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The night of the Champs for Charity game, Jonny fucks Patrick.

He takes his time drawing Patrick to the point of orgasm and then pulling away, leaving him frustrated, desperate and shaking. Patrick’s eyes are wet with tears but blown black, the pupil swallowing up any hint of color. His fingers are sliding over Jonny's sweat-slick skin and the words coming out of his mouth don't even make sense. He keeps muttering what he thinks are pleas for Jonny to let him come. Jonny hovers over him, free hand pressing just under Patrick’s ribs. He’s focused on Patrick’s face, eyes dark with want, his gaze intense and inscrutable. He’s looking at Patrick like he’s the only thing in his world, the be all and end all of this moment. It drives Patrick crazy, makes him want in ways he never has before, to be the center of the same dumb intensity and focus that Jonny only gets around hockey. That Patrick is as important to Jonny as hockey leaves him aching and hard and desperate all at once.

“Please,” he rasps. His voice feels like he’s been swallowing sand and he knows it’s something much more desperate than that; thinks of the time he spent on his knees before the game and just after, like Jonny’s trying to get as much of himself in Patrick as he can before he loses him to Switzerland.

Jonny wraps his fingers around Patrick's throat, thumb resting just under his jaw. He squeezes lightly, leaning down to kiss Patrick, biting into his mouth and swallowing down the whines and moans. Patrick stills a little under Jonny's hands, feels the tight constriction against his throat and craves more. He's so hard he feels like he's going to die if he doesn't come and he can't make Jonny move, can't get friction. He rakes his nails down Jonny's back, arching as best he can against the pressure on his hips. There's nothing to find; Jonny isn't even inside of him yet, just fingering him open, his thumb rubbing against the back of his balls and he tries to ask, tries to swallow against the feel of Jonny's fingers against his neck.

"Please," he gets out, strangled and desperate. He sobs and twists his hips, dropping his hands to the bed and bunching the sheets between his fingers. His voice gets increasingly more desperate as he calls out Jonny's name. "Jonny, Jonny, Jonny."

Jonny thrusts with his fingers, pressing hard against his prostate. He keeps his fingers there, massaging and pressing alternately and Patrick babbles incoherently into the air between them, filtering off into nothing. He mouths Jonny’s name silently at the ceiling, heels digging into the mattress as he arches completely off the bed. His dick is leaking against his stomach, smearing pre-cum into his skin and he wants to come, is so desperate for it that he feels like he’s flaying apart. He can’t come; Jonny hasn’t told him that he can, it doesn’t even look like he’s going to any time soon. He doesn’t back off anymore, just keeps massaging Patrick’s prostate until every nerve in Patrick’s body is on fire and the only thing he can think of is Jonny and how desperately he wants to come. Jonny shifts on the bed, Patrick feels the brush of fabric against his cock and it sends another thrill of arousal up his spine and he’s making whimpering, mewling noises because he doesn’t know how to talk.

Leaning down to capture Patrick’s bottom lip between his teeth, Jonny’s fingers spread a little until Patrick feels as full as he does with Jonny’s cock inside of him, skin crawling with want and when Jonny finally says, "You can come, Patrick," Patrick does, an orgasm so strong that he blacks out.

He comes to still trembling, shuddering as he stares up at the ceiling. He can hear Jonny padding out of the bathroom, knows that he’s carrying a washcloth. Patrick just stares at him as he unfurls Patrick’s hands from the sheets, stroking the palms gently before he starts to clean up. When he’s done, he sets the washcloth aside and cups Patrick’s jaw in his left hand, thumbs his bottom lip and says, “You’re okay, Patrick.”

“Asshole,” Patrick says, but it comes out more like “Ungh.”

Jonny smirks because he really is an asshole, but he’s an asshole that gathers Patrick up in his arms and draws him close to his body. He takes Patrick’s jaw between his fingers and digs in until it hurts. “You’re okay.”

Patrick can only blink at him slowly. Jonny’s face is as intense as it ever is; only he could feel like he has to win at fucking Patrick, like he’s going to lose everything if he makes one wrong move. Patrick stares back with glassy eyes, body trembling under Jonny’s hands and doesn’t know how to say you won’t lose me. He can barely focus enough to know that he wants Jonny forever, for always.

“You don’t come in Switzerland without my say so.”

Patrick thinks it’s a fucking dick move to get him to agree to things when he’s just come down from a spectacular orgasm but he nods anyway, tips his head forward against Jonny’s chest and closes his eyes.



When Jonny leaves in the morning he says, “I sent you an email,” and just stares intently at Patrick, like he’s going to open up his laptop right then and there.

“I’ll read it in Switzerland, you freak.” Patrick bodily shoves him out the door and slams it in his face before he can say anything dumb like goodbye. He stares at it for a while, picturing Jonny pressing his hand to it and closing his eyes. Not that Jonny goes in for any of that dramatic romance stuff. He ends up trying to picture Jonny waving him off with like a handkerchief or something and it’s hilarious enough that he’s still laughing when his mom comes to pick him up.



He thumbs through his phone at the airport, checking up on last minute texts before he boards the plane. He decides to check Jonny’s email or risk about fifty messages waiting for him when he lands in Switzerland.

When it opens, Patrick stares at it and then drops his phone into his lap. Jonny has finally cracked. He must have like, hit his head really hard at the Champs for Charity game and given himself secondary concussion. That is the only explanation he has for what Jonny thought would be the right thing to send at four am on the morning after he fingered Patrick seven ways from Sunday.

The body of the email just says, “don’t fuck seguin” because Jonny doesn’t know what capital letters are and he’s a controlling asshole even when he’s miles away, and attached to it is a spreadsheet that Patrick reluctantly opens. It’s color-coded with tabs and he’s not sure whether he wants to punch Jonny in the mouth or laugh in his face.

Calling him in the middle of the airport is a really bad fucking idea and Patrick knows something about those, so he settles for sending Jonny a message. YOU SENT ME A JERK-OFF SCHEDULE FOR SWITZERLAND?!

The reply comes back almost immediately. yes.

If Patrick’s mom wasn’t right there. Patrick has to settle for internally seething. He hates having a touch screen in moments like this; he wants one of those old nokias, so that he can slam down on the keys in his rage and not damage his phone. Damn, those things were hardcore. Jonny isn’t hardcore. He is a douchebag.

I’m not sticking to it. You can’t control my orgasms.

He doesn’t get a reply and puts his phone away, satisfied. He’s totally won this thing.



Patrick flops down onto the hotel bed when they arrive, burying his face in the pillows. His mom is in the room next door, he can hear her doing whatever. They’re not going to be able to move into the apartment he’s renting for the duration of his stay in Switzerland until that weekend, so they have four days in a hotel. Patrick’s kind of grateful because the last thing he wants to be doing after landing in a new country is unpacking shit and making his apartment look lived in. He doesn’t really want to make it lived in, anyway, because it’s not Chicago. He really fucking loves Chicago but he’s not going to think about missing it because then he’ll think about missing Jonny. The only way out of that is at the bottom of a bottle, and he’s pretty sure his mom is going to be riding his ass where alcohol is concerned after his Cinco de Mayo breakdown. Ugh whatever. He’s totally got this.

He turns his phone on because he wants to see Jonny’s epic bitchfit as his loss. Instead, the only text he has is from Sharpy telling him that Tazer is already being insufferable. Whatever, maybe he’s just sulking because he can’t compete with Patrick’s awesome shut down of his stupid spreadsheet. Patrick totally doesn’t care.

At all.



He knows Jonny is crazy. This is the dude that called up all of Patrick’s bros after Madison to threaten them. So what if he only really sent them texts saying NO, which most of them took to mean that he was threatening to fuck their shit up if they came near Patrick again. It wouldn’t have worked for anyone else but Jonathan Toews is Jonathan Toews and he sort of has those crazy eyes that make people think he’s going to gut them if they do something wrong to Patrick. At the time, Patrick called him out on being a dick and shouted at him for half an hour straight about interfering in his life and ruining everything. He ran out of fight pretty quickly, sagged against Jonny who cupped the back of his head, kissed him on the forehead and said, “I got you.” He still does, still has Patrick, still looks out for him. Apparently that now translates to sending Patrick a jerk-off schedule so that he can take care of Patrick in the only way he knows how when they’re thousands of miles apart. Freak.

It’s not like Patrick to not test Jonny, though, so instead of looking at the damn spreadsheet, he settles back on the bed with his laptop, some headphones and what’s bound to be terrible porn. The problem, he realizes quickly, is that he’s not used to needing porn to get off. Jonny’s a pretty insistent sexual partner and it’s not like Patrick ever feels desperate for it. When they’re on different sides of the world, however, just thinking about Jonny’s face and his dumb smile and the way his hands roam all over Patrick’s body isn’t enough. It used to be, before they got their shit together and managed to have an emotional conversation about feelings without simultaneously breaking down. Now Patrick thinks Jonny’s whammied him with some weird hypnotic, look into my crazy eyes and love me always shit, where he can’t get off unless Jonny is present. Fuck that. He works his pants down anyway, he’s got the porn, he might as well use it. It’s pretty shitty but the smaller guy is working up some pretty great noises when Patrick’s phone rings.

He debates not answering it but even from here he can see Jonny’s face if he doesn't answer and even the picture of Jonny on the screen is looking judgemental. Shit. He uses his free hand to pause the video and fumble for the phone. “Hi, Jonny.”

“Are you jerking off?” Jonny sounds pissed off, like Patrick has personally affronted him by jerking off while answering the phone.

“Nope,” Patrick answers. He’s not really lying because he’s not even totally hard. His fingers are still wrapped around his dick but that’s because Jonny’s on the phone and his voice is kind of low.

Jonny sighs. Patrick can almost see the expression on his face and yeah, okay, maybe he’s not totally incapable of getting hard when Jonny’s not present. Phone sex is awesome. Patrick opens his mouth to ask for it, when Jonny says, “It’s not on your schedule, Kaner.”

Patrick literally has to stop and think. “Wha?”

Jonny doesn’t say anything, the douchebag, and it gives Patrick the time to remember what he’s talking about. When he does, he whines, “Jonny.”


It’s kind of final, that tone of voice, but Patrick is nothing if not persistent. “Look, just-”

“It’s there for a reason,” and that’s totally unfair.

“You’re not supposed to use that voice when you’re not in the room,” Patrick gasps out, hips thrusting into his hands because that’s the voice Jonny uses when he wants Patrick to kneel, or turn over, or come, Patrick. Patrick really, really wants to come. “Please.”

There’s some rustling on the other side of the phone and Patrick hopes that it’s Jonny getting with the program. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Patrick whines, digs his heels into the mattress.

“Stop jerking off, asshole,” and Patrick drops his hand. Jesus. That voice is really fucking annoying. Now Patrick’s hard and he’s not even allowed to touch himself.

“When you’re gone, can I-”

“No,” Jonny says again, and this time he’s breathing hard into the phone because he really is an asshole and he wants Patrick to die. “Look at the fucking spreadsheet.”

He hangs up.

Patrick stares at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was thinking getting involved with such an inconsiderate douchebag. He shuts the laptop and moves it to the floor so that he can roll over and sulk. He hopes he can dream his boner away. Fucking Jonny.



The next day, Patrick gets introduced to the team, has his photo taken a lot and spends the whole time wishing it was Chicago, wishing he could trade the blue and yellow for red and white. He pastes a smile on his face and tries to understand most of what’s being said around him but he’s pretty crap at languages. He thinks vaguely about texting Jonny a few times but he’s still not totally okay with that. He meets Tyler, who he already knows so it’s not like they have to get over the awkward first introductions. Segs gives him the brofist and Patrick’s feeling good for the first time that day, through hockey practice and then Segs asking if he wants to hit the bars with his new teammates. Patrick’s mom is okay with it, although she spends about ten minutes telling him that if he does anything to publicly embarrass himself, she’s calling his father. He never wants to get that disappointed talk from his dad ever again, so Patrick promises.

Jonny doesn’t text when Patrick tells him that he’s going out. It’s not completely unusual but Patrick doesn’t know whether that’s because he’s still pissed about last night or because he’s trying not to smother Patrick or whatever. He hopes it’s the latter. He’s three drinks in and definitely not embarrassing himself, when the no-text thing becomes clear. He’s explaining something to Segs that includes waving his arms around in a crazy manner and almost knocking two of his new teammates off of their chairs, when his phone rings, vibrating across the table.

Segs looks down at it and then back at Patrick with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, it’s your brofriend.”

“What the fuck is a brofriend?” Patrick asks, even as he’s reaching for the phone and answering it. “Hey Jonny.”

“Patrick,” Jonny says, and his voice is low and rough. Oh no. Fuck no.

“You’re an asshole,” Patrick says, waving a hand at Segs in dismissal when he raises his eyebrows again. “What the fuck, Jonny?”

Jonny makes a low, grunting sound that he seems to have perfected in just a few days and jesus, it shouldn’t even be sexy. Patrick is absolutely not going to get hard at this table because that would be awkward and wrong. “I said you couldn’t jerk-off.”

If Jonny is that coherent, maybe he’s having the same trouble Patrick is about getting it up when he’s alone. Patrick has to excuse himself right the fuck now. He covers the mouthpiece and says, “Be right back.”

Segs just grins at him but it’s not like he knows what’s up, so he’s probably just being weird. Patrick disappears into the club bathroom, shutting himself in a stall. Jonny’s still panting and moaning in his ear and fuck this, fuck everything. “Jonny.”

“Don’t touch yourself,” Jonny gasps and Patrick wants to curse him out, wants to throw his phone at the wall.

“I can hang up,” he bites out. He totally can’t and they both know it. Can’t hang up when Jonny’s panting his name into the phone like that. Sometimes it’s nice knowing that this gets to Jonny as much as it gets to him, is all. Jonny just snorts and then his breath hitches. Patrick can picture it too well; Jonny on his back on the bed, pants shoved down and fingers wrapped around his cock. He knows exactly how Jonny likes it, the way he’ll tighten or loosen his fist on the upstroke depending on the way Patrick’s looking at him, the way his face shifts when he comes. Patrick’s hard in his jeans and there’s no way he’s going to be able to go back out there if Jonny doesn’t let him- “Please.”

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing. The stalls in this bathroom are really fucking dirty but he’s not sure his legs are going to hold him up for long if Jonny keeps this up.

“Don’t fucking come.” This time Jonny snaps the words, grunting and breath hitching and Patrick knows those sounds, knows that he’s close. “If you fucking-”

“I’m not,” Patrick growls, banging his head back against the stall door. Fuck. Fuck. He cups his dick anyway because he’s not actually touching himself if it’s through clothes and Jonny can go to hell. The sounds Jonny’s making through the phone put the shitty porno so far to shame that it won’t ever dig its way out. Patrick really fucking hopes he misses Jonny’s call next time, just so that he’ll have those noises saved as a voicemail. If Jonny ever finds out, he’ll probably pitch a fit, but it would be so, so worth it. “You gotta be-”

“Yeah,” Jonny groans. “Keep-”

“I’d suck you off,” Patrick says smoothly, not even fighting to find the words. “Let you grip my hair and fuck my face.”

Just the thought of that is working for Patrick as much as it’s apparently working for Jonny. “Fuck.”

“Jonny, Jonny.”

“Yeah, Kaner,” and Jonny’s coming. Patrick can’t help but picture it and jesus, jesus, he really wants to come right now and fuck Jonny, fuck everything and -

He stares down at the phone and listens to Jonny get himself back under control. He asks, knows it’s futile, but he’s so hard he could probably come from Jonny just saying that he can. “I gotta-”

“No.” Jonny sounds as wrecked as he gets, half-panting, half-sighing. “Not yet. Tomorrow, Pat.”

Pat. Patrick closes his eyes and listens to Jonny actually say goodbye this time. It takes him fifteen minutes to get himself under control enough to leave the bathroom.



Patrick actually looks at the schedule when he gets back to the hotel. There are two green blocks for that night and the next. Patrick’s been hard twice now with no release and if Jonny thinks he’s going to cockblock again, he’s fucking wrong okay. Patrick is definitely coming two nights in a row and it’s going to be awesome. He makes sure that his mom has plans for both nights, mostly for checking over his apartment. She just gives him an amused look and agrees and he absolutely does not think too much into that.

This time he doesn’t even need the porn. He’s sure he could get it up just by remembering the way Jonny had sounded on the phone earlier, the way Patrick’s name had fallen out of his mouth, wrecked and desperate. He’s getting into a comfortable rhythm, head resting on one arm while the other jerks his cock, when his phone rings.

“Fucking-” Patrick curses and lifts his head to grab for the phone. “You better fucking-”

Jonny starts talking over him. He’s not even being remotely sexy, just talking about how hot it was earlier in his awkward, monotone away and it for as much as it's not sexy, Patrick is pretty fucking turned on. It was kind of hot earlier, though, and Patrick closes his eyes, letting the sounds of Jonny’s voice wash over him. It has the same effect it always does except this time Jonny’s actually letting him jerk-off, letting him twist his wrist in the way Jonny would if he was here. Moans catch in the back of his throat and Jonny cuts himself off abruptly, tells Patrick to open his eyes. Patrick does as Jonny asks, turns his face into the pillow so that he can stare at the dumb photo of Jonny he uploaded on his phone. He’s in that comfortable space he occupies every time Jonny talks to him during sex, zoning in on Jonny’s voice until it’s the only thing he’s aware of. His breath slows, his hand almost an afterthought as he strokes himself. There could be an avalanche and Patrick won’t be able to move, won’t be able to do anything until Jonny tells him that he can. Jonny’s speaking to him in low tones now, telling Patrick that he’s good, so good, that he’s going to get what he wants. Patrick believes him.

“Speak to me Kaner.”

Patrick whimpers. “Can’t.”

It sounds desperate to the part of Patrick that’s still aware, wrecked and vulnerable and desperate. He’s not ashamed because it’s not as if he knows how to be when he’s like this; there’s just the hand on his dick that he’s not even sure is moving anymore, and Jonny’s voice in his ear. The same voice that’s coaxing Patrick to talk to him, to say something. Arousal coils low in Patrick’s belly as he shivers through the next few jerks of his hand. He turns his head into the arm he’s thrown up against the headboard, buries his face in his bicep. “Jonny, I fucking can’t, I really need-”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, the low, hard voice he uses when he’s telling Patrick he can come. Patrick sucks in a breath, hopeful, and he loosens his fist, stops stroking his dick because he can do this from Jonny just saying - “I got you. Do it for me.”

Patrick shudders through his orgasm, feeling it from head to toe, whining out Jonny’s name as he comes.

He blinks at the phone when Jonny says, “You did good, Patrick,” and hangs up. He falls asleep like that, a stupid fucking smile on his face.



“So,” Segs says when he gets to the rink the next morning. “You and Tazer.”

Patrick’s lacing up his skates and he decided to use that as an excuse not to look up. “Me and Tazer what?”

Segs throws an arm around his shoulder and shakes him a little. “Dude, I get it.”

“There’s nothing to get.”

“Uh-huh,” Segs says, sceptically. “And disappearing off to the bathroom when Jonathan Toews calls for about half an hour is normal for everyone?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says, grinning. He aims for the kind of douchey he knows people expect of him. “Dude’s got an awesome behind.”

Segs just snorts. “So has Sidney Crosby, but you don’t see me creaming my pants in a Swiss bar bathroom for him.”

“Dude,” Patrick says because no thanks. Okay, that’s a total lie. He doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Sidney Crosby’s ass but he knows he and Johnny are like, East to West coast buddies or whatever, and he can’t deny that watching Jonny fuck Sidney Crosby would be hot. He’d want in on it, of course, but whatever. The point is, “I was not creaming my pants.”

It’s not a lie because Johnny is a fucking cockblock, okay, not that Segs has to know that.

“It’s fine,” Segs is saying, and Patrick really hopes he lets this go. His personal life is really not that interesting. Maybe one day, even deadspin will realize that. “My boy and I Skype a lot.”

And okay. What. “What?”

“Tyler Brown?”

“The dude you tweet a lot?” Patrick knows who tweets who, okay, he’s not dumb. He just thought maybe they played it up a lot, or it was a joke, or whatever, he doesn’t pay that much attention and he really doesn’t care. It’s not like he and Jonny were ever going to be the only two dudes fucking in the NHL, but he doesn’t want to know about it.

Segs nods and Patrick’s sure he’s supposed to be taking a message from this but fuck if he knows what it is. He just wants to get training over with.


“So, you know, if you’re-”

“We’re not,” Patrick snaps. “We’re not anything.”

Segs just shrugs. Dammit. Patrick should probably apologize but he doesn’t want to. Let Segs and his boyfriend Skype and make out over camera or whatever it is they do. Patrick just wants to play hockey and maybe call Jonny later. It’s not like they have to be in love or whatever. They work as is.



Patrick really has to move into his apartment before he chooses to get rid of it altogether. His mom is kind of insistent on it and he gives in because she’s going to be there for a while with him and she deserves not to have to live in a hotel just because he wants to be in Chicago. They spend the day moving his stuff around until it looks more like an apartment that’s lived in and less like he’s going to be running away on a moment's notice. Which he’s still going to be doing if-

He doesn’t let himself go there because whatever, the NHL are douchebags and he’s still playing hockey.

“Your sisters are going to want to come out at some point,” his mom says. She’s making them something to eat which is good because Patrick has kind of been relying on take-out for too long. “And your dad.”

Patrick nods and stops himself from asking when. It’s not easy for all of them to pick up and fly out to Switzerland just because he misses them. He’s been Skyping his sisters since they arrived and it’s awesome but it’s not the same as having them around.

“You should invite Jonny out.”

“He’s busy,” Patrick says instantly. He doesn’t want to talk about this with his mom. “NHLPA and sh-stuff.”

His mom just snorts at his slip and thankfully turns back to cooking. He’s so not ready to discuss Jonny’s anything with his mom, much less having him come out to Switzerland. Although it would be kind of nice to have Jonny with him. It would be fucking awesome to have him play hockey in Biel but whatever, Patrick will settle for his stupid face for just a weekend. The idea gets even more appealing through dinner and into the evening. He gets a text from Segs asking him to come out but he begs off, not even caring what Segs thinks about it. He contemplates adhering to Jonny’s schedule and jerking off but he’s not in the mood. Whatever, he doesn’t have to jerk-off every day or anything.

He puts the TV on low, not really interested in what’s playing and it’s not like he can understand any of it anyway. He’s halfway through some ridiculous soap opera when he decides it would be awesome to text Jonny. It’s probably not even dinner time but what’s Jonny doing except for pining over not being able to play hockey? Which is a lie because he could totally be playing in Biel with Patrick. He’s seen the pictures, he knows how happy Jonny was to be playing hockey at the charity game.

What are you doing?

what r U doing

Patrick rolls his eyes. God, Jonny is such an asshole. He’s just gonna keep thinking that because it’s true.

watching shitty tv i don’t understand

Being around Jonny has obviously caused him to lose capitalization.

are u jerking off?

To shitty soap operas? I’m not that desperate.

it’s on your schedule.


Patrick tosses his phone to the side. He’s not jerking off and he doesn’t want to jerk-off and it’s not like all he does in Switzerland is rub one out all the fucking time. He ignores the texts Jonny inevitably sends and focuses on the TV. He’s not surprised when his phone rings.



“I don’t want to, Jonny.”

There’s a pause. Sometimes Patrick really fucking hates it when Johnny pushes him when it’s obviously not wanted. Thankfully, Johnny just says, “Okay.”

“When are you coming out to see me, asshole?”

Jonny just snorts. “I’m kinda busy.”

Yeah, whatever. It’s not like the NHL are budging for shit. When he says so, Jonny sighs like Patrick is a failure of a human being and he gets it, he does. He wants to play NHL hockey too but he’s also not dumb enough to think that the negotiations will actually work when neither side is willing to concede.

“I fucking hate it here, Jonny,” Patrick says quietly. He buries his face in the pillow.

There’s another silence. It’s not unusual, Johnny is usually silent on the phone. The fact that his silent isn’t judgemental kinda is. “It’s hockey.”

Patrick lets out a breath. “Not Blackhawks hockey.”

“I know, Patrick.” Johnny’s voice is soft, the way he usually only allows when both of them are close to sleep. “I can’t promise it will be soon-”

“Come out,” Patrick says, cutting him off. He doesn’t want Jonny to have to make promises he can’t keep. “Please.”

Jonny sucks in a breath. They don’t say anything for a moment. Patrick listens to the way Jonny breathes into the phone, the low voices on the television. He closes his eyes and feels tired all of a sudden.

So he didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no, either.



Over the next few weeks, Patrick plays hockey, talks to Jonny a lot and tries to have a good time. He and Segs are getting on pretty great; he can listen to him talk about Brownie (apparently) without wanting to claw his own eyes out and he maybe, sometimes, kind of wants to tell Segs about Jonny. Instead, he Skypes Erica. He’s not entirely sure how much of it she gets - there’s no easy way to tell your sister that you kind of like it when your boyfriend holds you down and tells you not to come - but she’s always understood him and Jonny a lot better than he has.

“I asked him to come out,” he whines. Whatever she says, it is okay to whine when you’re still in your early twenties. Just because she thinks she’s too old for that now.

“He wants NHL hockey, Pat. He has to do what he thinks is right, just like you do.” She looks at him pointedly. “Even if they’re not the same thing.”

“Yeah but-”

Pat.” This is why he likes Erica; sometimes she gets so pissed off that she’ll tell him what he doesn’t understand, even when he’s not sure there’s anything to understand. “He’ll come out when he’s ready. Sometimes you’re not sure what is you’ve got until you have to fight to keep it.”

Patrick’s pretty sure they’re not talking about hockey anymore. “Erica-”

“He loves you, Pat.”

Oh god. No. Patrick so did not - “Yeah?”

God. This is even worse. He should have just stuck with Segs and his brofriend. He can’t believe he just said yeah? like he actually cares if Jonny does or not. Erica is looking at him patiently and he suddenly wants to hide in his room and not come out for a few days.

“I don’t-” He should probably finish a sentence sometime soon.

She smiles at him. “Don’t freak out too hard, okay?”

They say goodbye and he actually is going to freak out now, whatever. He stays sitting on the couch, staring down at his hands and wondering when this whole thing stopped being fucking and actually started being feelings. He remembers the night before he left, knowing that he wanted Jonny forever and always, but he always feels like that once he’s come and Jonny is holding him. He’s always assumed it was just something that happens because Jonny is good at giving him what he wants. He doesn’t know what to do now that he knows it’s not.

Do you like me?


Do you LIKE me?

r u drunk?

Patrick tosses his phone away in disgust and hides in his bedroom, setting up NHL 13 so that he can forget everything but shooting the fuck out of a puck.



The next morning he wakes to three missed calls and a voicemail from Jonny, and a text from Segs. The text just says TAZER JUST FUCKING CALLED ME!!!!!!!!!! So Patrick nuts up and listens to the voicemail. Jonny’s pretty angry if the clipped way he’s talking is any indication and he’s telling Patrick that he needs to answer his fucking phone if he’s going to text stupid shit at 3am, which excuse you, Patrick didn’t even know it was, and that Jonny will be there that weekend. Fuck. Patrick closes his eyes and puts his phone next to him on the pillow. Fuck.

He texts Seguin an apology and checks Jonny’s stupid fucking schedule. He is not okay with what his feelings are doing right now but he’s woken up horny, especially now that he knows he’s going to be seeing Jonny’s dumb face in like, two days, and he’s not going to be happy if he can’t get off. Thankfully, there’s a red block for that morning and it doesn’t take long, listening to the voicemail and thinking of the way Jonny will look when Patrick picks him up at the airport, all ridiculous, hot and judgmental, to come.

When he gets to the rink, Segs is still smiling and throws an arm around him in the locker room, so Jonny’s call couldn’t have been too traumatizing. He doesn’t talk about it, which Patrick is grateful for, and ends up asking if he wants to go out that night. Patrick snorts. “Make it this weekend. Jonny’s in town.”

Segs grins and nods, which okay, is not the response Patrick was expecting. People just don’t voluntarily hang out with Jonny unless they’re Blackhawks but then maybe Segs doesn’t care that Jonny’s a giant loser who doesn’t know how to have fun. If Segs is brain damaged enough to want that, whatever. Patrick kind of wants it, so he’ll have to deal anyway.



Telling his mom is easy. She gets kind of happy when he says Jonny’s gonna be staying a few days and she asks if he wants her to get a hotel or something. The next few moments are going to be extremely awkward or just soul-destroying. Apparently his silence is enough because she just says, “I’ll get a hotel anyway,” and disappears somewhere. Oh god. He sits in the bathroom and hyperventilates for a while before he erases the whole thing from his memory, or pretends to, and runs to the rink even though the morning skate is always optional and Patrick had considered missing it.



That Friday afternoon, he grabs a jacket and car keys and makes his way to the airport. Jonny’s not exactly expecting him but it’s not like he can let Jonny find his own way to Patrick’s apartment, even though he’s probably drawn himself a map and memorized everything already. Patrick pulls into the parking lot and tries not to think too hard about his feelings and shit when he’s half an hour away from seeing Jonny. He just wants to enjoy the look on Jonny’s face when he shows up and try not to imagine how great it’s gonna be when Jonny fucks him later. God, he wants that so much because having to deal with Jonny’s fucking schedule is just not happening anymore.

He waits at baggage claim, thankful that at least he won’t get recognized here. He has a cap on anyway, pulled low over his eyes. He’s fiddling with it for the third time when he sees Jonny coming towards him. He looks just like Patrick thought he would, tired from the flight but fucking hot. God, Patrick has the weirdest taste but whatever. He grins up at Jonny because there’s that awkward moment of deciding how to treat each other, but then Jonny just reaches out and tugs him in, envelopes him in a hug and yeah, okay, Patrick can totally get with that.

“I missed you, asshole,” Patrick says, trying not to choke on the words. He’s not a total idiot but god, sometimes he just wants to say shit out loud.

Jonny hums a response and squeezes a little before he lets Patrick go.

Patrick just raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

Rolling his eyes, Jonny heads for the conveyor belt to wait for his bags but as they’re standing side by side, he jostles Patrick elbow and says, “Yeah of course.”

Taking that to mean that Jonny missed him too instead of Jonny thinking it only natural that Patrick would miss him, Patrick snorts and can’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face.



He lets Jonny sleep for a while because he’s super anal about making sure his body clock is correct and whatever, Patrick’s awesome enough to let him, even if he kind of desperately wants Jonny to fuck him. There’s only so many times you can jerk off before you want something else.

It’s weird to keep wandering around your apartment like a weirdo, so Patrick slides into bed beside Jonny, ignoring the grumbling and moaning Jonny does as he wraps himself around Patrick anyway, always with his constant bitching, and falls asleep like that, Jonny’s breath hot on the back of his neck.

He comes awake to the feel of Jonny sucking his cock, fingers digging bruises into his hips and tongue sliding from root to tip. Patrick clenches the sheets in his hands and groans in the back of this throat, tipping his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, Jonny.”

Jonny hums and Patrick sobs. Jesus. It’s been a long time and he just wants. Jonny takes him deep, Patrick’s dick hitting the back of his throat and Patrick’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a while and the orgasm is a surprise when it hits. It's all Patrick can do to whimper his way through it and Jonny just swallows him down, not letting up even when Patrick’s soft and spent in his mouth. He keeps tonguing at Patrick’s dick for a while and it’s too much, Patrick’s fingers sliding against Jonny’s head to tug him off and away. Jonny holds his gaze for a couple more licks, Patrick whimpering and shaking as he tells Jonny it’s, “Too much, please.”

Jonny pulls away and climbs up Patrick’s body, holding Patrick’s jaw in one hand. He goes in for a kiss, coaxing Patrick’s mouth open with his tongue and Patrick can taste himself, rises up a little to press against Jonny, ask for more. Jonny pulls away, pushes Patrick down onto the bed. “Shower.”

Patrick grins up at him, kind of dopey. Jonny rolls his eyes.

“We’re going out, aren’t we?”

Nodding, even as he’s cursing inwardly, Patrick starts to rise. “Fine, fine.”

Jonny grips his elbow and gives that cocky, half-smile that Patrick kind of hates and loves at the same time. “If you’re quick.”



They have enough time for a shower, a handjob and then another shower before they’re hopping in the car and making their way to the club. Patrick’s kind of grinning like an idiot, forehead pressed to the car window because Jonny’s always insisted on driving him everywhere. Whatever, he’s kind of too fucked out to care right now, and kind of hoping it’s a trend that will continue. Segs and some of the other guys are waiting when they arrive, and Patrick thinks it’s hilarious the way Jonny sizes Segs up, like him fucking Tyler Seguin was ever going to happen. They’re both kind of taken but also, Patrick is not as much of a slut as everyone thinks he is. Plus, he kind of has feelings for Jonny. This is all a disaster but it’s a kind of entertaining one, so Patrick slides into the booth, rolling his eyes when Jonny squeezes in next to him, throwing his arm up on the booth behind Patrick’s head. He is not being subtle but Patrick ignores him and shows off what little German he knows to one of the guys on the team, while nodding at Jonny to say see, I can learn things.

They’re only two drinks in when Jonny’s arm drops down onto Patrick’s shoulders, hand fisting into Patrick’s t-shirt. Segs is watching them across the table, the same shit-eating grin on his face that he always seems to wear. Patrick pointedly ignores him up until the point that the fucker actually starts wiggling his eyebrows. God, it’s like being out with Sharpy. “What?”

Segs just shrugs, the smile dropping off of his face only when Jonny pipes up, “Yeah, what?”

“Nothing.” Segs shrugs. “Just wondering if Patrick’s changed his mind.”

Jonny frowns, looks at Patrick and then back at Segs. “About what?”

Patrick kicks Segs under the table and then tips his head back against Jonny’s arm so that he can look up at him. “Nothing. It’s all good.”

Because he’s sometimes awesome, Jonny lets it go but Patrick knows it’s not going to last. He really wants to smack Segs in the mouth. He sort of forgets about it over the next three drinks, all of which he accepts while looking out of the corner of his eyes at Jonny. He’s more than aware that Jonny will stop him when he thinks Patrick’s had enough but it’s not like he can’t check sometimes. Eventually the other guys drift away until it’s just him, Segs and Jonny at the table. When Segs goes up to get the next round of drinks, Patrick watches him leave and then turns to Jonny - only to find him already looking at Patrick.

“What was he talking about?”

Patrick’s buzzed enough that he just shrugs with a smirk. “He thinks we’re fucking.”

Jonny’s eyebrows shoot up but he’s smiling, so it can’t be terrible. “What did you tell him?”

Patrick just keeps staring at Jonny, desperate to get his fill now that Jonny’s here with him. When he takes too long to answer, Jonny’s hand reaches up to grip the back of his head, threading his fingers into Pat’s hair and asserting pressure. Patrick feels boneless; let’s his head roll back against Jonny’s grip, hands reaching up to cling to Jonny’s arm.

“What did you tell him, Patrick?” It’s that fucking voice, and Patrick shivers.

“Nothing,” Patrick says, voice low. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Why not?”

Patrick’s finding it difficult to talk, just stares at Jonny’s face. He can feel his body reacting to the way Jonny’s talking to him, the look on his face. Jonny’s stroking the back of his head and Patrick knows, distantly, that he’s hard and he fucking wants. Jonny’s fingers dig in painfully and Patrick surfaces enough to focus but when he answers, his words slur slightly, like he’s drunker than he actually is. “Don’t know what you want.”

Jonny’s face does something weird for a moment and Patrick’s dimly aware of Segs returning to the table. Before he can say anything, or snap out of his space, Jonny tugs him closer and Patrick drops his head onto Jonny’s shoulder, turning his face into Jonny’s neck. Dimly, he’s aware of Jonny saying something to Segs, of being coaxed to his feet. He feels Jonny’s fingers on the back of his neck, guiding Patrick out into the cold air and into the car.

As soon as he’s settled, Patrick sinks down into the seat, turning his head to look at Jonny and spreading his legs. “Jonny.”

Jonny doesn’t look at him, grips the steering wheel and starts the car. “Keep talking, Patrick.”

Patrick kind of wants to because Jonny asked but he’s not sure what to say, not sure he can make words. He tips his head back against the seat and wants to touch himself. He’s so hard he’s aching with it. Before he can press a hand to his dick, Jonny’s reaching over to stop him.

“Just talk, Pat.”

“I fucking missed you,” Patrick says, blinking slowly as he takes in Jonny’s profile, the way his hair curls just behind his ear. Patrick wants to touch but he knows better. “I wanted you. Every time I jerked off, I wanted it to be you, touching me, fucking me.”

Jonny makes a sound in the back of his throat.

Jonny,” Patrick gasps and Jonny can’t stop him from touching himself now. He palms his dick through his jeans, thrusts up against his fingers and whimpers. “Fuck me, Jonny.”

“We’re in the fucking car, Kaner,” Jonny snaps. “Drop your hands and shut the fuck up.”

Patrick frowns, keeps rubbing himself through his jeans. “You said to talk.”

They stop at lights and Jonny is leaning over, gripping Patrick’s jaw and shaking him gently. “Drop your hands, stop touching yourself and shut the fuck up.”

Patrick groans as Jonny releases him. He does as Jonny asks and drops his hands, closes his eyes and breathes slowly through his nose.



As soon as they’re parked, Jonny’s climbing out of the car. Patrick knows he should probably move but he’s kind of happy where he is and Jonny said to stay still anyway. He doesn’t have to worry about it for too long, because Jonny is opening the car door and pressing his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, while he’s releasing Patrick’s seatbelt with the other. He doesn’t say anything as he tugs Patrick up and out of the car and neither does Patrick. He remains pliant in Jonny’s hands, lets him lead the way into the apartment.

“Mom’s out,” Patrick says slowly. Jonny nods and then tugs at the hem of Patrick’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Patrick paws at Jonny, slides his hands up into Jonny’s hair and kisses him, pushing up on the balls of his feet to get a better grip.

“Patrick,” Jonny growls out, biting at Patrick’s bottom lip. “Slow down.”

Patrick whines, nuzzles his way across Jonny’s jaw. “I jerked off like you said.” He ignores Jonny’s snort. “Fuck me.”

Jonny jerks under Patrick’s hands and then he’s being shoved towards the bedroom, overwhelmed with the attention Jonny’s paying to him, touching him everywhere he knows gets Patrick hot. He drops down onto the bed, lets Jonny push him further up it until he’s splayed out on his back, Jonny hovering over him, body a welcome heat against his.

“Please,” Patrick says, and he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to chirp Jonny or be an asshole. He just wants. He thrusts his hips up, groans into it when Jonny aligns their bodies so that Patrick can thrust against Jonny’s thigh.

Jonny smirks into his neck. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

Patrick’s not even sure what he wants anymore. He just needs to get off, needs Jonny to keep touching him and talking to him and taking his pants off.

Jonny reaches up and curls his fingers against Patrick’s neck, strokes them down the column of his throat once. “Easy, Pat.”

Forcing himself to calm down, Patrick closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He focuses on the steady pressure of Jonny’s fingers against his neck, and the other hand wrestling Patrick’s pants and then his boxers off. He opens his eyes and takes in the look on Jonny’s face; hot and demanding and looking at Patrick like he can have whatever he wants. And he can. “Jonny,” Patrick says, wrecked and open and desperate.

“Don’t ever think,” Jonny says, evening out his voice. Patrick shakes his head a little and tries to pay attention. “That I don’t want you.”

Patrick nods because yeah, he knows. Jonny doesn’t look satisfied though, taps Patrick’s cheek with his other hand. “Patrick. Even after this. Even when we’re not-”

He breaks off and Patrick swallows, knows what Jonny is trying to say. “Yeah.”

Satisfied, Jonny slides his hand back up Patrick’s throat, presses his thumb to Patrick’s bottom lip. “You have stuff?”

Patrick blinks and nods, trusting Jonny to know where it is. He watches lazily as Jonny fumbles in the nightstand and comes up with lube and condoms. Jonny pulls his hand away to pop the cap on the lube and coat his fingers. Patrick’s cock jumps at the sight of Jonny hovering over him, fingers slicked with lube, at the promise of being fucked. He groans and fists his hands in the sheets to keep from touching himself. Jonny doesn’t want that, still hasn’t said he can, even if they’re not in the car anymore.

Jonny smirks down at him, touches Jonny’s neck and nods. “That’s good, Pat.”

He nods because yeah, he can be good, if Jonny would only-

Settling down between Patrick’s legs, Jonny nudges his knees apart and presses a slick finger just being Patrick’s balls. It’s not what Patrick wants, not nearly close enough, but it’s the first touch from Jonny in fucking forever and he almost arches his back completely off the bed. Jonny grips his hip with his free hand and presses down, a warning his eyes that Patrick knows to take seriously.

“Fucking get on with it,” he grinds out.

“I could just not,” Jonny warns, but he’s already sliding his finger down to circle Pat’s hole. It’s been a long time and this is going to hurt but Patrick wants it; wants the burn and the fullness and Jonny’s fingers digging into his hips. Wants to feel it tomorrow because it means Jonny was here, fucking him, marking him. Jonny’s staring at him, eyes dark with want and Patrick realizes he’s spoken aloud.

Patrick swallows. “Jonny.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, and Patrick notes that his voice is almost as wrecked as Patrick feels. He slides a finger into Patrick and Patrick wants to cry from relief. Jonny takes his time, draws the finger out and pushes back in a few times before he considers two. He’s drawing it out, fucking Patrick with two, then three fingers until he’s pressing down against Patrick’s prostate and Patrick flashes back to the night of the charity game. He whimpers as Jonny draws back and then pushes pack in, rubbing against the same bundle of nerves until Patrick’s a shivering, whimpering mess on the sheets. Patrick doesn’t want to come from this, he needs to have Jonny’s dick inside of him, Jonny’s hands on his hips, sides, neck. Jonny everywhere.

There’s a brief loss of contact as Jonny pulls his fingers out. He’s shoving down his own jeans and boxers, not even taking them off as he rolls on a condom but Patrick’s not paying attention. His dick has been leaking pre-cum onto his stomach since the first time Jonny brushed against his prostate and it’s all he can do to try and breathe through the mess of feelings that are shuddering through his body. He feels Jonny’s hands on him, guiding him up onto his hands and knees and he drops his head almost as soon as he’s up, Jonny’s fingers tangling in his hair. With his free hand, Jonny tugs back on Patrick’s hips, lines himself up and pushes in. He goes slow, fucking slow because he’s an asshole and Patrick’s hands clench into fists around the sheets. He grunts as Jonny buries himself completely in Patrick’s ass, tugging on Patrick’s hair to make him raise his head.

He’s not careful as he pulls out and then pushes back in, building up a rhythm that has him sliding his hands down to grip Patrick’s hips, digging his fingers into the skin either side. Patrick grunts and whines, drops to his elbows and rubs his cheek against the pillow. Jonny’s cock is thick and full and he’s plastered to Patrick’s back, teeth sinking into skin both soft and vulnerable. He’s marking Patrick, making him groan and whimper.

Jonny’s hand moves back to his neck, fingers massaging the base of Patrick’s skull, even as he’s drawing back and pushing in, hitting Patrick’s prostate dead on. Patrick yells, fingers scrabbling against the sheets and pushing back against Jonny’s hand. He’s not even sure he’s actually forming words anymore, swallowing down sobs that he’s pretty sure he’s going to fucking deny tomorrow, but he’s shaking apart under Jonny’s hands.

“Can I come?” His voice is desperate and throaty. He keeps his eyes closed because he’s pretty sure he’s going to cry if he can’t come soon.

True to form, Jonny says, “No,” and keeps pounding into Patrick so hard that his knees are being shoved further up the bed. Patrick’s just moaning Jonny’s name, sweating and shaking and his cock fucking hurts, he just needs to-

Jonny comes first, tensing along the line of Patrick’s back and sinking his teeth into Patrick’s neck. Patrick jerks, feels Jonny’s come inside his ass and wants, fucking, just needs, to, “Please, Jonny, please.”

He sobs the last, rubbing his face against the pillow and letting Jonny tug him up, sit back against his legs so that Patrick’s fully seated in his lap. Patrick grunts and swallows as Jonny’s cock sinks in even deeper. He turns his face into Jonny’s arm, begs and pleads as Jonny’s free hand drops down to wrap around his dick. It’s too much stimulation, Jonny thrusting up a little hitting that fucking spot that drives him crazy every single time. His fingers are tight on Patrick's dick and Patrick’s looking at Jonny’s face, nose pressed against his cheek . He gasps Jonny’s name, stupid with pleasure, white spots dancing behind his eyes.

Jonny flicks his thumb against the head of Patrick cock and says, “Come for me, Pat.”

Patrick whites out.



He comes to with Jonny’s hand stroking through his hair, the TV low in the background.


“Oh god,” Patrick tries. It comes out as a groan. He swallows, tries again. “Oh god.”


Patrick nods because he is. He’s just fucking sore, and god Jonny’s an asshole. “You’re an asshole,” he says, reaching up to rest his hand on Jonny’s shirt. “I’m not going to be able to sit for a week.”

Jonny’s shrug almost dislodges him. “You’ll be okay.”

Snorting, Patrick turns his attention back to the TV. “Your schedule sucks ass, by the way.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny says. “You totally used it.”

He’s got a point but Patrick doesn’t say so. He’s not sure how many more spreadsheets Jonny will make if he lets him think it’s a good idea. From the way he pushes up to kiss Jonny on the mouth, fingers splayed so that he can feel Jonny’s heartbeat, he’s pretty sure Jonny knows anyway.