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The Stanley Cup makes its grand entrance, a shimmering beacon of dreams come true. I watch, awe-struck, as it passes from player to player, each touch a benediction, a sealing of destinies.
When it reaches Mickey and Soren, something inside me shifts, settles into place. They lift it together, and I see the future reflected in the silver curve—their names etched alongside the greats, their legacy intertwined with mine.
“Soren! Mickey!” I shout, over and over until my voice cracks, but who cares? Let it crack. Let the world hear how much they mean to me—how their love, their passion, their strength lifts me up, makes me more than I ever thought I could be.
And as more confetti swirls around us, little flecks of gold against the stark white ice, I think of Fet—our Fet. She’ll be born into a world where her dads are champions of the ice, where her mom found courage in the arms of two men who redefined her understanding of love and desire.
As the team takes a lap, hoisting the Cup high, I let myself revel in the present, in the raw, beautiful chaos of life.
“Sabertooths!” The chant from the crowd doesn’t die down—it grows louder, a testament to the power of unity.
“Sabertooths!” I join in, one last time, throwing my head back and letting the sound carry me away. Because this—this is just the beginning.
I’m still buzzing with adrenaline when Mickey and Soren, the twin titans of ice, break away from their team’s ecstatic huddle. They barrel toward me, their skates cutting a victory lap short, and I know that look—the one that says they’re coming for me.
The crowd parts like a sea of jerseys and caps, an electric current of anticipation snapping through the air as they make their way.
“Make way!” Mickey bellows, his voice thundering over the din, commanding attention in a way that sends shivers racing down my spine.
Soren doesn’t shout; he doesn’t need to. His presence alone parts the masses, his green eyes locked on mine with a predatory focus that promises things—wild, dark things—that send a thrill of excitement straight to my core.
The fans are in on it, cheering, clapping, lifting their hands to help usher me forward like I’m crowd-surfing on waves of human excitement. My heart pounds out a frenzied rhythm, and I can’t help but laugh, this wild, half-hysterical sound that’s part relief, part sheer joy.
“Look at you two,” I gasp when they finally reach me, their hands finding purchase on my hips, guiding me through the last barriers until I’m at the very front. “Stanley Cup champions.”
“Only because we had our lucky charm,” Mickey retorts, winking, his silver eyes gleaming with mischief under the stark arena lights.
“Fuck luck,” Soren growls, pulling me close enough that I can feel the chill from his jersey against my skin. “We fought for every inch.” There’s a possessive edge to his voice, one that echoes deep in my belly.
And then they’re kissing me, right there in front of the other Sabertooths, the Hawks, the press, and an arena full of hockey fanatics.
Mickey’s lips are soft, a featherlight contrast to the hard lines of his body, while Soren’s kiss is all-consuming, demanding everything and giving back just as much. They stake their claim with every touch, every nip of teeth against my swollen lips, and I melt into them, my fingers tangling in their sweat-dampened hair.
“Wow, get a room!” someone in the crowd yells, but it’s all in good fun, laughter bubbling up around us.
They pull back slightly, both sets of eyes dark with promise, hands now resting protectively over the curve of my belly. The fabric of my top stretches tight over my skin, their numbers emblazoned across my chest like a badge of honor—a talisman against the world. It’s raw, it’s primal, and it’s ours.
As the clamor of celebration continues to crescendo around us, I lean into their shared warmth, feeling the echo of their heartbeats against my back and front. In the chaos of confetti and flashing cameras, amidst the roaring approval of thousands, I find a moment of profound clarity.
This is more than a game won. It’s life, it’s love—it’s a shared victory against all the odds stacked so high we couldn’t see the summit. But here we are, standing tall, basking in the glow of triumph.
“Never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m falling for hockey,” I murmur, a sly smile playing on my lips as I revel in the afterglow of intensity and passion.
“Or maybe just for a couple of hockey players,” Mickey teases, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
“Definitely the players,” I admit with a smirk, turning to catch Soren’s gaze, finding that spark of something fierce and tender that only he can ignite within me.
As the noise begins to ebb and the jubilant fans start to filter out, I stand sandwiched between my two champions, reflecting on this surreal slice of life. The Sabertooths have clawed their way to the top, defying expectations and rewriting narratives.
But so have I.
I’ve battled my own demons, skirted the edges of depression’s icy grip, and found solace in the arms of two men who taught me that strength isn’t just about enduring—it’s about embracing every facet of oneself. From responsible teacher to escort to expectant mother—I’ve worn many hats, played many roles, and each has led me here, to this nexus of joy and challenge.
Turning away from Soren, I wind my arms around Mickey’s neck, pulling him down so I can whisper in his ear. “I love you so fucking much, Mickey. Now, tomorrow, forever. You’re mine—” He cuts me off with a growl and quickly claims my lips in a desperate kiss.
With one last lick, I end the kiss before spinning around again, this time facing Soren. I slowly slide my hands up his arms until I reach his shoulders. Needing no prompt, he bends so I can place my lips against his ear.
“You’re mine,” I rasp. “And I love you so much it hurts—”
