Part Two
*
Jon comes back from the gym to find Sharpy and Pat joking around in the living room about Pat's and Jon's lack of culinary skills.
Jon just stands there. Pat looks happy, and it makes him want to walk right out again. Sharpy glances up at him with a small grin, claps his hands together, and says, “I dropped off some spaghetti and meatballs that my amazing lady made, so you both better appreciate it.”
“Thanks again, man,” Pat says, “she is pretty awesome,” and Jon just wordlessly nods his head in agreement. Sharpy claps him on the shoulder with a disgusted look on his face and heads out. Jon might have overdone it at the gym. The deep ache radiating through his entire body tells him he's an idiot.
Pat looks at him blankly. “You look disgusting.”
Jon drops his gym bag in the hallway and wipes the towel hanging from his shoulders over his face. He smells like ass. “Yeah, I know.”
After a silent beat where neither of them know what to say, Pat says, “You go take a shower and I'll heat the food.”
Jon says, “Great,” and moves forward to, like, slap Pat on the back in a reaffirming buds-for-life way or something, but the quick, pained look of oh-god-not-yet that flashes in Pat's eyes - his eyebrows shoot up his face - stops him in his tracks. Jon bites his lip in an effort not to say anything and swiftly marches to his bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later, he's out of the shower and prepping himself mentally to have an adult conversation with Pat. This is basically uncharted territory, and it makes him nervous.
He'll try to coolly and nonchalantly hang out with Pat and maybe attempt to figure out what's happening between without having it be a yelling thing again. That really sucks and it always makes Jon feel like a giant asshole.
Pat is in the living room playing on his Xbox, the empty plate sitting on the coffee table telling Jon that he has already eaten. Giving Jon the option of hiding out in the kitchen to eat, to buy himself more time, but Jon has never been lame, so he makes a plate for himself and sits down next to Pat.
Jon hesitantly says, “Thanks for inviting my folks over, too,” and Pat simply replies, “Yeah,” while sucking on his Red Vine.
Pat is losing with Boo, and Jon snorts out a laugh when he comes in tenth place and throws the controller down in frustration. Pat's sulky look of disapproval tells him he's not pleased.
“I don't know why you always make it so hard on yourself,” Jon admits, pointing to Boo on the screen.
Pat shrugs his shoulders and picks up the controller again. “I like underdogs. It feels better when you win with 'em.”
Jon rolls his eyes. “You're weird. Winning one out of every ten would drive me up the wall.”
“I know, but that one time makes it sweeter. You just like a sure thing, is all,” Pat says, unfazed. Jon doesn't reply, because he doesn't know what to say.
The couch shifts and Pat leans back into the cushions, while Jon basically inhales his plate of spaghetti and meatballs. It's really, really good. Fuck Sharpy for hitting the jackpot in all kinds of ways.
When he's done, they play in two-player mode for two hours, cussing and yelling at the screen like they usually do. It feels like how the past few weeks have been; eating dinner together, maybe going out to a bar with some of the guys, playing Xbox, catching up on shows and watching movies (or going to the movies if it's something they both really want to see) until they part ways to head for bed. Jon has turned into an old, married person without even really knowing it - but it's not so bad. It feels good and secure in a really mushy way, so he tends to skim over those emotions and say inappropriate things about Pat's sisters to stop those thoughts from fully forming. On the downside, Bettman thinks they are the best droids ever, so Jon still really dislikes the guy. He's creepy.
Jon realizes sort of late that they didn't have their adult conversation, so when he comes out of the bathroom to share his feelings in a really masculine way, he finds Pat sleeping. He's slumped into the corner of the couch and Jon can't find it in himself to wake him. Pat is hardly ever quiet and still, so Jon enjoys it as he picks up their dirty dishes, turns off the tv, and cleans up. Andree would be so proud of him, he thinks.
All the lights get turned off - except for the one in the hallway because Pat has a thing about it being totally dark - and he goes to shake Pat awake so he can go to bed.
Jon taps Pat on the shoulder and hears him mumble and try to squish himself deeper into the cushions. Jon loudly says, “Hey, Pat, come on, buddy,” and Pat swats his hand away, his sleepy eyes narrowing into a glare.
Jon ruffles his hair and is about to draw back when his wrist gets snatched in Pat's pretty alert grip.
The movement kind of suspends him over Pat awkwardly, but the shadowy, unsure way that Pat is looking up at him makes him hold still and not pull back.
After a beat, Pat tugs on his wrist to pull him down and Jon automatically goes (unthinkingly), until he's kneeling by the couch, one of his hands falling on Pat's thigh. Jon is having trouble keeping his heart from beating out of his chest, so he's glad that Pat is pretending to know what he's doing when Jon feels a thumb brush his jawline, and Pat leans down to kiss him lightly, closed-mouthed.
Jon stiffens imperceptibly before he thinks, fuck it, and surges forward. Pat's eyes look wide and bright, and he lets out a startled mph when he realizes that Jon isn't going to run away. Jon doesn't run away from anything - it's like Pat doesn't even know him.
It isn't super hot or anything, since they bump noses a couple of times and are uncoordinated. So Jon moves up until he is spread out on top of Pat, tilts Pat's chin at an angle that doesn't suck, and starts kissing Pat's smiling mouth properly. It figures that Pat doesn't even know how to be serious when he's making out.
Jon bites and licks at Pat's lower lip until Pat's mouth falls open on a gasp and lets him in. Pat's fingers clench in Jon's hair, driving Jon crazy with the need to hear all of the little sounds Pat makes as he writhes sort of shamelessly and lets Jon press sucking kisses to his mouth. Pat tastes like marinara sauce and Red Vines.
Jon doesn't know how long he spends kissing Pat stupid, and as he pulls back to take in a much needed breath, he focuses in on Pat's pink and bruised mouth.
Jon feels a little light-headed with the pure need washing over him. (Jon's seriously glad that the hallway light makes it not totally dark so he can see Pat. It's just - it's nice.) Pat is boneless, his warm hand settled just above Jon's ass, in the dip of his back, like a burning brand, and Jon runs his fingers over Pat's split-slick lips, down his jaw (Pat's eyes fall shut on a shaky groan), and keeps going down his chest in some bizarre caress.
It's obvious that Pat is hard, and Jon cups him and presses his palm down against his hard length, making Pat gasp out his name and yank Jon down for another dirty, lingering kiss. Jon loves Pat's mouth, and how Pat fights back when Jon tries to grab his chin to control the kiss. It's all kinds of problematic.
Jon's thrusts against him sort of accidentally and Pat's mouth goes slack; his hands grab Jon's ass to push him down harder into the next thrust, and Jon knows it's not going to take long. It only takes a few more rough thrusts and Pat shakes apart and comes, whining low in his throat - and just feeling him come against him has Jon losing it a few seconds later.
Jon drops down next to Pat's prone body, both of them breathing heavily. Jon is just about to fall asleep, even as gross as he is, when Pat drops a kiss to his cheek and pulls him up from the couch.
They head to Jon's bedroom, take off their clothes, wipe themselves off, and collapse in Jon's unmade bed.
Jon throws an arm over Pat's chest and feels Pat's hair tickle his cheek.
“Stay,” Jon murmurs, as Pat drags the comforter over them.
“Yeah,” Pat says, “yeah.”
*
The next day, they have to leave on a three game road trip to California, and all of their free time is spent having as much sex as possible. They're married - they're allowed. The guys think they're being gross but look decidedly envious every time Jon drags Pat away after practice, lunch, and team dinners. Jon is a little ashamed to admit that he is really hard up for sex with Pat, and never really knew that it was something that he wanted so badly, until Pat gets on his knees to blow him, really cluelessly. (So, Pat hasn't had too much sex with dudes. That's good to know.)
It adds a whole new dimension to being married and Jon likes it.
Duncs says, curiously, “So, you guys haven't killed each other yet.”
Seabs nods and slaps him on the back. “It's like they are the real deal now, eh, Tazer?”
And Jon just shrugs and attempts to smile because Duncs and Seabs look like they approve of Jon's life choices all of a sudden, and Jon doesn't know how he feels about it.
After the road trip, they come back home with a three game winning streak under their belts and Jon having trouble controlling his facial expressions. Bolly looks a little terrified whenever Jon bursts into laughter and smiles at the guys, and Jon feels really bad for the guy. He needs to get laid more and stop looking constipated. It's not a good look.
Jon is bored, so he deliberately shoves Pat against the elevator when they head out and make their way up to their condo, with Pat nudging back and grinning. Pat has a nice smile. Jon didn't realize how little Pat was being his usual happy, goofy self until Pat started laughing, like, all the time during the road trip. Sharpy thought it was cute and would pinch Pat's cheeks and sides, until he made Pat flush and flail, and Jon thought he was being inappropriately handsy and needed to go call his wife more. Whatever.
They have two days to themselves because the team is letting the guys hang with their families for Thanksgiving, and Jon is kind of dreading having both sides of their clans gang up on them. There is this weird sensation of not being prepared enough, in his gut, but he pushes it away when he opens the door and pushes Pat inside.
The door closing and backing Pat up against a wall to kiss him happens simultaneously. Pat drops the bag he has on his shoulder to the floor and wraps his arms around Jon's shoulders, smugly biting at Jon's chin when he tries to get Pat to pay attention.
“Hey, hey, come on,” Jon whispers, trying to get Pat to kiss him instead of maneuvering his head away to lazily bite down Jon's neck, like he has all the time in the world. Jon roughly angles his face up with both hands, smirking when Pat tries to break his hold but can't, and kisses his mouth open; Pat's hands fall down to Jon's hips, his fingers spasming in Jon's shirt, keeping him there.
The amused sound of someone clearing their throat makes them both pull apart, breathing heavily, only to see Andree standing there in the hallway, arms crossed, smiling fondly.
“We got an earlier flight,” she says apologetically, shrugging her shoulders, and Jon doesn't care.
Jon is hugging her in a heartbeat, because he's missed her. “Hi, mom,” he says gruffly into her hair, and she laughs.
“You missed me, you big baby.”
Andree squeezes his hand and moves toward Pat, who's kind of shyly hunched in on himself, his hands in his pockets, with his mouth tugging up in a small smile. Like he can't help it.
Pat mumbles, “Hi, Mrs. Toews,” the same moment Andree drags him into a tight hug. Pat's surprise melts away almost instantly and he hugs back, too.
When Pat tries to pull away, she stops him from moving and gently pats him on the cheek, the look in her eyes making Jon nervous and Pat blush. Pat opens his mouth to say something, but the door opens behind them and all hell breaks loose.
Basically, they all rescheduled for an earlier flight, and Jon hugs and kisses more people than he really feels comfortable with. Pat's mom pinches his cheeks, Pat's youngest sister slaps his ass, and Pat's dad looks like he's judging him hard core - it should be fun.
It's a whirlwind of people coming and going for the entire day, and at one point, in a moment of absolute weakness, Jon has to lock himself in his bathroom because he feels like he's about to freak out at any second. He doesn't know what's real and what's not real anymore.
Donna and Andree promise to drop by early in the morning to start cooking everything up, so Jon nods his head at everything they say, and when Pat hugs him from behind as their families go back to their hotels for the night, Jon has to convince himself to relax and not pull away from Pat the way he wants to.
Pat looks exhausted and is silent when they leave. “Let's head to bed, dude, before I collapse.”
Jon runs a hand tiredly down his face and says, “That went well.”
“I think so, yeah.”
“They didn't suspect anything,” Jon clarifies, and he doesn't even know why.
Pat's face is carefully blank when he looks up at Jon. “Not a thing,” Pat breathes out, voice low.
That night they don't have sex, but Pat's fingers touch Jon's wrist when he curls up on his side to go to sleep.
Jon doesn't fall asleep for almost an hour.
*
Jessica says matter-of-factly, “If you ever hurt Pat, I will bust your balls.”
Erica's smile is very wide and shiny, when she adds, “In fact, we'll turn your entire life into a living hell."
Jacqueline nods her head solemnly. “We're very good at making boys cry.”
Jon's forced smile completely falls off his face, and he mutters, “I'm sure you guys are.”
Across the room and in the kitchen, Donna waves at him with a spatula and Pat's dad is looking extra constipated as he watches Jon set the table. It's totally abnormal behavior from a guy that should be showering Jon with praises for being the best person in the world and for marrying his less-than-respectable son. Some people are denser and simply less thankful than others, Jon supposes. It sucks that David is spending Thanksgiving with his girlfriend and parents. It makes him not only a backstabbing traitor, but also an embarrassing suck-up.
The highlight of the night makes things a little better, because Pat is the one that gets to be mercilessly mocked.
Donna throws Pat a very evil grin and takes a big sip of her wine. “I can't believe that you guys managed to work out your little problems and finally got together. I thought Pat would be crushing on you forever, Jon.”
Pat starts coughing on his food and makes a grab for his cup. The glare he shoots Donna makes Andree laugh and Jon smirk.
“Yeah, it was getting a little sad,” Jessica adds helpfully.
Jon leans back in his chair and watches Pat sputter and turn an interesting and dangerous shade of red.
Pat replies hotly, “It was never a crush. I envied and admired him when we were rookies. That's it.” His sisters grin at him and Pat slumps in his chair. “Also, I hate all of you right now. Worst family ever.”
“Best family ever.”
Pat throws a biscuit at Erica. “You guys are so evil--”
“And amazing.”
“--and mean. So mean.”
Their banter is pretty hilarious, and Jon smiles for real for the first time that night. He touches Pat consolingly on the hand and passes the mashed potatoes down the table.
The entire thing isn't as horrible as he was thinking it would be.
Except for how he gets slapped on the ass one too many times to count. Pat's sisters are just, like - Jon won't get on their bad side, if he can help it. Basically.
Later, when their families go home, Jon lies in bed, feeling too full and restless. Pat pokes him in the side until he grunts and looks at him. There is a drowsy and happy look playing on Pat's face, and it makes Jon feel like he swallowed something very bitter.
When Pat tries to lean in for a kiss, Jon doesn't stop him, but he pulls away after a few seconds, his hand at Pat's chest and pushing him back into his own space.
He pretends he doesn't see how Pat's face goes slack with surprise and Jon turns to his side, facing away.
From Pat. From everything.
*
In the morning, Jon wakes up with the urge to pack his bags and go away for awhile. To some uninhabited island, preferably. People are starting to get on his nerves too much.
It doesn't help his mood any when he basically zombie-shuffles into Pat and has Pat thrust some papers at him. Pat is twitchy and looking like he is trying to pretend to be chill when all he wants to do is flee (he's biting at his lip hard enough to hurt). Jon looks down at the legal packets in his hands and the only thing that registers with clarity is the bolded Non-Disclosure Agreement headlining the papers.
It feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on his head. It's forced self-preservation that helps him quickly bite down on all of the things he wants to say, all the hurt he wants to show. Jon's mouth thins out into an unhappy line while he flips through the pages and pretends to read all of the legal junk that is kindly telling him that it's okay to fuck around, if he's careful.
“Say something.”
Jon says, “Hmm.”
Pat snaps and starts talking like he can't help it. “It's just that, obviously, we don't have to make this any harder than it is. So I asked our lawyers this morning to draw up the NDA so you don't have to feel obligated to, to - fuck, I don't know. I did this to make it easier.”
It takes Jon another second to reply. “Yeah, this should make it easier.” Jon catches Pat's earnest stare and makes sure to look as bored and as calm as he can afford to be.
“Yeah, exactly.” Pat thumbs at his bottom lip and takes out his phone.
The utter ridiculousness of the situation doesn't hit Jon until Pat leaves with his phone pressed to his ear, pretending to make a call.
The papers get thrown on his desk in the guest bedroom, where he'll deal with it later, when he is more awake and collected.
Jon doesn't have time to worry about it. They've got a big game tomorrow against the Wings, and if Pat is going to go around and do stuff like this, try to mess with Jon's head, then Jon isn't going to give him the satisfaction.
*
It's pretty amazing that the entire team immediately picks up on their bad mood like bloodhounds, even before Pat and Jon have said a word to each other at practice.
Leddy looks like someone stole his lollypop and did unspeakable things with it. “I like it more when you guys are being disgusting and making out all the time.”
Coach Q pulls Jon aside with an understanding look plastered on his face, and says, “I know it's tough, son, but you've got to set aside your differences and work it out. Marriage is messy business.”
Jon grimaces feelingly and leans away. “I know, we're trying.”
Q twirls the end of his mustache and continues. “I mean, sure, they make a man want to take a puck to head every now and then when they don't stop getting after you. To do this, or to do that. To tell her how you really feel because she didn't get a Bachelors in telepathy. To apply a fresh coat of paint in the bedroom because it's been a decade since the last time; to put your socks in the laundry bin because the smell is just--”
“Uh.”
“--toxic. To surprise her sometimes instead of--”
Jon blinks. “Okaaay.”
“--doing the same things over and over again, and maybe, once in every blue moon...”
Jon skates away.
*
Obviously, since Jon has been having a shitty few days, the universe mocks him one more time and they end up giving up the game-winning goal to the Wings in the final minute of the game. Jon is so mad that he starts yelling at the guys for not playing smart enough, for fucking quitting on him before the final buzzer rang. Pat tries to pull him aside with a cautious hand on his shoulder, but he's the last guy that Jon wants a pep talk from. Jon yanks his arm away and storms to the showers. Coach Q can take his awkward sympathy and shove it.
He showers for a long time, until the pattering of coming and going feet stop, and he's the only one.
When he heads back to the locker room to get dressed, Sharpy is sitting in Pat's stall; freshly showered, looking grim and determined.
“What.” It doesn't come out as a question.
Sharpy shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing. I guess I'm just surprised.”
“That's nice. I'm pissed off and I don't give a fuck.”
Sharpy snorts and makes a show of getting comfortable. “Oh, you care. Or else you wouldn't act like such a douchebag.”
It's a bad idea to yank on his clothes when he's still a little wet, but Jon just wants to get out of there. “That's some fascinating stuff. Now go home to your perfect life and play house with your perfect wife. Have some perfect babies, if you're feeling up to it.” He tenses up when the last bit leaves his mouth, and expects to have Sharpy start yelling in his face. What he gets is worse.
Sharpy is looking at him like Jon is a failure, like he should be pitied. It is so much worse. Jon feels like the strings that have been holding him up for the past few days and have kept him functioning like a good doll have been cut, and he slumps down in his stall, legs splaying out akimbo, head tilting up, the wall at his back his only support. Looking up at the ceiling and feeling useless.
Sharpy picks up Pat's helmet and examines it, pretending to ignore the freak out taking place right next door. “You're better than this, Tazer. I know it sucks,” Sharpy says quietly, “but you have got to pull it together. It's okay to have emotions. It's okay to care and be clueless all at the same time. I mean, fuck. You guys have it pretty easy. The hard part is over with. People are cool with it, and you guys have been given the seal of approval. You're rock stars, so... what are you so afraid of?”
Jon shakes his head dumbly in confusion and continues to stare up at the lights, biting at the inside of his mouth. There is this odd, shivery feeling rushing underneath his skin and he feels helpless. This is the one thing that he doesn't know how to do, hasn't mastered yet, and it's the hardest fucking thing in the entire world. Nothing could have prepared him for any of this; no extra practice, no sharper skates, no skating hard enough. He doesn't know how to tell Sharpy any of that.
The silence stretches for a few minutes, with Sharpy simply sitting by his side and not saying anything else. When Sharpy gets up to go, he drags Jon up, too, and gives him a bone-crushing hug. Jon feels like he has just played a playoff game that has lasted for three extra overtimes, but he musters a muffled thanks when Sharpy pulls away.
Jon goes home to an empty bed. Pat is sleeping in his own room.
It seems unlikely, but Jon falls asleep within minutes, with his arm spread out to the left side of the bed.
*
A week later, the NHL teams up with the NBA to hold a cancer charity function that a whole bunch of athletes have to attend, and Jon is resolute about having a good time instead of stiffly latching onto Pat's arm and letting him do all the work.
He drinks a little more than he should, but it makes everything seems so much easier. Much more bearable. He has an arm around Pat's shoulders or waist the entire night, and can't stop himself from pressing teasing kisses to Pat's cheek, despite the discreet alarmed looks that Pat keeps on sending him whenever they're alone.
In fact, Jon is feeling so good and at peace with his own existence that he even spares a moment to hug Crosby, who looks pained when he smiles and is perhaps the best droid ever.
Jon is totally keeping his shit together. Bowman had been looking pointedly concerned all of last week, so when Jon feels the photographers roam towards them in a flock, he tilts Pat's head up for a light kiss. Bowman will be ecstatic.
Pat urgently whispers, “What the fuck are you doing?” Jon slowly brushes his nose along Pat's cheek, and says, “It's called PDA, honey. Now smile for the nice photographers.”
The ninja death-grip that Pat has on his hip doesn't loosen up any, and Jon idly wonders if it will bruise. He wouldn't mind it.
By the end of the night, Jon is no longer even remotely acting like he is having a good time, because he actually is. The champagne might've helped some.
They take a cab home because they are both too drunk to drive safely, and even though Jon is being a good sport and behaving the way he should, it still kills his buzz a little when he realizes that Pat is giving him the silent treatment. Pat's reward system is really messed up, and Jon is determined to let Pat know about it, but Pat stalks to his bedroom and closes the door in Jon's face.
Jon rolls his eyes at the unnecessary dramatics and goes to change before he heads to the living room to watch some TV.
Half an hour passes, and when there is still no sign of Pat, Jon drags himself to Pat's room to force him to listen to reason. Maybe Pat is just full of deep feelings and will desperately want to open up to Jon. Jon is buzzed enough to handle that kind of a conversation without stabbing himself with a sharp object.
Pat's bed is nice and neat when he sits down on it, but boredom and frustration bring him to his feet and to Pat's bathroom door in a few minutes. He knocks on it a few times and when no answer is forthcoming, he figures the noise from the shower is probably the culprit. Naturally, he then tries the doorknob, and when it isn't locked, he slowly pushes inside.
He says, “Heeey, Pat, we need to talk...”
And that's as far as he gets.
Jon doesn't know why he thought it was a good idea to do it, to barge in like an asshole, because... Pat is bracing himself against the sink with one arm, while he finger-fucks himself with his other hand. There are two fingers inside of Pat's stretched hole and Jon can't look away. It's obscene. It's the hottest thing he has ever seen. The angle of Pat's hand looks uncomfortable, but just the way his ass looks, pushed out and grinding back on his fingers, the harsh noise of his breathing, the tremor in arms, in his legs, it's just - Jon can't look away.
Basically, all of Jon's words ditch him and he is left gaping like an idiot. The sudden hot arousal that rolls down his spine and pools in his belly happens so fast that it makes him lightheaded.
He must make some sound of distress because Pat lifts his head and his eyes lock onto Jon in the bathroom mirror. The pained look of arousal has him flushed all over and his eyes are bright, his bottom lip being bitten in an effort to stave off the noises that he is making. When Jon unconsciously takes a step forward, Pat drops his head down to his chest and lets out a needy moan, his fingers still working inside him, making everything sound wet and messy.
It's like Jon has lost all control of his body, because the next thing he knows, he's touching Pat's hips with unsteady hands, removing Pat's fingers with a singleminded urgency, touching the curve of his spine, and plastering himself to Pat's back. Pat leans into him like he's boneless, and Jon sucks kisses at the back of his neck, at his shoulder, and then stares dumbly down at the lube Pat passes to him.
The movement of Pat's ass grinding back into his hips has him quickly jumping to action, and in a dizzying blur of sweaty skin and lube being worked deeper into Pat with rushed fingers (Pat keening with pleasure and shaking from the pressure of simply holding himself up), Jon finally works himself slowly into Pat's body, and wants to die at the hot-hot-tight feeling of it, at not thrusting in at one go.
Pat lets out a shaky breath, and rasps, “C'mon, c'mon, what are you waiting for.”
Jon moves out slowly but thrusts inside a second later, and Pat's words become unintelligible and filthy. They both sound like dying cavemen.
Jon grabs Pat's hips steady while he speeds up, too out of it to make it last, and with the way that Pat is moaning and matching him thrust for thrust, it's obvious that it's going to end way too soon.
The second Pat starts jerking himself off, it takes less than a few pumps before he is clamping down on Jon and folding in on himself as he comes. The gutted sounds he makes as he continues to shudder through his orgasm and the feeling of it from the inside triggers Jon's climax. Jon thrusts until it hurts a little, just to hear the sounds of his come being driven into Pat. He feels amazing.
It takes a minute for Pat to collect himself, and when he does, Jon drags him to the shower. It's almost like it still isn't enough, though, just to stand there with their chests pressed together, so Jon drags Pat into a wet, unhurried tongue-fucking kiss.
It's the slowest and most languid kiss they've ever shared; it makes Jon feel good, feel sated in a way that is a little terrifying, and when the water turns cold, they both dry off and collapse in Pat's neat bed.
Jon spoons around Pat's warm back, his arm around Pat's chest, their feet tangled together and close.
Jon thinks that it might get embarrassing at some point, but he doesn't care.
*
Jon wakes up maybe an hour later, curled up around Pat and feeling content enough to never want to get out of bed. The heat from Pat's body makes their skin sticky where they are connected. Pat is snuggled back against Jon's chest, and when Jon leans a little back to run a light hand from Pat's shoulder to the little dip in his back, rubbing his thumb at the sweat gathered there, it feels like Pat's burning up. Like he's some human furnace or something. It makes him curious.
Jon is a light sleeper, but after rooming with Pat for years, he knows that it's going to take a lot to wake Pat up.
Jon makes himself more comfortable, his head supported in the crook of his arm, while he lets himself catalogue all of the freckles and curves that make up Pat. There is an array of light star-scattered freckles dusting Pat's shoulder blades and they taper off mid-back. Jon gently rubs one with a finger as his hand continues to explore the dips and valleys of Pat's back. All the way down to where his ass starts to round out, and it's scary in a totally different way how he never really let himself see in the past, even as he was looking.
It takes seconds or it takes minutes, but it dawns on him gradually that he's turned on just by touching Pat, just by this simple contact, and the flickering sensation of want lazily settles in his bones like a drug, making him bolder, greedier.
He can't believe he fucked Pat. If this had happened before Vegas, before months of reacclimating and relearning, he would be gone by now. As soon as he woke up. Jon won't lie to himself about that. He's kind of tired of lying to himself in general.
By the time Jon is done memorizing and tracing the cartography of Pat's back, his finger dips between Pat's cheeks, and Jon holds his breath on an inhale. It's mind-blowing that they fucked without a condom, that they went that far (especially when the growing thing in Jon's head had never had a name or a shape, never formed a whole picture), but Pat is clean. Pat hasn't been with anyone for months (the testing they both had done individually before the season started erased any lingering anxiety that they might have had about each other), and the knowledge of it is heady enough to knock out a shaky exhale from Jon.
The bright and morphing thought that he trusts Pat so much, definitely kicks at the lines they have drawn around each other for years - as if they had only ever really been drawing those lines in sand all along.
Jon gives up on his slow caress and grabs Pat's cheeks in his hands, spreading them a little to run a thumb from Pat's opening and all the way down to the soft skin of his balls. Pat comes awake with a startled gasp, and breathes loudly for a few beats before he mumbles, “You creepy perv. Friggin' Neanderthal. No manners.”
Jon says, “Shut up, you love it,” and carefully slips a dry finger into Pat's hole. Pat moans into his pillow and rocks back onto his finger, and he's still loose, still slippery inside. A bolt of lust shoots all the way down to Jon's cock, and it's embarrassing how ready he is right now, how close to the edge. Almost mindlessly he settles a hand on Pat's dick, and with some relief finds that Pat is a little more than turned on, too.
“Oh my god, do you need me to draw an arrow, you giant loser,” Pat huffs out in irritation, and his hand quickly falls around Jon's wrist and pulls him out. He falls on his back and slips his hand down to his own cock. Jon tries to make an offended noise but it dies in his throat when he looks at Pat's face, at the display of his bent knees. Jon might gurgle, he's not sure.
Pat half-smirks and digs underneath his pillow for a second before finding a tiny tube of lube. He waves it victoriously in Jon's face before Jon snatches it away.
“Now who's needy, huh?” Jon asks, as he drops down between Pat's legs and almost perfunctorily grabs Pat by the ankles and spreads him a little more.
“Not needy. Just prepared, is all.” Pat turns his head to the side and bites his lip, closing his eyes. Like he's shy or something. Fuck, he might be shy. Jon can't process that thought without combusting.
Everything after that has this slow, languid quality to it; the way he takes his time prepping Pat a little even though he's ready; even though Jon is hard enough to hurt - the way that his focus keeps on coming back to the way that Pat is groaning open-mouthed, unashamed. How wrecked he sounds when he comes on both of their bellies, how Jon stutters after him a few thrusts later.
They fall asleep exchanging sloppy kisses, too tired to do anything else, and it's the best sex that Jon has ever had. (They are disgusting and sticking to each other in really weird and awkward places, and Jon may or may not bitch about it in the morning.)
Who knew that sex with Pat would be so good. They should have started fucking years ago, if the sex is anything to go by, and maybe they would have saved themselves from a lot of needless drama along the way.
At least save Pat the eternal embarrassment of pretending to have it with the ladies.
*
The next morning, they wake up late and Jon tries to blow Pat in the shower without choking on his dick and drowning.
Also, someone knocks on the door, and Jon goes to open it mid-laugh, and freezes when he finds that it's Sharpy and Abby. Jon is wearing only a loose tank and boxers and feels severely unprepared to deal with Sharpy One and Sharpy Two.
Jon says, “Hi,” and plays it cool.
Abby looks at him with this twisty knowing smirk on her lips and simply hands him the casserole. Jon is confused.
Sharpy says, “Hey, we came to have lunch with you lucky jerks,” and is immediately jabbed in the side by Abby.
Abby smoothly says, “Actually, we are leaving. We have reservations.” She must communicate something to Sharpy in the next second with her eyebrows because Sharpy stares at him in a whole new way, grinning like an idiot. Jon holds the casserole dish against his chest self-consciously and is not amused.
“So, you're leaving?” Jon asks suspiciously. Eagerly.
“Yup. Yes!” Sharpy punches him in the shoulder, and Abby quickly leans in to kiss him on the cheek before they twirl away.
But not before Sharpy yells, “Nice Texas-sized hickey on your neck, by the way!”
Jon's forehead thuds dejectedly against the door when he closes it.
*
Epilogue
They are both pretty disgustingly PDA now, in an unforeseen turn of events. Bowman and Bettman are constantly concerned that they are going to get arrested for public indecency, but Jon happily doesn't give a fuck.
Like, sure, they still cuss each other out and yell at each other, but at the end of those spats, Jon gets a happy ending. Sex makes everything better. There is simply nothing that blowjobs can't fix.
It's a marathon of Jersey Shore on TV, and even though Jon is only watching it halfheartedly, he still tries to pay attention for Pat. It's not right to look so gleeful at adults failing so badly, but Pat's constant cackling makes Jon grin, too. God, he is so fucked. Normally, he'd be mocking Pat, thwacking him on the head and going out, but here, now, everything has changed.
Jon snorts when Snookie faceplants in the street. Again. “This is so embarrassing. Like, it physically pains me to be watching this.”
Pat pats him on the thigh and munches on his Doritos. “Aw, baby, not everyone is as perfect as you are.”
Jon snatches the bag away from Pat so he can stop chewing for a few seconds and not put out his jaw. “It's not even about being perfect. There is just a whole lot of unexplainable suck happening in such a small group of people. It's sad. It might be contagious. They need to be quarantined.” Jon eats a chip thoughtfully and shakes his head when Vinny tries to do something uncharacteristically stupid. Jon thought he was the smart one.
The bag gets ninja-snagged from Jon as he is lamenting reality TV. “It's funny and it's fake. You need to stop pretending to be a tough guy to please.”
“Maybe my humor is simply a bit more refined than yours.”
“Doubt it, and blow me.” Pat jabs him with his elbow and Jon just wrestles his arm away until he is hugging it to his chest, not letting go.
“I already have. You cried when you came.”
“You are a horrible person. I don't know why I put up with you.”
Pat glares at him and starts to tug his arm back. When it's no use, he resorts to pinching Jon, tickling him, playing dirty.
They fall asleep on the couch, and when they wake up in the morning, Jon makes coffee and Pat sits at the island, flipping through a magazine. Jon hesitates only for a few seconds before he finally goes to his office and brings out the NDA form.
He can feel Pat stilling in his movements when he recognizes what it is, and Jon casually tears it up and drops it in the trash.
What Jon gets is Pat dragging him across the island so he can kiss him. Morning breath and all. Jon still smiles into the kiss before breaking free.
They have breakfast, bicker like usual, and both pretend to forget the fact that they have actually been married for a little over six months, and that they are still married.
And that their parents are planning to throw a little bash for the their one year anniversary because they didn't have a formal wedding.
And that Jon is thinking about getting Pat a nice, classy ring. And maybe one for himself, too.
Because as surprising as it is, Jon is happy, and, well, Pat isn't a horrible guy to be married to. Some of the time.
Fine, fine. Most of the time.
Fin
* I hope you guys enjoyed it or found it entertaining! Or memorable! Or, well, whatever.