Ruth Sadelle Alderson

"At least it's warm here," Taylor says with a sigh the first time he Skypes Ryan from Tampa Bay. There's the blandness of a hotel room behind him but sunlight catching on his hair.

"Never be cold again," Ryan agrees. "I could go for some of that now."

"Yeah, sucks to be you."

Ryan flips him off. "You can work on your tan."

Taylor laughs, but his eyes are still shadowed.

"Hey, you okay?" They didn't get to talk yesterday, just a text from Taylor that he was throwing shit in a bag and getting on a plane.

Taylor shrugs. "I guess I get to play with Stamkos now."

Ryan's silent for a moment, waiting to see if he's going to say anything else. "Doesn't quite make up for it, does it?"

"No," Taylor says. "I miss Ebby."

It takes all of Ryan's effort not to laugh at the ongoing proof of their codependency. "It's only been one day. Should I be jealous?"

"Nah," Taylor says, "but I'm used to missing you."

*

"Hey, babe," Taylor says from yet another hotel room on the road, sounding distracted. Then his attention snaps to the screen and he frowns. "Where are you? I thought you were going to be home already."

"I am," Ryan says. He turns the laptop so the camera catches on the masking taped game puck on the table, the open closet full of Taylor's clothes, the view out the window. "Pulled a few strings, got myself a key."

"Oh, fuck you," Taylor says. He's grinning through the screen.

Ryan finds himself grinning back. "We could if you were here. We can when you get back."

Taylor leers at him. "My door's locked."

Ryan moves the laptop away from himself so the camera gets a better view of him unbuttoning his jeans. "So get your dick out for me."