Andre walks in on something he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams.

“Okay,” Jack says. He sounds deceptively calm as he takes a few steps forward and throws himself onto the bed next to Connor, lying on his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. “What are we watching?” Connor doesn’t answer immediately, just messes with his computer for a few seconds, and then spins it so that Jack can see what’s pulled up on the screen. It’s porn, which is what Jack expected. That’s what people watch to jerk off; it’s what he watches and of course it’s what Connor McDavid watches. He didn’t actually think that Connor jerked off to hockey highlights or something.

Everyone knows Zhenya got the bite too early. Zhenya knows it most of all.

The A to Z of podficcing, devised and read to you by team Dandy Lions for Voiceteam 2022. A physical picture book, filmed and narrated + text and image descriptions.

Sid approaches the door and opens his mouth to call out when he's arrested by the sight in front of him. Geno sitting in the bright early summer grass with a little child in front of him, sun shining in her fluffy hair and on the crinkles by Geno's eyes as he talks to her, reaches for her, poking gently at her belly with one long finger, her eyes fixed on his face, mouth open in utter joy. Sid's heart seizes in his chest at the look on Geno's face as he watches.

Jordan’s always been kind of jealous of people with dynamics, like Taylor.

Jonny’s never spent a heat with another guy, alpha or no. Never had an honest-to-god-dick-attached-knot inside him. Never been with someone he used to daydream about lifting his ass up for, even on suppressants.

Dylan wants both of them to shut up and Connor to just put his dick in him already, but he knows this is crossing a lot of boundaries for the both of them and communication is important.

“What is it that you do, Omega Malkin?” Sid says eventually, tired of the guessing game. Apparently, he’s asked a controversial question. There’s a tension in the air. Mrs. Malkin starts giving a very particular look to her son and Omega Malkin shifts in his seat and straightens his spine like he’s gearing up for a fight. “Hockey,” Omega Malkin says evenly. Sid’s fork slips from his grip and clatters against his plate. He looks up and across the table at Omega Malkin. -- or; Sidney Crosby is an unbonded werewolf. So is Evgeni Malkin.

“How much is bail set for?” Jamie asks without hesitation and not even a hint of sleep in his voice. Fucker. “I’ll get Jordie to do a transfer. Whatever it is, we’ll get you out.” Tyler thinks it’s commendable that he doesn’t cut the call then and there. Then again, once word gets out that Sidney Crosby is possibly broken, Jamie and Jordie are the last chance he has of actually making it back across the Atlantic alive. Or alternatively, Tyler Seguin Worries That He Broke Sidney Crosby In Prague With Indelible Ink.

Tyler has gone so long without touching an alpha that it's starting to have a negative effect on him. Good thing Jamie is always willing to help him out.

Sid comes out. This is what happens next.

It’s 10 pm, and Sid is ready to scream.

Tyler winked at him. "Hey, want me to act all demure and nervous about it? That could be fun." The mind boggled. "No," Jamie said firmly.

Tyler gets traded to Dallas on a Thursday.

Geno's a dom and only a dom, Sidney's a sub who doms sometimes but only because people keep asking her nicely, and all their feelings for each other are entirely platonic. Yeah right.

It must happen during the Stanley Cup locker room celebration. Sid walks in, and sweeps the Cup up over his head amongst an eruption of champagne spray. Sid is so brilliantly, incandescently happy that he doesn’t even notice that not all the joy he feels is his own.

“Hello.” Zhenya looks up, and there’s a small boy on the other side of the counter. He smiles so wide that Zhenya can easily tell that he’s missing one of his two front teeth—kind of like Sasha but more adorable—and he’s got dimples in his round cheeks. In which Geno is a chocolatier and Sid really loves the truffles his son keeps buying for him.

Lots of people watch Geno. Like most people, really, at least let their eyes linger for a few seconds. For starters, he’s six foot three with a penchant for thick-soled combat boots and carefully sculpted hair arrangements that together can easily add 5 inches to his overall height. Then there’s the eyebrow ring, the purple streak through his dark hair, the smudged eyeliner, and typically, the tightest pants Geno can pour his fabulous if-he-does-say-so-himself ass into. All of those would be enough, any given day, to make people stop and stare. But today he’s also the guy most of North America watched in Prime Time last night, kicking ass and taking names as he as he swiped the Men’s Singles Gold from the clutches of that whiny fucking sore loser, Plushenko. So. Yeah, lots of people are watching him, but Sidney Crosby is not lots of people. He’s Sidney fucking Crosby.

Kent Parson comes out and it's a bit of a train wreck, but not for the reasons you might think.

Travis goes into heat while in the bubble. The only problem is that Patty is 2000 kilometers away.

The ESPN hockey anchors take a cheap shot. Bitty takes one back.

Jack looks at her and then puts her luggage down and leans in, grabs her into a full-body hug, right there on the sidewalk, holding her so close. She can’t remember when he last hugged her this hard. “He told his parents. About being gay. About us,” he says into her shoulder. “They were awful.”

A bracelet doesn't need to mean much, really.

Soft hockey boys just trying to make it work.

Nicky wanted a family. He wanted a family very much, but not like this.

It hits him like a goddamn bus right after his and Crosby’s power play goal puts Canada up 5-0. Not the heat itself—that’s little more than a prickle under his skin—but the knowledge that one’s coming. Here. In Prague.

“Guys?” Tom asks, yawning, as he pokes his head into the den. “Whoa! Whoa, okay,” he says. “I—” Andre laughs, loud, easy, so Tom doesn’t think he needs to run. “Stay,” he says, giving a lazy wave to the couch.

It coalesces somewhere around hour two, and then it’s suddenly, inescapably, achingly obvious. He takes a deep breath and realizes he’s just really, really horny. What the ever-living hell? -- Wherein curses are real, pride comes before a fall, and PK and Carey have to cope with a little more magic than anyone expected.

Andre just short-circuits people’s normal boundaries. Alex has even put down the Wales trophy.

Alex twists the ring around his finger as he watches Nick pace. He consented, everyone did, but in the privacy of their room, he seems much more on edge now about it. “Nicky,” he finally whines, sick of watching. Despite all his pacing, Nicky’s face is blank and Alex has no idea what he’s thinking. Nicky spins to face him. “I don’t want this.”

Miro hasn't even gotten a chance to meet Roman properly yet, since he only got to the team the day before, and now management is essentially assigning them to... fuck. Management is assigning them to fuck. The thought rings loud and clear in his head as he finally shakes Jim's hand and leaves the office. He can't remember the rest of the conversation, no matter how hard he tries. His brain is still stuck on management assigning him a fuckbuddy.

“You,” Alex says, pointing at him. “Me,” he continues, pointing back at himself. “Married.” “Oh,” Nicky says. “Oh.” [It doesn't go any smoother after that.]

When your love for someone or something changes, you get love fever. When you get love fever, you usually get a love rash: a nasty, persistent itch in the shape of flowers or birds or your lover's hands. Alex has always noticed that Nicky doesn't get love blisters, just like he's noticed how Nicky fumes after losses, and prefers lasagna to ziti, and likes his girlfriends to cut his hair. He just assumed Nicky was one of those lucky people, the ones who don't get the rash.

Nicky generally considers himself a fairly competent, attentive person, so the fact that it’s taken him years to figure out that Alex has been essentially dating him is...disappointing. And also exhilarating.

Nicky scores a hat trick, and gets an orgasm. Or three.

What is supposed to be a special night for them takes a seemingly nightmarish turn. (AKA the one where Nicky grows tentacles.)

There's no word in English rude enough for “holy shit, my long-term life partner turns into an angry crow once every ten years,” but there fucking should be.

Nicklas Backstrom knows that Alexander Ovechkin is his soulmate but they never talk about it.

Five people (well, technically six) who already knew Sasha and Nicky were together and the one person they surprised.

It isn't, Alex reflects inanely, the fact that Nicky isn't wearing his cuffs. They aren't even cuffs but magic-infused braided and inscribed leather bracelets, one on each wrist—Nicky pushes them up his forearms during every game. No, it's Nicky's anguished face when he takes them off.

“Think the storm did it,” Sasha tells the kids over lunch the next day. Andre got last place in their morning skate shootout contest, so he’s paying. “Did what?” Willy says through a mouthful of sushi. Sasha points at him with his chopsticks. “Your powers,” he says. “Snowzilla comes, suddenly everyone’s mutants? Something happened there, no other explanation.” Latts strokes his chin. “Didn’t the Flash get struck by lightning or something? It’s not totally crazy.”

“Best baby need best jersey,” Alex says blithely, which doesn’t actually answer the question. It does, however, tell Nicklas whose jersey it is, and sure enough when Alex lifts it up to put it back in the bag Nicklas can see the 8 and the 'OVECHKIN' emblazoned on the back. or, nicklas finds himself responsible for a baby. alex approves.

“So,” the first reporter asks, pushing forward in the scrum, “did you know about Alex Ovechkin?”

Alex loves his kids, he really does, but he also might kill them. That is, if they don't put him in a goddamn early grave first. (Cop bribing, theft of public property, and how to photoshoot your dick properly in order to seduce a teammate: all part of a captain's responsibilities to his rookies.)

“You can’t be picked if you’re married," Nicky says, like it's obvious. “I’m not married,” Alex replies. “You’re marrying me,” Nicky says, his jaw set. “You haven’t proposed."

Sid is almost 18 when he moves to Pittsburgh for a job--and the gay scene.

Either way, there was someone or something to blame for the fact that Jack ended up sending Connor Fucking McDavid a dick pic. Perhaps it was the universe as a whole.

“So you’re boyfriends?” Connor and Dylan exchange a glance, and then Dylan says, “That’s not quite the word I’d use.” (Or: 5 times Dylan and Connor technically told the truth about their relationship.)

It’s not - it’s not a thing. Really. Not a thing-thing, at the very least. He doesn't think it can be a thing if you only think about it and don't act on it, excepting that one time when Connor was straight up nailing him to the bed. He reasons that it certainly can't be a thing-thing if you've never even talked about it with your not-boyfriend. Dylan resolves to figure his shit out and have less hyphens involved in his life. (or: Connor McDaddy)