There's a muffled thump and yell from Kaner's shower stall, and someone says, "are you trying to commit suicide in there, Kaner?" half-joking and half-worried. There's a worrying lack of reply, and everyone left in the showers — everyone goes quiet and worried. Johnny walks in then, towel slung over his shoulders and in his underwear, and everyone's gaze automatically swings to him. He looks back at them, kind of freaked-out and bruised about the eyes.
"What?" he asks.
"Uh," Frolik says, "Kaner..."
Johnny sighs and rubs his brow with the back of his hand. "I got it," he says, and strides over to Kaner's stall.
Except he doesn't really have it, because then he's muffling a curse and taking a step back, and Kaner's hand reaches out and yanks him in. Everyone exchanges really sceptical glances, and decide as one person to just carry on as per. The sound of showers being turned back on drowns out the whispered conversation going on in Kaner's stall.
"— you!" Kaner's hoarse whisper, higher pitched than usual, rises above the din.
"no — Kaner — don't!" Johnny half-shouts, strangled. But then Kaner's walking determinedly out of the stall into the common area, wrapped up in a towel; shorter and curvier and very definitely female.
Seabs drops his bottle of shampoo, and the hush spreads out.
"Shut up," Kaner says, though no-one's even said anything yet. It figures that crazy shit on this level would happen the same night they embarrass themselves in front of the home crowd. Johnny's at Kaner's heels, looking hilariously protective and fierce. He's hovering, a breath away from actually touching Kaner, like he's too scared to close that infinitesimal gap. "Is anyone still out there?" Kaner demands, eyebrows bristling.
Shawzy, the one closest to the door, takes a peek around the corner, and shakes his head.
"Okay." Kaner says, and continues his inexorable journey towards the locker room in his towel, which is miraculously staying up and not unravelling from around his chest. Johnny makes to follow him, but Kaner just whirls around — the edges of his towel-dress lift a bit, and everyone looks away as one. Kaner jabs a finger at him. "Stay. Shower. I'm going to be in the locker room."
Johnny draws his eyebrows together and opens his mouth to argue back, looking stormy.
"Tazer," Kaner says, looking irritated. Johnny deflates, a bit, and nods jerkily, before trudging into a stall.
There's an explosion of noise in the locker room a few seconds later, and Kaner yells above it all, "CLOSE YOUR FUCKING EYES, YOU PERVERTS. I'M PUTTING MY CLOTHES ON."
The guys rap their knuckles sympathetically on the tile of Johnny's stall as they file past, out into the locker room. He just tries to get through the shower as fast as he can; he can try to scrub the shame and disappointment from his skin later, when he's at home. Fuck, he's probably going to have to take Kaner home. And doesn't that sound fucking sordid, now that Kaner's ... the way Kaner is. It's not like Johnny hasn't seen Kaner naked before; he's had Kaner spread out underneath him, gasping and bucking and — but Kaner's new curves, the dusky patch of curls covering smooth skin, the empty space between Kaner's legs that Johnny's eyes had immediately dropped to when Kaner had turned around, startled and pinking up almost immediately. Johnny groaned and knocked his head against the wall, turning the water down to cold.
When Johnny walks back into the locker room, Kaner's slumped down low in his stall, legs splayed out indecently. Because he isn't wearing trousers. Just his button-down shirt and blazer, and ... tights.
"You aren't wearing pants."
Kaner looks up at him and grins; Johnny's relieved to know that's one thing that doesn't change whether Kaner's got a dick or not. "They were too big for me. Kate from PR had spare tights."
Johnny shakes his head and crosses over to Kaner, nudging at his knees. "Didn't your mother tell your sisters to keep their knees together?"
"Fuck you," Kaner says, "stop thinking about my sisters' knees."
Johnny rolls his eyes and goes to get his clothes back on. It's easier for him to talk to Kaner like this, back turned to him. It's easier when they're both trying to banter, to not let this on top of everything else destroy them. "I'm thinking about your knees, dumbass."
"And what's between them?" There's a smirk curling round Kaner's question; he can see the leer in his head. It's still annoyingly attractive. Johnny decides to turn around, and he jumps. Kaner's apparently a ninja now he's got a girl's body, because Kaner's just smiling up at him from a foot away. He's not wearing a bra, which. Of course he isn't. Kaner's smile is what other people may call tremulous, like he wasn't crying about an hour ago on the ice, but Johnny isn't other people. He reaches down to thumb at the corner of Kaner's smile, where it's kind of falling apart, a bit. Kaner reaches out to fumble at Johnny's buttons, do the last few of them up.
Johnny sucks in a quick breath as the backs of Kaner's knuckles brush against his belly; even through the cotton of his shirt the touch sends a jolt through him. It's almost like they're new to each other's bodies again, sensitive to each innocuous touch. Johnny lets his eyes trail down the line of Kaner's new shape, the way his shirt, now too broad for his shoulders, pulls tight over his chest and falls down to the tops of Kaner's thighs; he traces the muscled curve of Kaner's legs down to where they turn to feet.
"Oi," Kaner mutters, hitting him lightly in the stomach. "Eyes up here, bro."
Johnny can't help it. "But I have to look down anyway." He grins.
"Fuck you," Kaner says, but he says it almost lazily, and his hands are drifting lower, to belt level. "Where's your belt, fuckhead?"
Johnny blinks, and reaches blindly behind him for the strip of leather. He barely even breathes whilst Kaner is threading it through his belt loops, pulling it taut against his hips and drawing it through the buckle. Kaner's concentrating stupidly hard on it, and looks so pleased with himself when he's done. He rubs a finger over the metal of the buckle, chewing on his lip. Johnny can't take much more of that before he just throws down with Kaner in the locker room, and he hasn't got any condoms on him.
"Good job, buddy," Johnny tries to say, but it comes out more as a rasp.
Kaner looks up at him, knowing gleam in his eyes. He hooks his fingers through Johnny's belt loops and reels him in. Johnny goes, unresisting, and bends down to meet Kaner as Kaner tiptoes to press their lips together, lick his way hot and wet into Johnny's mouth. Johnny is acutely aware of the press of Kaner's teeth against his lips, and the press of Kaner's newly begotten breasts against his body. He keeps his arms stiff at his side, ignoring the whine at the back of Kaner's throat, the one that's Kaner wanting Johnny to touch him, draw him close. Johnny wants Kaner to lead this, for now. Kaner makes a frustrated noise and draws back, bouncing back down and rocking back onto his heels. His feet are bare, Johnny realises suddenly. He wants very badly to nose along the arch of Kaner's feet, all the way up the inseam of Kaner's tights.
"Your shoes too big?" Johnny asks, by way of distraction.
Kaner's mouth goes tight. "Yes. Johnny —"
"I'll carry you out," Johnny cuts him off, ignoring how silly that sounds.
He smiles when Kaner laughs at that, though it's kind of wild and edged with hysteria. "My hero," Kaner says sarcastically, but he stretches his arms out anyway, like a kid making with the carry-me arms. Johnny calls his bluff, and picks him up; it's entirely too easy, now that Kaner's even smaller and lighter than before. Kaner squeaks, and then clamps his teeth down on Johnny's shoulder before Johnny can even start mocking him for it. He does wrap his arms around Johnny, though, and turns his face into Johnny's neck.
"Let's hope there's no press outside," Johnny says. "Or you could put a cap on."
"Like that will help," Kaner says, and Johnny has to stop and shudder, because Kaner talking — mouthing his witty rejoinders right into Johnny's neck is. Too much, and now Kaner's snuffling his laughter wetly against Johnny's skin as well, and he's only human.
"Kaner," Johnny hisses. "Stop it."
And then Kate's emerging from the shadows and she looks tired and worn, though there's some amusement lurking in the back of her eyes. "Go home, boys," she says, jangling a set of car keys in her hand, handbag squeezed in under the same arm. "There's no one out there and I'll walk with you."
Johnny can feel Kaner bury a smile at being included in the "boys" against his neck, and feels infinitely grateful towards Kate the PR lady.
They walk out to the carpark together, and drop Kate off at her car first before detouring to Johnny's. Good thing Kaner'd been napping at Johnny's in the afternoon anyway. Kaner wriggles around a bit to reach into Johnny's breast pocket for his car keys.
"Jesus, Kaner," he snaps quietly. "I almost dropped you."
"You would never," Kaner says, looking up at him with the big eyes.
"Just open the goddamn doors," Johnny grunts, embarrassed.
There's a bit of a shuffle when they try to figure out how to open a car door without Johnny dropping Kaner.
Kaner sighs, exasperated. "Dude, you can put me down, you know. I'm not going to get tetanus from stepping on broken glass or whatever."
"I've got this," Johnny says, and "hah." He manages to get a door open and dumps Kaner unceremoniously into a seat.
Johnny insists on carrying Kaner up from the car too, and doesn’t that look fucking weird — Jonathan Toews with a curvy woman in a bridal carry rather than the giggling mass of limbs that usually is symptomatic of a drunken Kaner. It’s a good thing there’s a lift that takes them directly from the underground carpark to Johnny’s floor.
“I’m starting to think you have a thing for this,” Kaner says when they’re waiting in the lift.
Kaner thumps him on the arm. “This. Carrying me around.”
Johnny tenses up a bit, and Kaner can probably tell, but — it’s true, though, he does like that Kaner is that much smaller than him now. Kaner’s still all compact muscle; he’s a solid weight in Johnny’s arms, but he’s small enough that it’s easy for Johnny to be carting him around. It’s … nice. And it’s confusing enough that he says the first thing that comes to mind. “What, you jealous?”
Kaner snorts out a startled laugh. “That doesn’t even make any sense, you asshole. So, do you?
...oh my god, you do!” He crows when Johnny works his jaw, thinking desperately of a way not to say yes.
“Fine! Fine, maybe I do.” Johnny says grumpily.
“Fuck maybe, you love it. Hey, you can totally carry me around when I’m back to being a dude, no sweat.”
The lift pings and the doors slide open as Johnny’s trying to think of a way to say “if, maybe” without dampening Kaner’s confidence. He doesn’t even really want to; he can see the strain around Kaner’s eyes.
Kaner swipes his house keys this time, and, okay, Johnny could get used to Kaner wriggling easily around in his hold like this. He kind of wishes it didn’t mean Kaner still was a girl, though.
When they get into the flat Johnny tosses Kaner onto the couch.
“Jesus, do you have a thing about my feet touching the floor or what?” Kaner snipes, but he’s smiling. So he has a thing for being carried by Johnny; good to know. Johnny goes to get his laptop. Google, hopefully, will provide the answer to their problems. Or just this one, he doesn’t want to see what the uninformed idiots on the internet have to say about hockey. This is a pretty important problem, though.
“Shut up,” he says absently, as he tries different search strings. Kaner’s pressed up along his back, muffling laughter into the nape of his neck as the keywords Johnny uses get more and more outrageous.
The conclusive answer, apparently, is sex.
Well, it’s not like they weren’t going to, but that’s good to know.
“What kind of sex?” Kaner wonders. There’s a wicked curl to his lips as he looks at Johnny, but there’s a flush high on his cheeks and down his neck too.
Johnny smirks right back at Kaner and slides a hand deliberately up the curve of Kaner’s calf. “We’ll just have to do this by trial and error, won’t we?”
Kaner laughs at him, and bats his hand away. “Okay, tights off!” Kaner declares, and cheerfully rucks his shirt up to start pulling at the waist of his tights. It’s immediately obvious that Kaner is not wearing underwear either, and Johnny’s mouth goes dry. He reaches out to stay Kaner’s hands and slides to his knees in front of Kaner. “...Johnny?” Kaner’s voice wavers, a bit.
“Wait,” Johnny tells him hoarsely, pulling Kaner’s hands away from the tops of Kaner’s legs and pressing them firmly against the back of the couch.
“Okay,” Kaner says, dragging out the last syllable, but he keeps his hands still.
Johnny shuffles back a bit and lifts Kaner’s left leg up by the ankle, leans in to nose along the dip between knob of the joint and his heel and up the seam of his tights, over the inside of his leg.
Kaner sputters with disbelieving laughter. “What the fuck are you doing, Johnny? Is this what you do with the girls?”
“No,” Johnny murmurs into the hollow behind his knee, and looks up through his lashes at Kaner. He smiles, enjoying the way Kaner’s going red. “Just you.”
Kaner’s quiet after that, just the sound of his breathing quickening as Johnny gets closer to the join of pelvis and thigh, and slowing again when Johnny switches to the other leg.
“Come on,” he whines, when Johnny makes sure to take his time up Kaner’s right thigh. He’s squirming very slightly in his seat, and Johnny can smell his musk strong in the warmth between his legs. Johnny smirks, and presses an open mouthed kiss swiftly to the damp nylon sheer over Kaner’s cunt, revels in the gasp that tears out of Kaner, like he’s just punched Kaner in the stomach. “Okay,” Kaner says, “tights off now? Please?”
Johnny probably could tear the nylons off Kaner if he wanted to; they’re so thin and Kate’s never going to want them back. He decides to make Kaner wait instead. “In a bit,” he mumbles, and presses his mouth against the outline of Kaner’s swollen labia, runs his tongue up and down the indent betwixt. Kaner’s breathing very shallowly above him now, and his thigh is trembling underneath Johnny’s left hand. Johnny slides that hand further up and sweeps his thumb out in search of Kaner’s clitoris, keeps it there and rubs in steady circles as Kaner’s breath gets increasingly ragged.
“J-Johnny,” Kaner’s moaning, “please.”
Well, okay then. Johnny reaches down to adjust himself, before kneeling up to nudge Kaner’s shirt up and suck at the skin at his navel whilst rolling his tights down to Kaner’s knees. He dives back into licking at slick, swollen flesh, pressing his tongue in and up in deliberate strokes till Kaner’s hands fly to his hair and tug him insistently up. Johnny laughs, even as he buries his nose into coarse, dark blond curls and inhales wet through his nose and mouth, slipping a finger into Kaner as he teases at Kaner’s clit with his tongue. The room is filled with the sounds of Kaner’s inchoate moans, barely aspirated ah, ah, ahs caught in his throat, and the filthy slick noises of Johnny fucking Kaner with one finger, then two, as he sucks on Kaner’s clit. Johnny’s chin is getting really wet.
He scrapes his teeth lightly over Kaner’s clit, and again when Kaner lets out a shriek and bucks, his body curving forward over Johnny; his thighs locking tight and tense around Johnny’s head; his vagina spasming hard and tight around Johnny’s fingers. Johnny works Kaner through it, wrings every last tremble and tremor from Kaner’s body.
“I,” Kaner gasps as his hips move in little jerks against Johnny’s hold on them, “I thought I was the one with the - ah - teeth thing.”
Johnny murmurs, “you are the one with the teeth thing” around Kaner’s clit, letting his tongue flick out against the swollen, red nub of it. Kaner’s fingers flex in his hair and pull him away. Johnny rests his head on Kaner’s thigh, thrown over his shoulder, and traces patterns into the skin of Kaner’s other thigh as Kaner comes down from his orgasm.
“Johnny,” Kaner says breathlessly, pulling him back up to lean against him. “I want you to fuck me.”
Johnny pulls back a bit. “Bed.”
“Couch,” Kaner insists, tugging Johnny back and wrapping his legs around Johnny’s waist.
Johnny growls a bit and he’s, okay, he’s fascinated by how Kaner goes more limbless at that. But — “condoms, Kaner.”
Kaner rolls his eyes and tightens his thighs, and fuck, he can feel how wet Kaner is through his pants. “I’m not going to get pregnant, Johnny.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” Johnny grits out, and reaches down to hold Kaner still. “Bed, come on.”
Kaner sighs, but untangles them, lets his legs drop — open, and Johnny loses track, for a bit, just staring down at Kaner, who’s looking up at him with a lazy smirk, warm and inviting.
“You going to pick me up again?” Kaner asks, and laughs at Johnny when he does pick Kaner up, hands sliding round under his shoulders and the slick backs of Kaner’s thighs. Kaner kisses Johnny enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s neck like some kind of disney princess; he doesn’t kiss like one, though, all dirty tongue and teeth, and he pulls at Johnny’s lower lip with his teeth when they part. Johnny’s so fucking hard in his pants it’s starting to hurt.
When they get to their bed Johnny just drops Kaner onto it and starts fumbling at his belt. “Take your shirt off,” he tells Kaner, as he finally manages to unlatch the belt and undo his fly, shoving it off his hips together with his tragically stained boxer briefs. Kaner ignores Johnny, and crawls towards him. “No,” he says firmly, when Kaner reaches out for his dick, so hard it’s slapping against his belly with every step he takes. Kaner pouts up at him, but he stays firm. “You can blow me later; I’m fucking you now.”
Kaner’s still got curves the next morning, and he groans when his fingers quest down between his legs and meet nothing, the other arm flung over his eyes.
“We’ve got the whole day,” Johnny tries, and gets smacked in the face for his effort.
Kaner lowers the arm over his eyes and glares. “Stop being such a horndog.”
“I was just saying,” Johnny protests.
“Fuck off, I want pancakes.” Kaner nudges at Johnny until he rolls out of bed, and then wolf-whistles when Johnny bends over to pull his underwear on. He’s grinning when Johnny looks back over his shoulder to give Kaner a reproving look, and makes a shooing gesture. “Well? Pancakes?”
“Fuck you,” Johnny says, as he leaves the bedroom, and almost trips over his feet when Kaner, the bastard, says “mmm, later, I promise,” in honeyed tones, before dozing off again.
He’s flipping the last of the pancakes over when Kaner finally emerges from their room with a truly epic case of bedhead and one of Johnny’s shirts. It’s even bigger on Kaner than Kaner’s own, obviously, and Johnny almost lets the pancake burn with the way his attention is caught by how the sleeves slip over Kaner’s knuckles and the collar exposes his collar bone.
Kaner trudges right up to Johnny as he’s sliding the last pancake onto the stack and wraps his arms around Johnny, pressing his nose into Johnny’s side. “Mmm, pancakes,” Kaner mumbles. “Morning, gorgeous.” He pulls away after this pronouncement to rummage through the cupboards for the syrup, standing on tiptoe. Johnny puts the plate of pancakes onto the kitchen counter and sits, waiting for Kaner to give up and ask Johnny to get the syrup for him. It’s never going to happen, so he’s basically just waiting for Kaner to climb up a chair; it’s prime blackmail material. Not that he’s ever going to be able to tell anyone but the guys.
He hides a smile in his coffee.
Johnny waits till after all the dishes have been dried and put away to crowd Kaner up against the kitchen counter and kiss him breathless. “It’s later now,” he says with a grin, and Kaner grins back. He makes to lever himself up on the kitchen top, but Johnny stops him. “No,” says Johnny, "like this," and turns him around, sliding his hands down to flirt with the bottom of the shirt. He slides his hands up, rucking the shirt up to hold Kaner’s breasts in his hands, and rub at Kaner’s nipples till they pebble and Kaner’s legs are spread for him. “Good boy,” Johnny growls at the back of Kaner’s neck, thrusts a bit into the cleft of his ass. “Stop fucking teasing and get to it,” Kaner growls back, grinds his ass back against Johnny pointedly. Johnny bites at his neck in response, and sucks hard, as he lets go of Kaner’s breasts to shove his boxers down; he doesn’t even know why he put them on in the first place. He nudges Kaner’s legs apart slightly more and reaches around to get him wet, except he already is. This makes Johnny groan. Kaner’s smirking; he just knows this.
“I’ve been wet forever, Johnny,” Kaner says, in the same honeyed tones that got them here. Again.
“Okay, okay,” Johnny says, but he’s kind of distracted by stroking his fingers through the gathering moisture and sweeping it up and down Kaner’s cunt, holding Kaner open for his dick.
“Fuck,” Kaner chokes out when he thrusts all the way in in one stroke, and starts moaning incoherently when Johnny starts pounding into him, his thumb pressing against the side of his clit and the other hand flattened against his belly. Kaner’s wet and hot around him, tight as anything and — fuck, the sound of Kaner’s desperate babbling as he fucks back against Johnny, as he moans into Kaner’s ear as well, biting down on the pulse point behind his ear because it feels too fucking good is almost too much. and Kaner thinks so too, from the way he’s getting close so quickly; Johnny can tell from how strained he sounds, how his vagina’s tightening more arrhythmically around Johnny. Johnny’s right on the edge, too, and he desperately nudges at Kaner’s face with his nose, gets him to turn his face around so that Johnny can kiss him, let Kaner fuck his mouth with his tongue, moaning into each other’s mouths as Johnny comes first. Kaner lets out a startled gasp when he does, from the way his cock pulses and his hips stutter without rhythm. Johnny pulls out immediately and drops to his knees, turns Kaner around and licks his way into the mess inside of Kaner. Fucks Kaner with his tongue and thumb on his clitoris till he’s crying out above Johnny, pushing down towards him so his tongue can get deeper. Kaner slides down into Johnny’s lap, after that, and they sit there, weak-limbed against the counter, breathing against each other.
They go another round in the shower, getting themselves clean, dirty, and clean again as Kaner displays the fact that having different bits hasn’t changed his ability to give absolutely filthy blowjobs.
“Maybe it’ll take some time to take,” Kaner says doubtfully, cupping one of his breasts in a hand and thumbing at his nipple idly. Johnny rolls over and buries his face into a pillow.
An attempt to take a break and play some Mario Kart ends up with Johnny’s face buried in between Kaner’s thighs again as he trembles and tenses all around him, knees locking Johnny’s head in. All because Kaner’d actually won, for once, and shouted “SUCK MY DICK” before throwing his controller at Johnny triumphantly.
Kaner does suck Johnny off in return, though, so that’s okay.
“You really like giving me head,” Kaner observes thoughtfully over dinner — Thai takeaway. Johnny went down to get it from the deliveryman, because his entire apartment smells like sex and sweat, and Kaner refuses to even keep a shirt on anymore. The curtains are all drawn.
“So do you,” Johnny counters.
“Yeah, but,” Kaner says, and gesticulates wildly with his chopsticks. “Not so much when I have a dick.”
Johnny can feel himself flush. “It’s … different.”
“It’s not the novelty factor, so should I be worried?”
God, Kaner. Johnny rolls his eyes and leans over to kiss Kaner quickly. “No, asshole, I’m not going to go down on or blow anyone other than you.”
Kaner’s clinging to Johnny as they lie tangled together atop the sheets, cooling off after their last round.
“What if I don’t turn back tomorrow?” Kaner’s eyes are big and worried. “I can’t not show up for media day. I can’t —”
Johnny covers Kaner’s mouth with his hand.
“You will,” Johnny says determinedly, willing it to be. “Stop fucking worrying about it and go to sleep.”
Kaner lets out a shaky breath and smiles weakly. “If you say so, captain.”
They fall asleep like that, pressed up against each other, hoping against hope.
Morning of Wednesday, Johnny’s woken up by Kaner shouting “SWEET FUCKING PENIS”. His voice back to its normal register and his eyes more than slightly manic with glee. He’s kneeling up over Johnny and literally grabbing his junk right in Johnny’s face but Johnny’s so fucking glad he doesn’t bitch too much about it.
There’s a knot of anxiety unravelling low in his gut, and it makes Johnny reckless, makes him feel loose and easy enough to tease, interrupting Kaner in, jesus, his cooing at his fucking dick. “You sure it still works?”
Kaner freezes, and then he’s giving Johnny the big betrayed eyes, biting his lip and ducking his head to look at Johnny through his eyelashes. “That,” he says, voice hushed and thrumming with mischief, “is a totally horrible thing to say, Jonathan.” And then he’s scooting back down the length of Johnny’s body and saying “I’ll show you”, before leaning down to suck a bruise right next to the other one on Johnny’s collarbone.
“We’ve got to get to the centre,” Johnny points out. His hands settle on Kaner’s hips anyway, sweep up the smooth linearity of his sides, over his back and down to the swell of his ass. He pulls Kaner closer to him, and grins when he feels Kaner’s dick hardening against him.
Kaner gasps, and looks away from the clock to glare at him, going slightly cross-eyed from their proximity. “We’ve got time,” he groans, and grinds back down against Johnny.
Shawzy practically runs up to hug Kaner when they get back to the locker room.
“You’re back!” the kid says.
Kaner rolls his eyes but reaches up to pat him on the head anyway. “I never was gone, rookie.”