov owes you a beer. It was hot shit."

He was a badass after the hit, too, when all the Pens wanted to start a fight, but Duncs just brushed them off. Brent would've had his back if anything had started though. He kind of wishes there had been a fight, it would've burned off some of this energy.

When they get back to the hotel, Duncs settles on to his bed with his laptop, doing whatever it is he does on there. Brent has never really understood what Duncan does on there for hours at a time. There are only so many youtube videos worth watching, and if he gets sucked into the lists on Cracked, he usually reads them out loud to Brent until they end up hunched over the computer together. But tonight the speakers are quiet, and Duncs' headphones are tangled on the nightstand as he taps away at the keys.

Brent could read a book, or play a game, or do anything besides lie on top his bed still fully dressed staring at Duncan, but he's too jittery, and staring and Duncs is the only thing that seems interesting right now, even though all he's doing is staring at the screen and typing.

Duncan glances up a time or two, and catches Brent – not that he's trying to hide it – and just sort of grins before going back to whatever it is he's doing.

"Emailing your sister?" Brent asks finally. His voice seems especially loud, but he can't tell if it actually was, or if the room was just that quiet before.

"Hm?" Duncan asks. "Oh, no, Sarah. Abby's friend."

"Oh," Brent says. He'd forgotten about her, or at least he'd tried to. "Big plans for next week?" He tries to ask casually, like he doesn't feel like someone dropped a forty pound weight on his chest.

"I don't know yet, still trying to sort that out," Duncs says nodding at the screen.

Brent doesn't suggest the place with "panty melting desserts" - Burish's words, not his – it's too fancy for a second date anyway.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." It's got to be his fourth of the day, but Duncs just grunts as Brent changes out of his clothes and grabs his bag of toiletries.

He's feeling tense and weird, so he figures he might as well jerk off while he has the time. If nothing else, it gives him something to do while standing under the hot spray. Brent just strokes himself idly at first until his dick is fully hard. His mind isn't really focused on the task at hand with no fantasies coming to mind as he plays with his balls.

He can't even decide if he wants to think about guys or women right now. His brain just keeps drifting back to Duncs emailing what's her name in the other room. It isn't exactly helping things along, so he has to reach back into his go-to fantasy file for a really old one from his high school days. It works almost embarrassingly fast, and Brent is just glad Pronger is in the Eastern Conference and they only have to play each other once a year.

Brent likes playing against the guy, but wishes he had never been drunk enough to share that tidbit with Duncs after they played the Oilers for the first time. He used to be guaranteed four days of non-stop innuendo a season when Pronger was in the Western Conference.

It was kind of fun though, the way Dunc always tried to come up with brand new euphemisms, even when they were playing home and home series.

Brent grins as he shuts off the water and reaches for a towel, already in a better mood.

*

"So what are you going to do tomorrow night?" Duncan asks as he packs up his bag.

Brent shrugs. He hasn't really thought about it, mostly he's been trying not to think about what Duncs will be doing. He's pretty sure he's been kind of an asshole, but it's just – it's not fair. Brent hasn't been laid in what feels like years and unlike Mr. Second Date here, his prospects aren't looking so hot.

"I might go out with Kaner," he says, surprising himself. It would be an easy way of taking care of the 'getting laid' situation. "Maybe we'll go see that Avatar movie."

Duncs frowns. "It's not out til next week. And I thought we'd..." he trails off. "I'm sure you'll find something to see, if you can drag him out of a bar."

It doesn't take much dragging, because the owner of the place has a private conversation with Kaner about what is and isn't acceptable behavior in her establishment. Brent gives her an apologetic smile as he walks Kaner outside to hail a cab.

"Where should we go now?" he asks Brent, eying the other bars on the block.

"We could go see a movie," Brent suggests. "I think the world is ending in at least one of them."

When Kaner insists on stopping at the Dominick's across from the theater to get a couple of forties, Brent can't help looking over his shoulder, like Johnny might appear from the produce section to glare at him.

But when they get up to the box office, he's glad Kaner insisted on the stop. 2012 started twenty minutes ago, and nothing else starts for another hour except –

"Two for New Moon," he hears Kaner say.

Kaner was surprisingly chill about buying them both tickets to a movie teen girls have rioted over, so Brent figures he can man up to have their tickets torn.

"Theater number four on the left," the ticket guy says.

"Thanks," Brent mumbles, heading for the escalator.

"Popcorn?" Kaner asks, when they reach the theater level.

"Yeah, I'll get it," Brent says. It's only fair, since Kaner got the tickets and the beer (he'd insisted on getting the beer himself, as he has at least every other time they've gone out since he finally turned twenty one last month).

There are plenty of seats to choose from, but they head for the back, where they'll hopefully be able to drink the beer they've smuggled in their coats without anyone noticing.

"Isn't this like, a sequel?" Brent remembers aloud.

"It doesn't really matter," Kaner says as they settle into their seats.

Brent doesn't really believe him, until the movie starts.

It's awful and Brent wishes they had grabbed two 40s each. Everyone is standing around whining, all the colors are weird, and Brent is pretty sure the actors would rather be doing anything besides making this movie. And that's before the "werewolves" show up. Spirit animals? Really?. He almost chokes on his beer when he sees how huge the wolves are compared to say, people. It doesn't make any sense, they aren't that big as people, why would they be that big as wolves? It's stupid. Even stupider than the glitter.

The whole concept of "losing control" is such bullshit, and Brent can't help but snort derisively. He survived puberty while playing one of the most aggressive and violent games possible without wolfing out on anyone. Losing it over some girl is just absurd. The only thing Brent can think of that would make him snap like that would be if someone really hurt Duncs really badly. He frowns just at the thought. He doesn't like even thinking about that. It'd definitely take actual harm, not just stupid jealousy.

Brent wonders what Duncs is doing right now. It's late, so his date is probably over by now, unless he's taken her back to his place, or been invited over to hers. Brent reaches for his beer, but it's already empty. Kaner's got most of his left, and he's distracted staring at the screen – yeah, the kid's shirtless again – so Brent steals a long sip of his.

It takes the rest of Kaner's beer to get Brent through the movie, but it mercifully ends shortly after he finishes the bottle. He tosses both the empties into the depleted popcorn bag before the lights come up.

"So what'd you think?" Kaner asks.

"Uh," Brent says, because really, what is there to say?

"My sisters will want to know," Kaner continues, "Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

"Is that like, vampires vs werewolves?" Brent asks.

"No man, there are huge fights between fans as to whether or not Bella should end up with Edward or Jacob. Erica and Jacqueline almost threw down at Thanksgiving."

"Uh, Jacob, I guess. Werewolves are cooler." It's true, even if they are lame fake ass werewolves.

Kaner stares.

"Dude, you are not allowed to judge me. I get to judge you for caring at all," Brent says, as they flag down a couple cabs.

*

The game that Sunday is the start of a long home stand, which means Brent finally has a chance to stop and look at the calendar. Christmas is less than two weeks away and he's only got presents for Duncan so far, and the DVDs are just standard fare, the latest seasons of Criminal Minds and Dexter. Not anything that's a really good present, so he's got effectively his entire list to buy for.

They don't have practice the morning after they beat the Blues soundly, so Brent drags himself out of bed and down to Michigan Ave where he can hit the Best Buy, the Apple store for his parents and Keith. He's done most of his shopping for the team online, and his mom will put his name on whatever she gets his cousins so really, he's just down to shopping for Duncs. But it's really hard, because while he's happy to just give Kaner some Twilight beer cozies (and the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) he wants to get something awesome for Duncan. Something that's at least half as awesome as he is.

He spends an hour wandering up and down the mag mile, hoping something will be obvious, but most of it is just clothes and that's too boring. Brent even goes into Cartier, just because it's there, and starts looking at cufflinks.

"Are you shopping for yourself, sir?" the salesman asks from the other side of the glass case.

"No," Brent answers, always feeling awkward and under dressed compared to these guys in their suits and ties and for some reason he always expects them to be British.

"Ah, a special someone then?"

Brent's head snaps up and he's alarmed. What is this guy trying to imply about him and Duncs they're just – Brent looks back down at the diamond cufflinks and a knot forms in his stomach. "Uh, actually I don't think these are really his style. Sorry."

They're really not. Dunc usually spends five minutes fighting with the buttons on his cuffs before letting Brent button them for him when they have to go out with the team. Cufflinks would make him crazy, and diamonds are too cold for a guy like him.

Still, he has to fight the urge to run out of the store and away from the guy behind the counter who looked like he knew things.

He ends up dropping a hundred dollars on a watch in Fossil instead, one with a wide leather band in dark brown that Brent really likes imagining around Duncan's wrist. While the gift wrapper takes care of the box, he tries not to think about why the idea of Duncan wearing something Brent gave him every day is so satisfying.

He's just going to go home and watch game shows and not think about hockey or his partner or anything like that for at least four hours. But in the elevator back to street level, his mind lands on an image of Duncs wearing nothing but the watch. He might have to make a stop at the liquor store.

*

He didn't plan on getting crazy drunk, that's why he only bought the little bottle of Jack, but he also didn't expect to finish it while watching reruns of Match Game. He could handle a surprise like the fact that maybe his dick is into the idea of his best friend naked, but that isn't the worst part.

Junior usually doesn't give a damn about what Brent does, it's boring for him. So when Junior just seems to agree with all of his un-PG thoughts about Duncan, it freaks him out. He's never cared who Brent thinks about when he rubs his dick through his jeans before, so why does he care now?

That's just too much for him to handle on a Thursday evening. He tosses the empty bottle in the recycling and shoves the take out containers from earlier into the trash and stumbles up the stairs.

Maybe it'll be less weird in the morning.

*

It isn't less weird. It's just as weird and now he has a headache on top of it.

Brouwer doesn't ask why Brent is so surly, he just keeps up a one sided conversation as he drives them to the UC for the games.

Brent doesn't try to avoid Duncs, he couldn't even if he wanted to, their lockers are right next to each other, and it might hurt Duncan's feelings and everyone would notice if Brent suddenly didn't want to hang out with Duncs. He tries not to linger on what that means as he laces up his skates.

Of course, nothing is more awkward than trying to act normal. It's not like he knows how long he's allowed to stare at the line of Duncan's back before it's considered weird. He doesn't think it's something he's done a whole lot of before, but maybe he just didn't notice.

*

"So do we want to do presents and Die Hard at your place or mine?" Duncs asks after they shut out the Red Wings.

The team already exchanged gifts at Torchetti's place, but the two of them have always done their own little thing, since that first year when they were just rookies and shared a place.

"Mine?" Brent offers. He knows Duncs likes his couch, if they drink too much during the movie and he ends up crashing for the night... He locks down any thoughts of other sleeping arrangements.

"Sure," Duncs says. "I'll bring the beer."

*

He tries not to think of it as a date - because it's not, it's tradition - but that doesn't stop him from swinging by that bakery Duncan loves to get some of those little pies he'd eat by the dozen if he could before cleaning up his house.

And if he spends half an hour deciding what to wear, that's nobody's business but his own. It's during the parade of clothing that Brent tries on a hoodie, only to find it's just a bit too small.

He's been doing his own laundry for years now, so he's baffled that he might've shrunk just one thing in the wash. But as he looks in the mirror, he realizes it isn't his sweatshirt at all, it's Duncan's.

He should take it off, fold it up and hell, maybe even wrap it, but he doesn't, at least, not right away. There's no real reason for him to keep wearing it, it doesn't even smell like Dunc anymore. Brent freezes, as memories from the last full moon pop up. He'd been lonely outside until he came inside to curl up on the sweatshirt that smelled like Duncs.

He pulls off the sweatshirt and tosses it on his bed.. He needs to not be creepy about this. If he's not careful, he might get drunk and wind up humping his best friend's leg. Brent bets that would go over great. He'd probably wind up traded to the Hurricanes for spare parts.

He's feeling a little bit saner when Duncan finally knocks on his door a while later. He's got two paper bags in his arms, and Brent leans in to take the one filled with the beer and whiskey, because if he were to take the one with the presents he might some how know what they are and Duncs just can't have that.

Brent can't help but notice how good Duncan smells - it's not like he's sniffing him - but he's obviously showered recently and he smells fresh and warm and Brent just wants to tuck his chin into the spot where Duncan's shoulder joins his neck.

Instead, he laughs and says, "You know it's just you and me tonight, right? You didn't have to buy for the entire team."

Duncs shrugs. "If we don't finish it tonight, I'll help you finish it later."

Brent can't argue with that plan, so he just takes it all to the fridge while Duncan takes the other bag to the living room to unpack.

Sometimes he wishes he could get a big, real fir like his parents always had, but those need watering, and the schedules don't always make that a realistic possibility. Besides, the little red tinsel tree he and Duncs got for their apartment that first year has character. There had been some debate as to who would take the tree when they finally got their own places, but Duncan let Brent keep it, and then went out and got a silver one for his own place the next year.

"Hey!" Brent says as he enters the living room. "No peeking!"

Duncs steps away from the bag Brent tossed the sweatshirt into guiltily. "I wasn't, I swear."

Brent just snorts and hands Duncs a beer. "You know the rules."

"No presents until after Nakatomi Plaza is saved."

They settle onto the couch and Brent tries to relax, but the awareness of Duncan's closeness almost makes him miss "Now I have a machine gun. Ho-ho-ho."

Duncs gets up to grab more beer during the fire fight on the roof, and settles back down on the couch a good three inches closer than he had been before.

Brent is fucked.

"So uh, your folks looking forward to seeing you play in Vancouver?" Brent asks, forcing his mouth to make words before he does something stupid.

Duncan gives him a look and it's not the "I can't believe you're talking during the movie look" even though Al should be showing up soon. "Nothing's for sure."

Brent just snorts and bumps his shoulder against Duncs'. "Stevie Y would have to be an idiot not to pick you, and Stevie Y is no idiot."

He shifts awkwardly next to Brent before saying. "It's Canada, there are plenty of excellent defenders to choose from, like Niedermayer, Pronger, Weber."

Brent waves him off. "Yeah, but Niedermayer and Pronger they're old." It hurts to defame his hero that way, but it's true, and Duncs is Duncs. "You're in your prime and everyone knows it."

"Yeah, well," he's still got that uncomfortable set to his shoulders, but he's smiling a little, "You could be coming with me, you know."

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about the possibility of playing for Team Canada in his home town, but it seems too far away, too unlikely to actually happen, so he hasn't gotten his hopes up particularly high.

"It'd be awesome, but I don't know, there are so many other guys they could pick, Niedermayer, Pronger, Weber, some asshole named Keith..."

That earns him a smack upside the head, but he just laughs.

"It'd be really cool though," Duncs says. "You and me in the Olympics."

"Totally," Brent agrees.

They lapse back into a comfortable silence as the FBI guys show up and bitch about glass. "Who gives a shit about glass?" they both say along with McClane between sips of their beers.

Eventually John saves the day like they knew he would and Let it Snow plays over the rolling credits.

"So..." Duncs says, glancing meaningfully over at the gifts around the tree.

"For a millionaire, you sure are impatient about a few boxes," Brent says, even as they move down to the floor. "You know you could've bought any of this for yourself." And in the case of the sweatshirt, he did buy it for himself. It doesn't really count though.

"Yeah, but I like what you get me," Duncan says simply.

His words warm Brent to the point that he worries he's going to start blushing, so he reaches for Duncan's presents. "You first."

He appreciates the way Duncs tears into the two larger boxes like he doesn't know it's going to be the latest seasons of Dexter and Criminal Minds, since Brent's bought them the last four years running. If he didn't want Brent to get them for him, he'd buy them himself.

He feels kind of awkward passing over the small watch box, realizing for the first time how similarly it looks to a jewelry box. Not like the cufflinks wouldn't have - seriously, what was he thinking? - but still. Duncs doesn't seem to think there's anything weird about it, just peels away the professional wrap job and pops the lid off.

"Seabs, this is great," he says pulling the watch out.

"Oh good," he sighs. "I mean, I wasn't sure you could read a watch with hands."

Duncs just huffs a little laugh, his hands too busy putting the watch on to flip Brent off.

Brent was right, the brown leather looks great against the soft pale skin on the inside of Duncan's wrist. "I couldn't do black, I'm not going to support your weirdo metal habits like that. And they didn't have any with spikes, so I figured it wouldn't be worth it anyway."

"No, this is awesome," he says, shifting his wrist to read the watch face and adjusting to the new weight. "Thanks, Seabs."

Brent wants to make another joke, but he can't, not with Duncs smiling at him like that. "You're welcome," he says, just enjoying the moment. "You've got one more."

"More?" Duncan asks, eyebrows climbing.

"Don't get too excited," Brent cautions, pushing over the polar bear bag.

Duncs looks so confused and excited that Brent almost wishes it was a real present in there. Only almost though, because the baffled look when he pulls out the sweatshirt is just as great. "A sweatshirt? Is this...Is this my sweatshirt?"

"You left it here a while back," Brent says.

He isn't expecting Duncs to lean in and sniff it. "Did you wash it?"

"It got mixed in with some of my stuff, I didn't even realize until this afternoon when I went to put it on."

Duncs takes off the sweatshirt he'd been wearing and swaps it out for the one he just unwrapped, like it's actually new. "Now you."

He pushes a midsized box, and a small awkwardly shaped thing towards Brent. "Open the big one first."

The box is heavier than he expect when he picks it up. "Is it a pony?"

"Aw shit, Seabs, you weren't supposed to guess."

"It's the X-ray vision," Brent says, peeling back the paper. It's a shoe box inside, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, since a box is a box. But removing the lid reveals cowboy boots inside, and Brent starts laughing.

"I support your country crap," Duncs says, grinning. "So next time get the one with the metal studs."

They're good boots, all soft dark leather with great stitching, not the cheap plastic kinds you find most places. "Where did you even get these? Calgary? Dallas?"

"Calgary, the circus trip. Had to get them somewhere they knew their stuff."

"These are great, Duncs." He wants to put them on now, even though he hasn't been wearing shoes all night. Instead he just runs his fingers over the pattern of the stitches one more time before reaching for the smaller present.

It's much lighter, and gives under his hands as he grips it. He just tears off the wrapping to reveal a small stuffed man that says "The Vet".

"It's a dog toy," Duncs explains, and Brent almost drops it. "It's supposed to stimulate canine brains or something. The parts separate."

Why is Duncs getting him a dog toy? He can't know. If he even suspects this has to be the most round about way of saying "so what's with you turning into a wolf once a month?"

"I- Why?" Brent asks, because he really doesn't know what to think.

"You're always looking at them in stores, and I know you've got your stash for that dog you're eventually getting. I just thought it looked cool."

Brent almost sags in relief. "It is cool," he says, pulling off the head and feet. This is going to be totally awesome in a few weeks. Especially coming from Duncs. "Thanks, I- I'm sure my future dog will appreciate it."

They finish off the six pack, and a few fingers of the whiskey before winding down for the evening.

"Are you sure you're good to go?" Brent asks as Duncs loads up his new stuff. "I've got extra space if you want to crash."

"I think I'm just going to walk home. It's not too bad out."

"Are you sure?" Brent asks again. But they're Canadian, so Duncan can't admit that it might be a little cold out. Brent just watches Duncs shrug on his jacket and hands him his bag of stuff.

It's the reverse of the hand off from earlier, but now Brent has had a few and he can't help but sway a little towards him. Hopefully Duncs thinks it's just the beer. Brent pats his arm. "Text me when you get home, eh? So I know you didn't slip on some ice and fall in a gutter."

"I won't slip on the ice," Duncs says and only a figure skater could sound more outraged at the suggestion.

"Merry Christmas, Dunc,"Brent says.

"Merry Christmas, Seabs," Duncs says, finally opening the door and heading out.

Brent watches him down to the corner before closing the door and surveying the mess they've made. It's just a few empties and some wrapping paper, no big deal, but there against the foot of the couch is Duncs' hoodie. Not the one Brent just returned, but the one Duncan had worn earlier.

He leaves it there as he gathers up the trash and recycling and puts the toy in the closet where he keeps the rest of Junior's stuff. His phone buzzes with a text from Duncs.

home safe. merry xmas

Brent avoids looking at the hoodie on the couch as he replies good. merry xmas. He puts his phone in his pocket and grabs the hoodie off the floor before heading upstairs to bed.

*

The next week flies by, but Brent would be lying if he didn't notice the date when the team hits the ice the morning of the thirtieth. Practice is pretty routine, and he appreciates it, because the moon is lurking in the sky and Junior is getting restless, but it's not making the time to the Team Canada announcement go any faster.

Soupy and Hammer are taking their turn running 2 on 2s, so Brent and Duncs are just watching when an intern comes down to the boards and signals to Q.

He and Duncs share a look. They both know what it's about, and he can't help shifting nervously on his skates.

"Johnny, Duncs, Seabs. Bowman wants to see you," Q calls out. He's trying to hide his grin under his mustache but it's not working.

Brent doesn't move at first. He can't be sure he really heard Quenneville call his name. Maybe he's just so used to hearing his name after Duncs' or maybe Q is just so used to saying them together that he said Brent's name by accident. Dunc ends up grabbing Brent's sleeve and towing him across the ice while Sharpy hums "O Canada".

*

"Come on Mr. Olympian, we're grabbing a beer with Tazer," Duncs says as they leave the arena after practice.

Brent glances at the sky. There's maybe an hour before sunset. "Just the one, I have to like, call my parents back and shit." If he isn't home right away, it's no big deal, he can hold Junior back for a little while.

Unsurprisingly, one beer turns into three or four and the sun's been down an hour before they pile into a cab for a ride home. The beer has dulled his senses a bit, which is good, because Junior is so close to the surface, but also bad, because it has lowered his inhibitions, too. Duncs is pressed all along his side and Brent can't resist the urge to just butt his head against Duncs'.

Duncs just laughs. "What were you drinking?"

Brent just shrugs and leans heavily against Duncan. It's good to be close like this, and he smells really good and sometimes Brent just wants to -

"Dude, did you just growl?" Dunc asks.

"No?" Brent tries. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

Johnny leans forward from Duncs' other side. "Sorry, change of plans," he tells the driver. "We're taking him home first."

Brent can't complain about that. He knows he needs to get home quickly, but he'd rather spend more time with Duncs. It isn't fair that he has to go home by himself. Duncs should come and play with him.

"Do you need any help inside?" Duncs asks, when the cab pulls up to Brent's place.

"No," he says quickly. "I mean, I'll be fine. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Drink water!" Johnny calls after him, like Brent has never been drinking ever in his life.

He hears the cab waiting at the curb while he trots up the walk to his house and opens the door, so he throws them a wave as he dashes inside, but the second the door closes behind him he starts kicking off his shoes, pulling off his coat and the rest of his clothes as he moves to the backdoor.

In one motion he's opening the door with his hand and bounding down the steps before landing on all four paws.

*

January is a slog. They really start feeling the compressed schedule for the Olympics. Sixteen games in thirty-one days is nothing to sneeze at, especially when the second half of the month is the longest road trip of the year.

He should probably be glad that the full moon is the last night of the road trip. It would've sucked to have it be right in the middle, but it's hard to be grateful about that shit when he hasn't seen his own bed in two weeks and he's got no space he can claim as his own and is just feeling locked in.

Occasionally he considers how much better it would be if he could just mark Duncan as his, but like clockwork, whenever he entertains those ideas in detail – usually in the shower – he comes out to find Duncs emailing Sarah.

His pregame rituals are getting longer, as he tries to carve out his own space in his mind at least, something away from jealousy and Junior. He can tell his game is suffering. It's just little things right now, losing half a step on the chase, taking an extra second to figure out where a forward is going with the puck, shit like that. He doesn't think anyone else has noticed, or if they have, they probably just assume it's road trip fatigue. Brent hopes it's just road trip fatigue.

The Carolina game is rough. The ice sucks because some moron scheduled a basketball tournament for that morning, apparently not considering the fact that a professional hockey game was going to be played in the arena that night. The place is empty, too, and Brent can't blame them, as the state's been hit by a storm that might slow down a Canadian town, but it still sucks to play in. Even the UC usually wasn't this bad back in 2005.

They end up losing the game, but no one really cares, they're just too gassed and ready to head back to the hotel. Brent half wishes they were flying home tonight, but even if the weather were permitting it'd never happen. So he has to promise himself and Junior that the second he gets home tomorrow they get to change and curl up and do whatever they want all day.

He just hopes it gets better once they're home, and the moon has passed.

*

It doesn't. And it's not just him. The team seems to have forgotten how to win in regulation. It seems like every other game is a shoot out – fortunately Nemo's getting pretty good at them, considering all of the practice he's getting.

And then suddenly they have to pack their bags for two weeks instead of two days when they head to Columbus, and the morning after doing everything they can to destroy Rick Nash, they're catching a ride with him up to Vancouver.

It's weird leaving Kaner at the USA house and even weirder when they arrive at Team Canada house and the frazzled looking man with a clipboard points to them and says "Keith you're in the second door on the left, Seabrook you're staying in the third door on the right."

His first instinct is to protest, because this dude obviously doesn't realize what he's doing, but he's not eight years old. He doesn't need Duncs to be his safety blanket. And it'd be ridiculous, since they're a whole two doors apart. It's not like one of them has been exiled to outer Mongolia.

Brent gives Duncan a little wave as Duncs opens the door to his room before heading down to his own. He's not quite prepared to see Chris Pronger lounging on one of the beds when he opens the door, but there he is.

"Um, hey," he manages to say, trying to tamp down on the twelve year old in him who's freaking out because he's sharing a room with Chris Pronger.

"Hey," Pronger says. "Seabrook, right?"

And he knows Brent's name.

"Yeah. So I guess we're roommates for the duration, huh?" Brent says, tossing his bag onto the empty bed.

"Looks like it," Pronger grins.

"Cool," Brent says. "I'm just gonna-" he nods towards the bathroom.

He doesn't actually have to piss or anything, but he does pull out his phone to text his brother rooming with Pronger!!!!! Then he sends it to Duncs, too, even though he's only twelve feet away. He's a little bit afraid his voice will crack if he says it out loud.

He's played against the guy before, obviously, but the defense doesn't always interact that much on ice, even if the shifts match up. And there's a big difference between playing against the guy and sharing a room with him for two weeks.

Brent's really excited for the games in a way he hasn't had time to be for the last month and a half. This is going to be awesome.

*

That optimism lasts through the first game against Norway. Babcock has him paired with Duncs, but he's not playing his very best. Not that Norway requires his very best but he wishes he had it – so Duncs goes over the boards without him half the time.

It's hard to complain when your ice time is reduced because of guys like Duncs and Pronger and Niedermayer and Weber. He's honored just to share the bench with them. Really.

Even that Doughty kid is pretty good.

The post-game atmosphere in the locker room is lively, and Brent laughs and jokes along with the rest of the team. Duncs leans over at one point and says, "I think Pronger is the only guy who takes longer to get ready before a game than you do."

"Huh?" Brent says.

"You were doing your thing," Duncs says, "but he just sat there staring at his locker all quiet and intense. No one was going near him. He had like a freaky force field up."

Brent laughs, "Well hell, if it works it works."

*

It's strange staying so close to home, but not being home. Staring out the window at the familiar hills and skyline is making him restless. It's making them both restless. The moon isn't for another two weeks (The night of the gold medal game. It could be interesting if they make it. When they make it.) but Junior recognizes home as much as he does and he wants to run and play and find Keith and wrestle him to the ground and curl up at Mom's feet when he gets tired.

"Dude, chill out," Pronger says from his bed.

Pronger's voice startles him out of his reverie. "Uh, what?" He'd been sitting quietly next to the window.

"You're stressing me out. Go bike, or call your girl, or something."

He considers seeing if Duncs wants to hit up the gym, but his mom texts him about dinner and that's a better idea. Brent doesn't want to burn out too quickly.

*

The Swiss game is less of a party, Jonas Hiller is a beast, but at least there's no worry Brent'll be called on to face him in the shoot out.

Babcock has Duncs playing more and more with Doughty, so Duncs is talking with the kid more in the locker room, getting to know him and establish more of a bond with him and Brent can't lie, it's making him crazy. He knows that they need to put the best team on the ice that they can, and that you have to have a good sense of who you're playing with, but he can't help the urge to get between the two of them and make sure Doughty knows who Duncs belongs with.

He can't hear what they're saying over the din of everyone else, but when Duncs leans in close to listen to something Doughty says, Brent takes a step towards them. Suddenly Pronger is in his face.

"Hey, Seabs, why don't we head back, eh?"

"I- okay. Yeah," Brent says. Because he needs to not do what he's thinking about, and it's really hard to say no to Pronger.

It's a quiet ride back to the Village, and Brent kind of feels like he's in trouble, but that's stupid. Maybe Pronger is just going to give him a pep talk, and he'll listen to whatever Pronger has to say.

Brent figures they're going to be hanging out in the suite's common room, but Pronger steers them towards their room.

"You need to get it under control," Pronger says, once the door is shut behind them. Brent doesn't get a chance to ask what 'it' is before he continues. "I know it's rough watching your ice time get cut, but you know what's going to get you benched permanently? Eating someone."

Blinking is the only response that Brent has, because it's almost like Pronger knows that Brent is – that Brent could...

"And Jesus, you and Keith? You don't like the making things easy do you?"

"We're not!" Brent blurts. "I mean. What are you? How do you..."

His brain is scrambling trying to keep up with everything that's just been dumped on him.

"What, you didn't think you were the only one, did you?" Pronger says with a wolfish grin.

Holy shit.

"Holy shit."

Pronger laughs, "You really didn't know? I had you pegged the second you walked in here."

"Oh. I didn't... I've been distracted," Brent says. "And I've never met another guy like us before. I mean, besides my family."

Pronger nods, "It's pretty rare."

Brent's still running through everything Pronger's said and he comes up short at one phrase. "You've never actually eaten anyone, right?"

Pronger laughs again and Brent is pretty sure that's a "No, of course not." He hopes it is anyway.

There's a knock at the door, and Duncs pokes his head in. He looks a little confused, Chris Pronger isn't exactly known for being jovial. "Hey, gonna go grab some food, you coming?"

Brent looks between Duncs and Pronger and shakes his head. "No, you go ahead, I'm not really hungry yet."

"Okay, well, see you later then," Duncs says.

"So you two really aren't?" Pronger asks after the door clicks shut.

"No," Brent says, and he's pretty sure he didn't manage to keep the disappointed tone from his voice.

"Christ, how did you make it through puberty?" Pronger asks.

"That was easier," Brent says, because fuck it, apparently Pronger is going to know everything about him. "This is...he's Duncs."

And that's how he becomes Chris Pronger's Olympic Project. Playing over twenty minutes a game every other day in pursuit of a gold medal on Canadian soil just isn't enough for him.

He has a lot of good stories about how he's dealt with the werewolf thing, though as far as Brent can tell it's mostly by "being Chris Fucking Pronger." He says Brent's methods are "hippie shit, but hey, if it works..." and between all of the werewolf mentoring he gets stories about the past fifteen years in the NHL.

It's a bright spot, since he's pretty much been relegated to the number seven defenseman role, so he tries to do his very best at it, but it's hard to get into a rhythm only playing eight or nine minutes a night when you're used to playing twenty five.

Brent knows Duncs is concerned and he should be trying to reassure him. No need for both of their games to suffer just because Brent is going crazy. But he's spending too much time with Pronger – and jesus, if he could go back and tell his twelve year old self that he was going to need to spend less time with Chris Pronger, who, by the way, is also a werewolf, when they roomed together at the Olympics, he probably would've dropped dead.

*

Brent doesn't want to ask until they know for sure that they'll be playing on Sunday. Slovakia certainly made it interesting. He, Johnny and Duncs all shared the "thank fuck Hoss is on our team" look during the second period.

But once they all know they're guaranteed a medal (an Olympic medal!) everyone is a strange mix of ecstatic and restrained; they didn't come here for the silver.

"So what are you doing about Sunday?" Brent asks on the shuttle ride back.

Pronger shrugs, "I'll deal with it Monday. What about you?"

"Gonna go to my parent's place for the night, they're just out in Delta, it'll be good to go home."

"Yeah, good plan," Pronger nods.

"Hey," Johnny says, leaning over from across the aisle. "You're eating with me and Duncs tonight."

"Sure," Brent says.

"Good, because you're giving Duncs a complex."

Brent's brow furrows at that, why would Duncs be worried about anything? He's been hanging out with Pronger some but Duncs is... Duncs is Duncs. Brent glances a few rows up to where Dunc is sitting with Shea Weber and is surprised to see him looking back. Brent gives him a grin, and Duncs smiles back, but it seems tired.

*

Junior is thrilled to be home with Mom and Dad and Keith. Even though it's February, Keith wrestles him in the back yard until they're both completely covered in mud, and Mom wraps Junior up in an ugly beach towel to clean him off before he's allowed to curl up on his bed in front of the fire.

It's so much better than being by himself in Chicago and even as he dozes his tail thumps softly against the bed.

*

Brent has to head back to the Village early the next morning, but he's feeling more relaxed than he has in a month, and probably slept better than anyone else on either team.

The extra rest doesn't end up mattering that much for the game since he still only plays eight minutes. But he plays as hard as he can for every second of his shifts, and with a little help from Johnny and Crosby, he gets to stand on the ice while O Canada is played for the entire crowd.

It's more than a little surreal leaning down for his gold medal while the crowd cheers and sings. Brent has to glance down the line to where Duncs is standing staring at the flag, his medal glinting on his chest, just to be reminded that he can't start skating circles around the rest of the team.

*

Flying out to Long Island feels like breaking the spell they've all been under for the last two weeks, the one that kept Kaner away from them, and Duncs on the ice without Brent. He feels like now that they're together again, that they're going to be back with their real team again, they can do anything.

Unfortunately, "anything" doesn't seem to include beating the Islanders. The team is a little rusty after two weeks off, but after that the team picks up a little bit. They beat the Oilers and destroy Vancouver – Kaner seems particularly pleased about running Luongo out of the goal – and someone decided to make that night "Seabrook Night" and it's just, it's really weird.

"At least you weren't made into an ugly bobble head," Duncs says after the game.

Brent snorts, "If I can't look like Hulk Hogan, what's the point?"

"It didn't..." Duncs sighs. "You're a dick."

"It looks like Hulk Hogan," Brent says. "I know, he's sitting next to my coffee maker."

Duncan rolls his eyes. "Never mind, I wish you had gotten an ugly bobble head."

Brent bumps his shoulder. "Do I want to know what you'd do with it?"

Duncs coughs and turns a little red. "What do you think I'd do with it?"

If Brent didn't know better, he'd think Dunc was flirting with him. He wants to pretend they are flirting, but that'll just make it all worse. "Douse it in fake blood and use it in some weird recreation of a Jeffrey Dahmer murder?"

"You have no idea what Jeffrey Dahmer did to people, do you?" he sighs.

"Weird shit, before killing them gruesomely?" Brent guesses.

"And after," Duncs says.

The Detroit game that Sunday is brutal. Ladd manages a hat trick, but they still lose. Brent feels like shit, the game got off to a good enough start, assisting Duncs on a goal, but they shit the bed in the second period. There's no excuse for letting five goals get past them in twenty minutes – they owe Huet an apology, that's for damn sure.

They beat the Kings, but Brent isn't happy with his game. He was out of position for Brown's goal and was caught flat footed more times than he'd care to admit. Brent thought he'd get better after the stress of the Olympics was over, like a switch would flip March 1st and he'd be back to playing like he was in December.

After the game Duncs grabs his arm as he's about to head out. "Hey, do you want to go somewhere and talk? Maybe grab a beer at the bar?"

Dunc is using his serious conversation voice, and fuck. Apparently his game has gotten so bad that Duncs wants to talk about it away from the ice. "I know, Dunc, I know. I have to step it up and I'm working on it, really I am."

Brent sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "I think I'm just going to go home and rest up. Rain check on the beer?"

"Um, yeah, okay," Duncan says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

He goes home and puts on the sweatshirt Duncs left after Christmas, and tries to meditate.

*

In Philly, it becomes obvious that the meditation isn't working, and just trying harder to suck less isn't either,. Jesus, losing in the last two seconds. That's just not right. Brent's pretty sure he played better in juniors.

When he runs into Pronger in the parking lot, he almost tells him to take his last second heroics and shove it.

"I'd say sorry, but-"

"You're not," Brent says flatly.

Pronger shrugs and at least has the grace not to grin too widely before his face schools itself back into a serious expression. "You need to get your shit together, kid."

"I know, I just. I know," Brent says. He considers asking Pronger for help with Junior, but he's still pissed about the loss, and it seems like a cop out to blame the wolf. The moon is almost gone from the sky, and Junior had been helping a few months ago.

It's not like Brent is new to having Junior around, but lately they're more separated than they should be. It's his own fault, because he's the one that should be in control, but Junior keeps wanting things that Brent can't let happen. Most of them relating to Duncs. Brent finds himself drifting out of position and ready to lay a hit on guys that rough up Duncs too much, and reaching out to pull him close when they're in the locker room. Or on the bus. Or in the hotel.

Having Johnsson join the team was a good way to ease off the minutes a bit, but he had to be pulled from the game early. So they're right back to where they were before they traded Cam away, and he's got more time to spend fighting Junior on the ice instead of focusing on the game.

"Well, if you need anything. I guess you can text me, I'll try to talk you off the ledge."

Brent sighs. "Thanks."

"What did Pronger have to say?" Duncs asks as they board the bus to the airport.

"Hmm? Oh just hi, nothing important," Brent lies.

"You two are buddies now?"

"Yeah, I guess," Brent says. He looks at Duncan, "What, are you jealous?"

"No," Duncs says glancing out the window.

"I'm sorry Chris Pronger didn't choose you to be his new bestie, you'll just have to settle for me," Brent says bumping his shoulder against Duncs'.

"I guess I can handle that," Duncs sighs.

Brent grins and relaxes back into his seat, "Wake me when we get to the airport, eh?"

He's not actually sleeping, but he's got his eyes closed as he tries to focus on the centering exercises his grandmother taught him. It's mostly successful, except for how he's super aware of every move and sound Duncs makes next to him. But it's a start down the right track.

*

Things go off the rails the next day when fucking Ovechkin destroys Soupy. It's an ugly, dirty hit and it's probably a good thing that he's taken out of the game, because tempers are running high. They can't afford to do anything stupid, they're down two D men already, and the last thing they need is a five minute PK or to have the bench shortened by a misconduct.

But it's tempting, especially when they hear the words "broken collar bone." Instead they go on a tear, taking a 3-0 lead, only to blow it in the third period.

When Backstrom gets past him to score on Nemo in OT, Brent is pissed, but it's more than that. The last few months of frustration have just settled into a pit in his stomach and he wonders if it should've been him that got hit. It'd take an act of god for Q to bench him - something Brent appreciates in better times - but maybe it'd be good to take a few games off and get his shit together without being a liability on the ice.

Soupy's going to be out more than a few games though, word around the locker room is rest of the season.

*

The Anaheim game starts off well enough, Brent scores a goal in the first, on Hiller no less, and lays a big hit on Corey Perry in the second. The game is tied and it's tight and he's actually having a little bit of fun.

And then he gets hit and he's back on the bench, but doesn't really remember skating over there. And he's being led back to the locker room, even though it's only half way through the period.

"Seabs, Seabs, come on buddy," Paul the trainer says. "We're gonna go take some tests at the hospital, okay?"

"I'm a hockey player, I'm no good at tests," Brent jokes.

Paul doesn't laugh, even though Brent thought it was pretty funny. His head hurts and for some reason Junior is nagging at him, and fuck, he should call Pronger and figure out if this is a normal concussion symptom. He flexes his hands and tries to pay attention to the stream of chatter directed at him. They get nervous if he doesn't respond regularly.

He can't tell if the hospital is really close or if he just zoned out for most of the trip, either way, they get there quickly and Brent is put through the battery of tests. He answers their questions well enough to be released after the machine that goes ping clears him. It's nice to know they don't have a machine that can test for the presence of an alternate lupine personality.

The doctor lays it on him, "You need to rest, Brent. No playing until your symptoms are completely gone. No skating either."

He's not going to argue with the resting part, but not even skating seems a little harsh. But apparently there's a class in med school called "how to glare people into submission."

"Yes ma'am," he says. "But is the wheelchair really necessary?"

"Standard," she answers, marking something on her clipboard. "It's dark out, hardly anyone will see you."

*

Paul helps him back to his hotel room, and Brent tries to wave him off, but it's a no go.

"I'm not going anywhere until Keith gets back," he says.

Brent is torn between a snarl and a whimper. He just needs to be left alone for a few minutes.

"Hey Paulie, I can take it from here," Duncs says.

He didn't even hear Duncs come in which is really weird, but he's trying so hard to just look relaxed and hide the way he's fighting with Junior.

"The docs cleared him, but if he starts throwing up or anything like that, call us immediately."

"I will," Duncs says, seeing Paul out.

Brent wishes Duncs would go too. He just needs to be alone, Junior's way too loud and demanding and if he were by himself he could just focus and make him behave. It's not fair that Junior's acting like this when Brent's head hurts so much.

He isn't sure how he's lying so still on the bed when inside he's thrashing like Linda Blair. Brent has one hand clenched in the covers and he keeps having to look down to make sure it's still a hand.

"Seabs, how are you feeling?" Duncs asks, sitting on the corner of the bed.

"Fine," Brent lies. He's terrified of Duncs being this close right now. What if he...what if Junior... If Duncs got hurt, Brent would never forgive himself.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay?" Duncs says, patting Brent's ankle.

Brent nods. "I'm fine, but if you could just-" he has to pause just to hold off Junior a little while longer.

"Anything, just tell me," Duncs says.

"Leave," Brent pleads.

Duncs just laughs at that, "I don't think so, Seabs."

And there's his last chance at keeping his secret, because Junior's just too strong for him right now. It's a strange view, staring down inevitability like this. But in one last desperate move for his secret, his dignity, his friendship with Dunc he's not sure which, he rolls out of Duncs' grip and onto the floor.

"Seabs? Seabs! What are you..."

Junior moans in relief on the floor. His head hurts less and he just wants to sleep, but Duncs is making too much noise. Looking up to see Duncs staring down at him, his eyes wide and face pale, brings Brent back to the surface, back into control.

Then he's naked on the floor trying to catch his breath and with a pounding headache.

"Sorry," he says even though he doesn't know what he's apologizing for.

Duncs has backed up to the far wall, and he's just staring at Brent. His stomach is churning, and only the fact that Duncs hasn't gone running and screaming out into the hall keeps Brent from spewing on the bed spread.

"Did Wiz hit me harder than I thought?" Duncs asks the room.

"Wiz hit you?" Brent asks as loudly as he can without hurting his head.

"I just saw you.... You were a..." Duncs trails off, staring at the space behind Brent, like maybe a wolf will appear and it will just have been some slight of hand.

"Wolf," Brent says. "Um. Yeah. It doesn't usually happen like that. Normally it's just a once a month thing."

Brent can see the wheels turning in Duncan's head. "Are you saying you're a - a -"

"Werewolf," Brent finishes for him. "Yeah."

"But how?" Duncs asks. "When?"

"Forever," Brent says. Put like that, he feels even worse for not telling Duncs before. Not that he's taking it well now. "It's genetic, it's really really recessive, but it happens," Brent explains, pursing his lips. This really wasn't how he wanted to have this conversation.

"But we lived together. You never, I mean. We play night games!"

"Duncs, do you maybe wanna sit down?" Brent's worried he's going to fall over, and Duncan doesn't seem to notice.

"I - yeah."

He settles on the corner of his bed, about as far away from Brent as possible, and it hurts a little. Okay, more than a little, but Brent can't focus on that right now.

"It's not like the movies, exactly, I'm not like, an uncontrollable monster during the full moon. It's just sort of...he's always there, and during the moon he's louder and more insistent, but if we're playing or traveling I just put it off for a day, or let him out a little early.

"When we were sharing the apartment I'd just hole up in my room. Why do you think I insisted on the room with the balcony?" Brent tries to joke.

"So...that time I found those treats in the pantry?" Duncs asks slowly.

"They weren't left behind by the people that moved out," Brent confirms. "A lot of the weird shit you remember is probably going to be related to the werewolf thing."

"Huh," Duncs says.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Brent blurts. "It's just been a secret for forever and how do you even start that conversation?"

"Hi, my name's Seabs, by the way, I'm a werewolf?" Duncs says with a little smile.

And that little smile is what Brent has been waiting for, just some sort of break to tell him that they were going to be okay. He leans forward, bracing himself on the bed. He could probably get up off the floor now, but his clothes are in scraps around him on the carpet. Any other day he wouldn't care about being naked in front of Duncs, but he's feeling a little exposed at the moment.

"I know this is really weird," Brent says, "but I'm still Seabs. I'm no different than I always have been, you just know me a little better now. I'm still your best friend."

He really hopes that last sentence didn't come across as a question, but there's no disguising his huge sigh of relief when Duncs nods.

"Why?" Duncs starts asking, glancing out the window to the moonless sky. "Why did you change now, tonight?"

"My head, I think." Brent explains. "It didn't hurt as much that way." It's been throbbing pretty steadily through out this whole conversation, but it's not quite as bad as it was earlier.

"Then you should go back. I mean, if it'll help you, I don't mind," Duncs says.

He nearly deflates, he's so grateful for the offer. "Thanks, Dunc."

"I don't want you hurting if you don't have to."

Brent wants to hug him, but the idea of being pain free is impossible to give up. "I'll be back in the morning, promise."

He rolls his head and tries to drop a little further out of sight before handing control back over to Junior. There's no need to scare Duncan further with his third view of the change in fifteen minutes.

"I probably should've asked this before, but uh, you're not going to eat anyone, right? Like, say, me?" Duncs asks, once Junior stands up on all four paws.

Junior flicks his tail and doesn't bother vocalizing a response. That makes Dunc laugh, "This is going to sound so weird, but it looks like you. He looks like you? You look like you? Sarah Spain was really on to something when she said you looked like Eddie Munster, huh?"

Junior woofs softly, and slaps his tail against the wall.

There's a soft knock at the door then and Duncs looks back, alarmed. "Can you hide?" he whispers.

Junior sighs and lies down behind the bed, out of sight of the door.

"Good bo- good," Duncs says before going to the door. "Hey Johnny, what's up?"

"Just wanted to see how Seabs is doing."

Their voices are hushed but Junior can hear them clearly. His tail drags against the bed skirt as it wags quietly. He knows he's not allowed to go play with Johnny and Duncs but they're here and he likes it.

"He's asleep," Duncs says quickly. "But uh, he was awake when I got in, he seemed pretty okay, he just has to rest up."

"Good, good, and how are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm fine."

"Just, you seemed a little off earlier. You should probably get some rest, too, take off your damn suit already."

"I will, Tazer, see you in the morning."

The door clicks shut and Junior gets back up and moves between the beds as Duncs changes into his sweats and an old Kelowna Rockets t shirt.

Duncs settles onto the bed, the side closest to Junior and that makes his tail wag again, he's not moving nervously anymore. "You can get off the floor," Duncs says. "Unless that's more comfortable?"

Junior just jumps up onto the bed next to him, because Duncs is here and Junior never gets to see him for real. Duncs tenses for a second and then laughs, "I guess I wasn't real specific, was I?"

He woofs, and Duncan reaches out, before pulling his hand back. "You don't mind if I pet you, do you? Would it be weird?"

Junior thinks Duncs should pet him all the time and Brent doesn't disagree, so he flops down with his head on Duncs' lap. "Okay, this is kind of weird," he says, even has his hand settle's into the fur at the back of Junior's neck.

It feels so good, and Duncs smells so good that the lingering hurts drift away and he falls back to sleep feeling safe and at home for the first time in too long.

*

When Brent wakes up he's not entirely sure where he is. There's someone next to him in bed, but he doesn't know how they got there since he doesn't remember going out last night. He finally cracks open one eye for some clues. He's in a hotel with Duncs.

He's in bed with Duncs. And he's naked again. And spooning his partner, who is thankfully still asleep and unaware of the morning wood Brent is sporting. Part of him wants to stay still for just a little while longer and really enjoy this, but he remembers how it felt last night when Duncs sat as far from him as possible. It's not something he wants to repeat anytime soon.

So he holds his breath as he lifts his arm from around Duncan's waist and rolls gently away from him.

He's halfway to the bathroom when he hears a quiet and confused, "Seabs?"

"Just gonna take a shower Dunc. It's still early, go back to sleep," Brent says, not turning around.

*

He's feeling better, at least 90% of normal, like, maybe even old normal, back in November and December before everything went to hell. Of course, the trainers would never believe him, and he's not going to explain to them "no, it's cool, see, I spent the night as a wolf while curled up with Duncs, and everything's much better."

It wouldn't do much to help his case.

So he's stuck on the sidelines watching practice and everyone is tense. The same officials who gave Wiz a two minute minor for the hit are going to be on the ice tonight. Brent does his best to show everyone that really, he's okay.

He doesn't remember much of the hit, and even though he knows that's not necessarily a good thing, he's kind of glad. He and Wiz were teammates. They were friends, and that hit wasn't buddies.

Wiz has texted Brent a few times already, but he hasn't read any of them. He's sure there's an apology in there, but he doesn't feel like reading it right now.

Duncs keeps skating by like Brent might fall over if his back is turned for too long. Brent doesn't mind, except for how Dunc should probably be focusing on helping Buff prepare for life as a D man.

*

If Brent thought sitting out practice was bad, sitting out the game is even worse. He's up in the press box with Fraz, because the team doctors worry that the crowd noise would be too much for him if he hung out in the tunnel all night. They just roll their eyes when he tries to fight with them – but at least Fraz comes upstairs with him, instead of hanging out with Clint and the boys.

They're both mostly quiet, intently watching the game and praying that the losing streak doesn't extend to four games, but half way through the second period, Fraz starts laughing.

"What?" Brent asks, wondering what he missed.

"The refs, they're the same ones from last night," Fraz says. "Last night they sucked at their jobs," he nods down at the ice. "And now I think they're trying to make up for it by sucking at their jobs some more, but in our favor."

Brent snorts, because yeah, Bolly definitely should have been called for hooking there. "Would've preferred a few more calls going our way last night instead."

Fraz slaps him on the back. "Now Biscuit, you can't go expecting them to do their jobs the right way to start with. That's just ridiculous."

"I think it might be a symptom of the concussion," Brent jokes.

Fraser's eyes flick up to Brent's head, like there should be a visible dent or maybe a bandage wrapped around his whole skull. "Yeah, well, make sure those are all gone before you get back out there, eh? If you go passing out on the ice again, Jigsaw might really live up to his name."

Brent should probably be disturbed that his teammates thinking Duncs would turn into a serial killer for him makes him feel so content, but that's the least of his problems with Duncs right now.

Fortunately, Brouwer takes a pass from Kaner and shoots it past Quick, so that line of conversation is killed by the cheers and high fives.

*

Dunc doesn't bring up the werewolf thing until they hit the hotel in Phoenix. Brent's been wondering when they'd start coming, or if Duncs was just going to pretend it had never happened.

"You said it's genetic, right?" he asks as they're getting ready to go down to dinner with the rest of the team.

"Yeah," Brent says. There's no real question as to what "it" he's referring to.

"So that means your parents? And Keith?"

"No, just uh, my grandma on my mom's side and one of my dad's cousins. My folks are just carriers, I guess," Brent explains.

Duncs nods and doesn't say anything else about it.

It goes like that for the next couple of weeks, just random questions out of the blue when they're alone, and then dropping it. Brent would prefer to just have one long twenty questions kind of session, but if this is Duncan's way of dealing, he doesn't have a place to complain.

Duncs brings it up after practice the day before the full moon. "Tomorrow, if you want to, I mean, after the game in the hotel room...I don't mind."

It takes Brent a moment to process what exactly Dunc is talking about, because for a second, wishful thinking about what he really wants to do in their room after a second takes precedence over the phase of the moon.

"Really?" Brent asks.

"Yeah," Duncan shrugs, "if it'll help with everything? Since we're headed to Minny the next day."

"Thanks," Brent says. It's like something's come loose in his chest and he throws an arm around Duncs' shoulder even though he just wants to wrap both arms around him. He's just so fucking lucky that Duncs isn't completely freaked out. Though he's going to have to have a talk with Junior to make sure he doesn't do anything especially weird. Brent's just greedy, wanting more from him.

He can't help but linger a little, and let his palm skim over the back of Duncan's neck and feel the soft hair there once he finally pulls away.

"I'll try not to shed on your stuff," he says.

"Huh?" Duncs asks. "Oh, um, I'll pack an extra lint roller."

*

He's actually feeling excited about the moon for the first time in a long time, but he has to keep the extra pep in his step a bit subdued after losing to the Blue Jackets again, even if by a more respectable margin than the shelling they got in Columbus.

So instead of bouncing through the airport and twitching too obviously in the waiting area, he bugs Duncs. He brought a book, because he plans for dealing with down time unlike Brent. So Brent reads over his shoulder - literally - he hooks his chin over Duncan's shoulder and waits for him to react.

He has no idea who the characters are, but he assumes the detective is investigating a murder, because aren't they all? Brent gets a little distracted from the story by the smell of Duncs' aftershave. Usually it's just mixed in with everything else that makes Dunc smell like Dunc, but this close to his neck and face he can smell it isolated against Duncs' skin.

Duncan turns the page of his book then, the movement distracting Brent from the urge to nuzzle Duncs' neck and maybe see how it tastes.

"Hey, I wasn't done yet," he says instead, trying to pretend he even looked at the last page.

"Read faster," Duncs says. Brent can almost feel the words as they move through Duncan's throat.

"Duncs, you've got some sort of growth coming out of your shoulder," Sopel says a few minutes later when he comes over from the table with the coffee. "You might want to have a doctor look at it."

"Nah," Burish says, barely looking up from his phone. "What we're witnessing here is the inevitable. They're finally becoming the same person."

"Can't it wait til Soupy comes back?" Hammer asks. "We need more bodies on defense."

"I guess we can try," Brent sighs, and slowly pulls away from Duncs. It's probably for the best if the team just thinks it's joking around - it is just joking around, unfortunately - and it's not that much of a hardship, since the plane is finally pulling up.

*

They lose the game that night, but it feels tighter than it has lately, like maybe Buff's really getting used to playing D again, and Hammer's learning that when Duncs is yelling on the ice, just listen to him, because he's almost never wrong.

"I miss playing with you," Brent says as they head into their hotel room. He didn't plan on saying it, because it sounds sappy, and maybe just a little too close to other things he doesn't want to say to Duncs out loud. But it's not like it isn't true, so he doesn't try to play it off.

"Yeah," Duncan agrees. "Not that Hammer isn't great, he's just – It's not the same."

Brent sighs. He should have known Duncs would get it. "Yeah. Uh, I'm just gonna hit the john and then..." he rolls his shoulders, because it's easier than saying 'let Junior out before he makes things really uncomfortable'.

"Okay, yeah, sure," Duncs says. "I'm just gonna change."

Brent can't help lingering in the bathroom, suddenly nervous about the night ahead. He feels like a virgin on prom night, except he's not going to get laid and it's not even the first time Duncs has met Junior. He changes out of his suit and cracks open the door to the bathroom before kneeling on the tile floor.

His nervousness falls away as Junior takes control and he shifts, the tile no longer cold against his knees once they're covered in fur.

"Seabs?" Duncs calls from the other room.

Duncs! He gets to see Duncs again! His nails scrabble on the tile floor as he rushes to stand up and nose the door open.

He lets out a little bark and jumps up at a surprised looking Duncs.

"Well hey there," Duncs says as Junior knocks him back onto the nearest bed. He barks again, and Duncs scratches the spot behind his ear, "Shh, shh. I don't want to have to explain where the dog came from, eh?"

Junior whines, he knows, he knows. But it's Duncs! He backs off just enough to dance around on the carpet and Duncs laughs. "You're feeling much better, aren't you, buddy?"

He yips and Duncs reaches for the remote to turn on the TV. "Just to cover the noise," Duncs says before dropping down to his knees. "Poor you, eh? Stuck inside all night," Duncs says. "But we can still play, yeah? Burn off some of that energy?"

His tail starts wagging like crazy and he waits to see what Duncs means by 'play'.

"God, this is so weird," Duncs says, more to himself. "I'm not sure if you look strangely like Seabs or if Seabs just looks like you. But I know what Seabs likes, so I'm going to assume you're the same." Duncs pushes both beds til they're up against opposite walls, creating a larger space between them. "Do you wanna wrestle?"

That's a dumb question if he's ever heard one.

He's so happy and wriggly that Duncs can barely get a grip, and Junior can easily knock him back on his heels and onto his ass. It's fun and he only ever gets to wrestle with Keith, usually over the summer, but this is better than wrestling with his brother, because it's Duncs and they should always be together and wrestling forever. Brent's just too stupid to do anything about it.

The wrestling devolves into tug of war with someone's sock, and eventually Duncs looks at the clock, "We gotta sleep, buddy. There's a game tomorrow."

Junior sighs, which just makes Duncs laugh as he climbs up onto the bed. He pauses, looking down at Junior. "You coming?"

He gladly jumps up and makes himself comfortable next to Duncs, who has to reach over him to turn off the light. "Night, Seabs."

Junior falls asleep with Duncs' hand running up and forth down his back.

*

Brent wakes up almost the exact same way, except Duncs is just stroking his arm ever so slightly, and there's no fur separating their skin.

"Hey," Duncs says softly into Brent's hair.

He wasn't expecting Duncan to be awake. He should move, find pants. Instead he just grunts until he thinks his throat can actually form words. "Morning."

Duncs' hand has stilled but he hasn't pulled away. "So is the wolf thing why you wrestle with Sharpy all the time?"

"Sometimes," Brent says. "It's good to burn off energy. Sometimes he just needs to be tackled."

There's a knock on the door. "Room service," a voice calls, before moving down the hall.

"We should get that," Duncs says.

"Ehh," Brent says. He'd much rather just lie here a little while longer and pretend. But then his stomach growls loudly.

Duncs chuckles softly. "It sounds like the wolf."

"Junior," Brent says.

"Huh?"

"The wolf, I call him Junior," he clarifies. "My mom started it, after The Last Crusade came out."

"Was the dog already Indiana?" Duncs asks.

"Junior just seemed more fitting, like, he's part of me but not all of me?" Brent tries. It's hard to explain how they're connected to an outsider. But it's Duncs, so he has to try. "I got tired of Keith being mad at me for chewing his stuff."

Duncs laughs before nudging Brent. "Come on, shove over, the food's getting cold out there."

That's when Brent realizes he's got Dunc pretty well pinned against the wall, the bed still shoved over from their wrestling the night before. No wonder he hadn't moved away when he woke up, there was nowhere to go.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that," he mumbles as he rolls toward the outside edge of the bed so Duncs can climb out.

He grabs his sweats while Duncs collects the tray. "So did you do it on purpose?" he asks, passing Brent his omelet.

"Do what?" Brent asks.

"Chew Keith's stuff," Duncs says. "Or was it all the – Junior?"

Brent smirks, "Not always." He pauses, trying to find the words. "Junior is like, the wolf brain, so the instincts and actions reflect that, but the memories and emotions are shared. So if I was mad at Keith as me, and then changed over, Junior might react by chewing on his Ninja Turtle action figure. It's how he knew you a couple of weeks ago, even though it was the first time you'd met."

Duncs nods, taking it all in as Brent pauses for a bite of food. It just feels so good, talking about this with him, after waking up with him and Junior getting to play with him. It wasn't fair for Brent to be the only one spending all the time with their mate.

Brent drops his fork. He cannot believe he just thought that word.

"What?" Duncs asks. "Did they send the wrong kind of omelet? Are there olives?"

Brent shakes his head, as much in response to Duncan as it is an effort to shake that thought from his head. "No, no it's fine. I just. It's fine."

Duncs is still giving him a weird look, but Brent picks up his fork and shovels some of the eggs into his mouth. They eat mostly in silence after that, a few comments about the upcoming game against the Wild scattered between bites.

Brent has pretty much inhaled his food, so he takes a sip of his water and says. "Do you mind if I take first shower?"

"Nah, go for it," Duncs says. It's all Brent can do to not run into the bathroom where he can hide from Duncs and freak out in peace.

Junior's obviously just got some fucked up ideas about Brent's stupid crush on his best friend. What does a wolf know about this shit anyway?

He just stands under the hot water for a few minutes, trying to convince himself that it was just a translation error, that 'mate' doesn't mean like, forever mate. It's just a stupid crush, one Brent'll get over some day, when he meets someone else and they'll go on double dates with Dunc and his wife and it'll be great. And maybe one day the idea of Dunc married to someone else won't make him want to punch the tile wall.

It takes a sincere effort to go through the motions of actually showering, instead of half drowning himself under the spray, but they've got a plane to catch and Duncs still needs to shower, so he finally shuts off the water and grabs a towel.

He comes up short when he opens the door and Duncs is standing outside, brushing his teeth over the sink. "Oh, hey. Um, shower's all yours."

"Thanks," Dunc says around his toothbrush.

Brent squeezes past him, trying to avoid contact as much as possible, while holding his towel in place. He just needs to get dressed and get on the plane, things will be fine then.

*

He doesn't avoid Duncs in the airport, he just finds himself sucked into a debate with Brouwer and Fraz about something stupid and it doesn't stop even as they board the plane. It's not like he needs to be talking to Dunc all the time. Or Dunc needs to be talking to him, he's got his book and occasionally says something to Hendry. Brent tries to make it out but he can't.

They sit together on the plane like normal, which is good, because even when Brent is trying to spend less time with Duncs, it's always better when Duncs is nearby.

*

It continues like that for the rest of the season, Brent trying to spend more time with people that aren't Duncan, and ignoring the slightly confused looks he gets when he ends up eating at a different table when the team goes out to eat. But then inevitably, they wind up packed into the same cab and Brouwer will be on Duncs' other side so he ends up half on Brent's lap and he has to pretend to complain.

He's doing the right thing though. It's like practice for when Duncs will find someone for real, and his free time will be spent with her and Brent will need to have other friends to hang out with. Ones that don't want to go see shitty teen movies.

"Hey," he asks as they head back to their hotel room after the last road game of the year in Denver – that for once didn't go to a shoot out. "How are things going with uh, Sarah?"

Duncs shoots him a confused look as he opens the door. "Sarah? Haven't seen her since before the Olympics."

"Really?" Brent asks. He should've known that. As Duncs' best friend, he should have known when he broke up with a girl.

"Yeah," Dunc says, shrugging as he tugs off his tie. "It was never that serious, you know? And she wasn't that into dating someone who was gone for weeks at a time."

"Oh," Brent says. "Sorry, I mean – that it didn't work out. And for not realizing you broke up."

"It wasn't a big deal, like I said, we never got that serious."

Brent nods and does his best to ignore the voice in his head that is pointing out how very single Duncan is, like Sarah was the only thing keeping Duncs from being Brent's forever. He cringes and rubs his forehead, like that'll keep the borderline creepy thoughts away.

"Are you feeling okay?" Dunc asks.

"Yeah, fine," Brent says, changing out of his suit. "Just tired, and maybe the altitude getting to me."

"Well, if you need any advil, I've got some in my bag," Dunc says. "And drink more water before you go to sleep."

Before Brent even has a chance to respond, Duncs is tossing him a water bottle from his duffel. He manages to catch it before it hits him square in the chest, and just says, "Thanks, Dunc."

He grins a little. "Gotta take care of my partner, eh? You need to be in good shape once we're back together."

*

The series with Nashville begins and they're not as caught up in the craziness of the playoffs as they were last year, when just about everybody was new to the post season. But they do get caught up in the trap the Preds are running, and it makes the first game frustrating as hell.

The next game they manage to find a way to get the puck over the blue line, and Brent could kiss Niemi for his post season shut out, and the Hawks are flying high again. But it all comes crashing down in game three at Nashville. They just get out worked for the puck and it kills him that he's never on the ice when it matters, stuck watching on the bench as Buff takes a stupid hooking penalty that leads to a penalty shot that the Preds cash in on for a 4-1 lead with five minutes remaining in the game.

But frustrated as Brent is, Duncs is taking it to a whole other level. He doesn't say a word to anyone except the reporters he has to talk to, and just starts throwing his stuff in his duffel bag, like the bag insulted his mother.

"He hasn't looked this pissed since...well, Wiz," Ladd says under his breath to Brent.

Brent didn't really get to see that reaction, but he's kind of glad he missed it, because this is kind of terrifying. Duncan stalks ahead of everyone on the way back to the bus, and Brent hears someone say, "Holy shit, someone get Jigsaw a puppy."

"No, don't," Brouwer says. "Not unless you want the ASPCA after you."

Brent gets more than a few pitying looks as they board the bus, and he takes his usual seat next to Duncan, who's staring stonily out the window.

Brent hasn't spent five years playing with the guy to not know when to shut up and let him stew. Besides, his only idea to snap him out of it isn't something he can really start talking about with the entire team around them.

So he waits until they get back to the hotel room and are changed into clothes that don't need ironing if they get wrinkled before he says anything. "Uh, Dunc?"

"What?" he asks, more than a little snippy. But he sighs, and tries to shake it out, "Sorry, what?"

It's a nice try, but the tension in his shoulders hasn't dropped an inch.

"I was thinking, maybe. I mean, just to like, get loose we could try something..." Brent says.

Duncs' eyes snap to his, confused and searching. "...what kind of something?"

Brent scratches his neck and holds up an old tube sock. "Tug of war? Junior wouldn't mind, and I can change back before I go to sleep for once, and they say having a dog – or you know, wolf I guess – around reduces stress levels?"

Duncs' shoulders slump a little, like he's disappointed. But what could he have thought Brent was going to suggest? Brent has ideas for some alternative activities, but they're ones he tries to think about in the shower, when he's by himself. Duncs wouldn't -

"Yeah, that sounds good. I wouldn't mind hanging out with furface for a while," Duncs says.

"Junior," Brent stresses, "is going to get you for that."

"Oh yeah?" Dunc says, finally cracking a smile. The sight of which cuts the tension in the room by half at least. "What's the little ankle biter gonna do?" he pauses then. "If I do get bit-"

"Never," Brent says, because fuck, he'd never hurt Duncs.

"Not like, on purpose," Dunc says, "but tug of war can get really intense, and accidents happen. I wouldn't like...."

"What?" Brent asks. "Oh! No, no, that's just folk lore bullshit. Like I said, it's a family thing, you're safe, I promise. If it was real, Keith would be a werewolf about a thousand times over."

Duncs raises an eyebrow at that.

"What? He deserved it," Brent says defensively. "I'll be back...in a while."

He goes to the bathroom to change, still wary of letting Duncs see the change any more than he has to, and Junior comes out to play.

When he changes back, Brent won't think too hard about who's idea it is to go bounding over to Dunc and lick the side of his face where the beard is starting to come in. It makes Duncs laugh, which is the whole point.

"Hey there to you, too," Duncan says, burying his hands in Junior's fur.

Dunc reaches across the gap between the beds for the sock and offers one end to Junior. "You ready to go?"

He obviously hasn't thought this through, because very quickly Junior is able to pull him off the bed and onto the floor. 

"Ow," Duncs says laughing as his knees hit the carpet. "Oh it's on, mutt."

Junior growls around the sock. He's no mutt.

"Can't handle a little trash talk?" Duncs asks, picking up the end of the sock and giving it a tug.

It's no surprise to either of them when the sock, stretched out and half shredded, falls to the ground a few rounds later in favor of straight up wrestling.

By the end, they've knocked both beds out of their original positions and lie panting on the floor. "What do you say we move this to a softer surface?" Dunc says, but doesn't make any progress on getting up.

Junior just jumps from his spot on the floor to the middle of Duncs' bed in a single motion.

"Show off," Dunc grumbles, finally getting off the floor and dropping onto the bed next to him.

Junior noses him a little, and Duncs responds by petting him, and he huffs out a happy sigh.

"I like you, Junior," Dunc says. "You're easy."

Brent surfaces a little at that, wondering what that means, and what else Duncs might say, but Duncs falls silent then, his moving hand the only sign that he's still awake. Eventually even that stops, and though Junior would be happy to stay here all night, Brent isn't sure he wouldn't do something stupid if he woke up next to Duncs again.

So he makes Junior slink down from the bed as carefully as he can, before changing back and grabbing his boxers.

He stares for a long while at the empty space next to Duncs before pulling a sheet up to cover him and crawling into his own bed.

Brent doesn't wake up the next morning until Duncs shakes his shoulder and says, "Hey, food's here."

He's not quite conscious enough for real heavy morning conversation, but between bites he manages a, "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I didn't even hear you change," Duncs says. 

"Wolf therapy," Brent nods. Duncs is definitely looking more relaxed this morning, and Brent is more than a little proud and pleased that he was able to help.

The guys in the locker room seem surprised by the change in mood from last night when they get dressed for practice, hell, even Q's mustache twitches in surprise when Dunc doesn't look more annoyed than Q himself.

Practice is going about as well as can be expected after a loss like last nights, but Brent's stick breaks during a drill, and he has to wait while Clint fetches him another one.

Torch has the forwards doing their own thing, so Fraz and Bur must not have noticed him waiting at the other end of the bench. He's not really paying attention to their conversation until he hears his name.

"Jesus, did you hear Duncs and Seabs last night?" Bur asks.

"No, why?"

"They were going at it like animals last night, I'm surprised neither of them are walking a little funny today," Bur says.

Fraz snorts, "At least Duncs put Jigsaw away. He doesn't look like he's going to eat anyone this morning."

"Except maybe Seabs," Bur says, and the two of them laugh. Then Torch blows his whistle and they skate into the drill, leaving Brent more than a little dumbfounded.

They couldn't be serious, right? Jokes about the gay shit the team does are common enough, but usually feature Kaner's inability to land a chick, or Versteeg groping anyone in sight. This was....they didn't actually think he and Duncs were - that they're like, together. That'd be...

Well, if Brent is honest, that'd be okay with him, because then maybe Sharpy would stop setting Duncs up with other people.

"Hey Seabs," Clint says interrupting his thoughts. "Sorry about that, we'll get more cut for tomorrow."

"Thanks," Brent says, taking the stick and skating back towards the rest of the D. He needs to focus on hockey right now. They're in the goddamn playoffs.

But still, the urge to grab Bur and get a straight answer out of him is almost overwhelming.

*

He wonders later if he's that obvious about his crush on Duncs. He hates using that word, it makes it sound like he's in middle school, but there isn't really another word for it. He's pretty sure that if he had a notebook, he'd be doodling in it.

Flirting with Duncs is easier said than done. Brent is great at flirting, but separating flirting with Duncs from just talking to Duncs is a problem. He's been teasing Dunc since he met the guy, so it doesn't really register, except for the fact that he starts doing it more often.

"So are you stealing Soupy's beard or what?" Brent asks, patting Duncs on the cheek before tugging on the longer hair hanging over Duncs' neck.

He's a little ashamed to realize he's resorted to literal hair pulling, but he likes watching the way Duncs' curls stretch out and then pull back in, so he does it again.

"It's not going to turn ginger on you if you pull it three times," Duncs says, giving Brent a look as he tapes his stick.

Brent grins, and pulls once more. "Just checking."

He watches Duncs more too, fascinated by the way his muscles in his back shift as he reaches up into his locker for a clean pair of socks, and his calves. Jesus, when did someone's calf become that fascinating?

He looks away and there's Versteeg smirking at him. Brent just shrugs and pulls on his shoes. Apparently nothing will surprise his teammates.

Sometimes he catches Duncs looking back. The way his heart starts racing just helps him get pumped for practices.

*

They grab lunch with Ladd, Toews and Kaner after practice and when the food arrives, Kaner reaches over Ladd to steal some of Tazer's mashed potatoes, but gets whapped on the hand for his troubles.

"Stop stealing my food, bro, if you wanted potatoes you should've ordered some," Toews says, wielding his fork threateningly.

When Brent goes to sneak some sweet potato fries off Duncs plate, Duncs doesn't even notice. He can't even try to be obvious about it, since the fries are closest Brent. So he snags a few more and tries to think of anything else to do.

*

In the end, he just touches Duncs more, throws his arm over his shoulder while they're waiting at the airport and leaves it there until it's time to board. And that's just too casual, so he rubs his thumb on the back on Duncs' neck and maybe plays with his hair some more. Duncs never shrugs him off or even looks at him weird. Brent thinks maybe Duncs is even leaning into the touch and he has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning too hard.

The day of the full moon Brent has to hurry home from practice, because even though seeing Duncan naked isn't any sort of new or out of the ordinary thing, his eyes keep wandering over to the line of Duncs' back, and the way his spine dips in just before the curve of his ass. Brent's got the urge to bite, right there where the two meet and see the pale skin turn red and -

He changes into his jeans facing his locker, and grabs his shirt quickly. "See ya," he says vaguely, not making eye contact with anyone. Especially not Duncs.

Brent gives himself a minute, once he's locked safely away in his car, to dig the heel of his palm against his erection, trying to will it to just wait until he can get home and take care of it.

The fact that he makes it home without wrapping his SUV around a tree is a miracle. He doesn't bother going upstairs, there are no rookies living with him; no one's going to walk in on him jerking off on the couch. It's kind of a surprise that he doesn't rip the zipper out of his jeans trying to get his cock free.

He wraps his hand around his dick and fuck it feels good. It'd feel better if it were Duncs. If he dropped in, using his key, and found Brent like this, sprawled on the couch with his pants around his knees and his cock out, already hard and leaking. Brent couldn't be expected to just put it away, and Duncs would be surprised at first, but maybe he was hoping he'd find Brent like this.

He'd drop to his knees in front of Brent and take him in hand, stroking him a few times before taking Brent's cock into his mouth. His hips jerk off the couch just at the thought of that - he'd have to control himself if Duncs were really there, he'd hate to make him gag. Brent wouldn't be able to stop himself from fisting his hands in Duncan's hair. It's so long and soft that he could tangle his fingers in it, and he doesn't think Dunc would mind it if he pulled just a little.

His skin would be a little flushed, like it is after the first shift of the game. Brent just bets that Duncs gives great head since he's great at everything he does. He'd know about that spot just behind Brent's balls – he reaches down and presses it, pretending it's Dunc, and gasps as he comes in his hand.

He strokes himself through the last of the orgasm, not bothering to open his eyes and confirm that he's actually alone in his living room until he needs to clean himself up.

Once Brent tosses that dishtowel in the laundry room, he needs a post practice, post orgasm nap, and it's late enough in the afternoon, so Brent decides to let Junior out early. So he heads out to the back yard with the sun still half in the sky so he can lounge in the sunny spots before they disappear.

Junior's half dozing, so when there's a knock at the door, he can't tell right away that it's coming from his house and not next door. But then the knocking continues and he hears Duncs' voice muffled though the door.

He leaps to his feet and bounds up the back steps and hurries to the front door - but it's closed and he can't do anything about it.

"Seabs? You in there?" Duncs calls.

Junior lets out a loud bark, and claws uselessly at the door.

"Oh," Duncan says, and Junior can hear the jangling of keys.

He backs away from the door, just waiting for Duncs to come in and then they can play and he doesn't have to be alone and it's gonna be great.

The door opens a few inches, but is then halted by the chain. Junior whines and shoves his muzzle through the gap between the door and the wall. Duncs drops to his knees and reaches in to pet him. "Sorry buddy, I should've called. I guess I just figured..." he trails off. "I don't suppose you want to change back real quick and remove the chain?"

It's still a little bit light out, but the full moon is already climbing in the sky. This isn't like the other times, when Brent still had control over the change – he gave tonight to Junior and won't be back until the morning. Junior just whines and bumps his head against Duncs' hand.

Duncs looks a little sad, but scratches at Junior's ears. "Well I guess I can give you these anyway," he says, pulling a few treats and toys out of a plastic bag. He opens the bag of dog biscuits and gives it to Junior, who takes it carefully out of his hand before inhaling it.

"This is just a ball, but..." Duncs says, tossing it through the gap in the door. Junior will get that later.

There's still something in the bag, and he noses at the small box through the plastic. "Oh. Um, those aren't for wolves," Duncs says, wrapping the bag around the box and shoving it in his pocket. "But maybe some other time, eh?"

There are lights going on up and down the block, and Duncs' looks over his shoulder. "I should probably get going, but I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? And I'll get here earlier next month."

Junior woofs, but doesn't move, until Duncs rolls his ears a few more times. "Come on, you gotta back up so I can lock the house up again, keep you and your stuff safe."

He whines, but does so eventually. The tumblers of the locks click into place, but he doesn't hear the footsteps moving off the porch until after he's eaten all the treats Duncs tossed through the door.

After Duncs leaves, Junior mopes a bit. After years of being by himself most of the time, he'd quickly gotten used to having Duncs around to play with. 

He noses the new ball a few times, but it's obviously one meant to be thrown and chased. 

Brent ruins everything.

*

There's a light skate the next morning, and Brent grabs Duncs before they hit the ice.

"Hey, uh. Sorry about last night," Brent says.

"What?" Duncs asks. "No, I shouldn't have assumed-"

"Yeah, you should have," Brent says. "You were more than welcome, I just didn't think...I didn't want you to think you had to, or anything."

Duncs throws an arm over Brent's shoulder. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. You're....you're my best friend, and Junior's part of you."

Brent is distracted by the way Duncs' thumb is absently stroking the side of his neck. "I - thanks. Thanks, Dunc."

"If you two are done having a moment, you may have heard that we've got another playoff series coming up," Johnny says from down the hall.

"Really? Hell, I thought we were all just too dumb to go home when the season ended," Brent says, thwacking Johnny upside the head as they walk past him.

*

The first game against Vancouver....Brent wishes he could pinpoint what went wrong, besides losing by four and say, everything. The only redeeming thing that happened was Kaner's goal which meant they didn't get shut out. Things did pick up in the third, which is a bright spot, and maybe they can remember how to play hockey on Monday. For now everybody's just trying to work through the necessary quotes for the press and get home and sleep the game off like a bad hangover.

"Hey Seabs, would you mind uh," Duncs glances to Eager, changing over his shoulder, "throwing a ball around?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Brent says.

Duncs beats him home, but wait on the steps instead of letting himself inside. "You have a key for a reason, you know," Brent says as he locks his car.

Dunc just shrugs, "It's a nice night."

It is. It's late, but it's still not too cold, and the occasional sounds of chattering groups still out for the night carry through the air.

Once he gets changed and....changed, they fall into the routine that's already been established, and Junior and Brent are both pleased at the way things have turned out, because having someone else to throw the ball in the back yard is one of the greatest things ever, but wrestling on the living room floor tops it easily.

Once they've tired themselves out (not too difficult, considering the minutes they logged) Duncs leans back against the couch and asks, "So, are you allowed on the furniture?"

Junior woofs, because it is his house, thank you.

Duncs just grins, "Well okay then."

He kicks off his shoes and socks, and pauses a minute before shucking off his jeans as well and stretching out on the couch. It's one of Brent's favorite pieces of furniture, long enough for him to stretch out on, and deep enough for Junior to jump up and lay along Duncs' side once Duncan settles in.

Duncs throws an arm over Junior's back, and scratches under his chin with his other hand until he drifts off. Brent knows they should move, but Junior's still miffed about having to spend the full moon alone, and they're just so comfortable, and it feels good to be curled up with Duncs' like this, so he just stays as he is until he succumbs to sleep, too.

*

It's still dark when he wakes up again, so it can't be too much later. The couch, which comfortably slept Duncs and a grown wolf makes for a more precarious sleeping situation when it's two professional hockey players. Duncs has his arms wrapped around Brent's midsection, anchoring him in place, and their legs are tangled together; he's not going anywhere easily. This would be a good thing, if he were planning on staying the night, but he has a bed. A Duncan-less bed, which really doesn't seem that appealing.

Brent sighs against Duncs' neck, and is reminded of just how good he smells. His beard is scraping against Brent's forehead whenever he moves, and Brent can imagine that Duncs' collar bone would be a little red if he looked at it now.

He shouldn't be thinking like this, because it's making other interested parties wake up and come to attention. Namely, Brent's dick.

He needs to move now.

Brent tries to be as careful as possible. He really needs Duncs to sleep through this, but every move he makes just makes the couch shift underneath them and every creak sounds like a goal horn.

"Hmm?" Duncs mumbles. "Seabs?"

"Shh, go back to sleep," Brent says, praying Duncs will listen to him. "I'm just gonna-"

"No, stay," Duncs says, pulling Brent back against his chest.

His dick and Junior – who is so not invited to this conversation, Brent has to take a minute to shove him down and away – agree with Duncs, but Brent is more than a little terrified. Duncs' hand starts stroking the small of Brent's back, where surely he's noticed the lack of fur, but he hasn't loosened his grip at all.

He stops breathing for a minute and wonders if it's possible for a professional athlete to have a heart attack at twenty five. Duncs is going to wake up and realize what's going on, who he's starting to nuzzle, whose dick is growing against his thigh.

Brent's heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might explode out of his chest, like something out of Alien. He's going to sit up, get away to somewhere he can breathe. He's starting to imagine things like Duncs' lips brushing against his ear, and then his jaw. They're not kisses exactly, but they paralyze Brent until Duncs kisses the corner of his mouth and there's nothing for Brent to do except tilt his head to meet Duncs straight on.

Finding lips between their playoff beards isn't an easy task, but they make it work, and Duncs' mouth opens underneath his almost immediately. Brent doesn't know which one of them makes that happy little noise in the back of their throat, but it's definitely mutual. Duncs' hand skims down to Brent's ass and gives it a squeeze and yeah, that noise was all Brent as he grinds down against Duncs.

But then Brent has a panicky thought and pulls away to ask, "You're awake, right?"

Duncs huffs and raises an eyebrow. "Should I be flattered that you think I could do this while unconscious?"

His lips are looking redder than usual in the soft light coming from the kitchen, and Brent has to lean in to kiss them again. "I just wanted to make sure," he mumbles into Duncs' mouth.

Duncs' just pinches Brent's ass, causing him to jump a little before pressing even closer against him.

They're both awake and in full possession of their senses, but Duncs is also in full possession of his boxers and a t-shirt, which is unfortunate, but Brent can make do. He runs his hands up Duncs' back under his shirt, just to feel the muscle there.

Duncs arches his back pressing closer to Brent, and Brent keeps his fingers moving lightly over the skin, stuttering only when he feels Duncs' erection beneath him. He shifts so that his cock is pressed against Duncs' with only the cotton of his boxers separating them. He groans, but it only lasts a minute, because Duncs is pushing up his hips and scrabbling to get them off, and Brent is on board with that action.

He should slow down and enjoy the view, and maybe get to know Duncs' dick a bit more up close and personal, but he doesn't want to stop kissing Duncs, not for a second, and unless he starts complaining, Brent is more than happy to just rub against him.

Duncs definitely isn't complaining.  He does reach down to better align their cocks, which makes them both shudder at the sensation. Duncs lets his own cock slip away until he's just jerking Brent's off, and Brent's body is thrumming with how right this feels. 

There must be something in his face, because Duncs slows his hand and then stills it, and Brent can't help the little whimpering sound he makes before Duncs asks, "You're not like, gonna wolf out on me, are you?"

Brent has seen Duncan's extensive collection of bad sci-fi/fantasy novels, and the question probably shouldn't be a surprise, but it is. It startles a laugh out of him, and he shakes his head, "No, I'm not going to change and leave you hanging. I promise."

Duncs grins up at him. "Good, I don't really want to get eaten."

He's practically begging for Brent to lean down nip at the spot where his neck meets his collar bone, so Brent does. It makes Duncs gasp and his hips jerk up, and a very pointed twist of his hips reminds Duncs of what his hand was doing around Brent's cock before they got distracted.

Brent feels like maybe he should be doing more to help Duncan along, but all he's capable of at the moment is wrapping his own hand about Duncs' cock and trying to reciprocate. Neither of them is going to last very long, what with the build-up that's been going on so long. That's okay though, no one's grading them on their stamina and it just feels too perfect to hold out.

He kisses Duncs and his spine feels like it's twisted into knots before it snaps back into alignment and he's coming between them.

"Oh, fuck, Seabs," Duncs says, turning his head and gasping for air as he thrusts into Brent's touch.

Brent just keeps kissing his cheek above the beard, and then down on his neck where it's tapered out, and grinds down on Duncs until he feels him tense and his come against Brent's stomach. Then his mouth finds Brent's again, and they kiss lazily as their heart rates return to normal.

Brent would be more than happy to stay this way all night, but eventually Dunc shoves him upright, and they use his t-shirt to clean up.

"Now take me to bed," Duncs says.

Brent's dick twitches at the idea even though he's spent in just about every way imaginable. But he's going to get to go to sleep with Duncs, and wake up with him in the morning and if he has morning wood, it's just a head start.

He stands and offers Duncs a hand up and doesn't let go even as they're crawling into bed.

July, 2010

"Hamme duh ammuh," Duncs mumbles around a mouth full of nails.

Brent picks up the hammer in the hand not busy restraining Stanley and passes it to Duncs. "You're lucky I've had so much practice translating your slurred speech recently."

Dunc just grins around the nails, flashes of white behind them instead of empty gaps, and hammers one into place. The banging noise doesn't scare Stanley the way it did at first, but he's still wriggling in Brent's arms, desperate to get to Duncs and help.

"Hey, buddy, you've got to let him work, eh? And then we'll have the best dog door in town," he says, scratching the puppy's ears.

Some of the guys gave him crap about naming the dog after the cup - "What would you have named him if we hadn't won?" - but at least he didn't name Stanley after himself, so he's still ahead of Sharpy and Shooter. They're just jealous he did it before any of them could.

Brent doesn't really need the dog door anymore, since Duncs is more than willing to let Junior in and out, but the idea of being able to move in and out without freezing the whole house in the winter is still exciting. And Brent and Junior are both pleased that Duncs is helping him install it, the lazy satisfaction spreads through Brent as the door takes shape.

He looks good doing it, too. Brent is enjoying watching the way Duncs' muscles shift under his white v-neck, and how the sweat on the back of his neck is making his hair curl under a little.

"-think that should do it," Duncs says.

"Hm?" Brent asks, looking at the doggie door for the first time in a few minutes. "Oh hey, you're done!"

Duncs laughs at him, but Brent cuts him off with a kiss, since the nails are finally out of the way. Stanley squirms between them. "Yeah pup, you can try it out in a second, let's just get cleaned up first," Duncs says, pulling back.

Brent helps move the saw, nails and other sharp pieces out of the way since a sliced paw and a trip to the vet would really put a cramp in the rest of his plans for the afternoon.

"So," Duncs says, as Stanley sniffs around the sawdust on the floor before nosing the heavy plastic that covers the new hole in the door, "since when does construction get you hot?"

"I dunno, how long has it been since you picked up that saw?"

Duncs just shakes his head, "I thought I was the weird one."

"I want you naked," Brent says.

Duncs chuckles, and Brent knows it's because he's a little predictable. They've been teammates for five years, so Duncs looks bewildered when Brent acts like seeing him naked is anything special. Especially when he joins Duncs in the shower every other morning. Which isn't to say Duncs doesn't like to get Brent naked – they spent an entire day in the hotel in San Jose completely naked, except when Brent put on a robe to grab their room service. It was a much better use of their time than Mario Kart. But Duncs likes rubbing Brent through his jeans or pushing his shirt up to expose his stomach before biting just hard enough to leave a mark. Brent likes that, too, but not as much as he likes getting Dunc naked.

"Upstairs, then," Duncs says, leading Brent out of the kitchen. "I'm not risking any splinters."

Stanley barks in the backyard as they go thundering up the stairs, and fuck, this is the best off season ever.