Fic: KazerKiss (2/5)
There’s only a week left until the making-out-for-charity event, and Patrick would be lying if he said he wasn’t ridiculously excited. He’s lying on his hotel bed in Columbus, watching Jonny watch NHL highlights with that usual look of comprehension on his face, like hockey plays tell Jonny something they don’t tell anyone else. And Patrick’s just always thought his concentration expression makes Jonny look even hotter, so.
“Dude, Jonny, the thing is in a week!” he says, gets a half confused look in response. “We should practice.” The confusion turns into irritation, lightning-fast.
“Fuck off,” Jonny turns back to the highlights.
“No, c’mon, I know how important practice is to you, Jonny,” Patrick says eagerly, “this is gonna be shown on Hockey Night in Canada! You don’t wanna embarrass Winnipeg, do you?” They definitely need to practice; plus, it’d mean he gets to kiss Jonny more. And Patrick’s life goal is to kiss Jonny as much as possible, basically. “C’mon, dude, we should at least work on our blocking!”
“Blocking,” Jonny repeats, like the very word repels him.
“Yeah, like! Plan our positions and stuff. You think they’ll bring in a bed, or what?” He’s thought about this. He’s been envisioning it - frequently - on a bed, but that’s probably because he just thinks about kissing Jonny on a bed all the time, like when they’re in their hotel room and Jonny’s tightly wound after a bad game and worrying because they’ve got another game after this and Patrick thinks kissing him might make him forget for a while, lose himself in something that isn’t hockey or trying to carry the team all on his own. “Or, will we have to stand up?” Patrick goes on. Jonny glares at him.
“Shut up,” he snaps out, but he’s kind of going red, which, seriously, he can’t be that angry already.
“They’ll probably have us sit down, I bet. Since you’re mutantly tall, obviously.”
“Yeah, well... you’re short,” Jonny snaps back, almost sounds defeated, frustrated.
“Your mom’s short. Anyways, should I sit on your lap, maybe?” He definitely likes that idea. He’s thought about that one too, like when they’re on the plane, Jonny all smiles because he scored, Patrick wants to just once be able to climb into his lap and kiss him because his goals are so fucking amazing and Patrick wants him to understand just how amazing he is, the things he can do.
“Maybe I should straddle you,” he muses. Fuck, he’d like that too, how would he ever be able to pick? He’s always wanted to do this, too, just get so close to him, and Jonny’s already so much taller than him, Patrick wants to kiss him while wrapped in his arms, know what it’s like to love being small for once, fit in Jonny’s arms. “Come on, Jonny. Let’s practice,” he slides off his bed, climbs onto Jonny, and Jonny’s giving him this wide-eyed look of disbelief, like he doesn’t really think Patrick’s going to get close to him. As if they actually have boundaries, where has Jonny been all this time? “Come on,” Patrick urges eagerly, pushes Jonny’s shoulders back to get him to lie down. Jonny shoves him off, gets off the bed and stalks into the bathroom. “Are you jerking off? Come on out, Jonny,” Patrick calls after him, hops up to bang on the door, “don’t waste it, use it! It’s method acting!”
“Fuck off, Patrick!”
Clearly they’re going to need a lot of practice; well, Jonny does, anyways. Patrick’s already perfect. He flops down on his bed and changes the channel to Mythbusters, even though it’s boring as hell when they aren’t blowing anything up. What if they do ask him to pick, for this kissing thing? He’s only got one shot at kissing Jonny, he has to pick the best way. Maybe he should be sitting, because just thinking about it makes his knees weak, because Jonny’s just - he’s hot, he’s going to be kissing Patrick, the whole world watching the fifteen minutes where Jonny calls Patrick his own.
It’s a while before he hears the shower turn off and the bathroom door opens; Patrick looks over, grins when he sees Jonny in a towel. “If you wear that to KazerKiss, I can’t be held responsible,” he says; it should be illegal for Jonny to wear a shirt, he looks so good without one. “You bring out the animal in me, baby,” he smirks, and Jonny scowls.
“God, will you please fuck off,” he says, this voice that’s edging too close to actual anger, and Patrick sits up, looks at him for a second.
“Are you being serious?” he asks, thinks please, don’t be, I’m sorry, whatever I did.
“Yes,” Jonny grinds out, and Patrick looks down. He really should have seen this coming - he’s ecstatic about the kiss, but Jonny - how could he forget the way Jonny looked horrified when they suggested it? He only agreed because it’s for charity, and he must be regretting it already, and they haven’t even done it yet. Of course, though. Jonny clearly wishes he didn’t have to, repulsed by the idea of kissing Patrick. He’s just doing it for charity, the only reason he would ever kiss Patrick, doesn’t even really want to do it.
“Okay,” he says softly, “I’ll fuck off. Since you asked so nicely.” He should probably stop imagining this kiss, just be grateful for what he’s going to get. He starts to slide off the bed, just wants to - to leave, but Jonny sighs out a breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m just - stressed, and shit. I’m being a jerk.”
“Stressed? We’re here to play the Blue Jackets, Jonny,” Patrick points out, because it’s easier than saying you don’t have to be sorry, I get it, you don’t want to kiss me.
“Every opponent needs to be taken seriously, Kaner,” Jonny says, and it’s - this shift, back into captain mode, back into hockey. Patrick exhales slowly.
“Your mom needs to be taken seriously,” he retorts automatically, “so... should I still fuck off?” He doesn’t want Jonny to say yes, but. He’ll understand.
“No, dude. I can, if you want.”
“Can what?”
“Can, you know. Fuck off, leave you alone,” Jonny says, sounds like he thinks this is the logical conclusion, and Patrick shakes his head no quickly.
“No! Shit, no, Jonny. I never said that.” He just - doesn’t ever want Jonny to get that idea, that Patrick would ever want him to go.
“Okay, then,” Jonny crosses the room, goes to his suitcase.
“I never want you to leave me alone,” Patrick says, quickly adds, “especially when you’re, you know, not wearing anything but a towel.” Jonny huffs out an exasperated sigh at that, but at least he’s not leaving. He takes a t-shirt and pair of shorts out of his suitcase, his back to Patrick, thankfully can’t see the way Patrick’s staring. When Jonny drops his towel, Patrick swallows hard, has to look away because oh, God, Jonny. Patrick slides down under the covers, doesn’t look up until Jonny’s in his own bed.
They go back to watching highlights, Jonny dissecting Columbus’s defense like they wouldn’t win this game even if they skated sideways and forgot to bring sticks, and Patrick just watches him, the way he bites his lip and concentrates. Patrick can’t look at Jonny’s mouth without thinking I’m going to get to kiss him, and it’s the only thing in his mind.
“Why don’t you like talking about it?” he asks quietly. Jonny looks over at him, frowns a little.
“Talking about what?”
“You know,” Patrick fidgets with the hem of his shirt, tugs on the thread, “the charity thing.” Kissing me, he doesn’t say, because maybe Jonny will tell him to fuck off again, and he just doesn’t want their only kiss to be framed by that, Jonny’s resentment and this feeling in Patrick’s chest, like he’s being thrown out of his home.
“Oh.” Jonny’s quiet, so quiet, and Patrick doesn’t like feeling nervous, doesn’t like this feeling at all. “Why do you like to?”
“I just think that if we talk about it, it won’t be so... you know. Awkward. When we get there and stuff.” He still wants Jonny to answer him; should he ask again?
“I think it’s gonna be awkward no matter what,” Jonny says, and Patrick laughs a little.
“You’re probably right.” Awkward isn’t a problem; it’s better than Jonny treating this like it’ll be easy, done and forgotten by the next day if no sooner. This means - means it matters, and it may not mean a lot to Jonny, but there’s enough meaning to worry over.
Jonny looks over like he’s about to say something, but just bites his lip and looks down again. They’re both quiet for a while, until Jonny looks over at him again. “If they let us pick, uh, how. You can choose.”
“Any way’s fine with me,” Patrick replies. He doesn’t care, as long as he gets to kiss Jonny. He’ll settle for anything - already has, really, settled for in front of thousands and for charity. “Do you wish you didn’t agree to it?” he blurts out.
“It’s for a really good cause, of course not,” Jonny says, kind of flatly. “Do you?” he asks quickly.
“Of course not. I’m not the one that gets pissed off whenever someone brings it up,” Patrick replies, and if it sounds acidic and unfriendly, so what. He just doesn’t like people thinking kissing him will suck. At least he knows how Jonny feels about it now.
“I’m nervous, okay?” Jonny says, kind of snappish, but there’s too much anxiety for Patrick to do anything but stare. “There’s going to be people watching, and I never exactly wanted the whole goddamn world to know how bad I am at kissing!”
Patrick laughs, because really? “Jonny,” he says, “everybody loves you. You can do no wrong in the eyes of, well, everyone. I’ll take the lead, okay?” Jonny’s still looking down. “I’m a stellar kisser. And seriously, if you want to practice, I’m down.” Jonny just shakes his head, doesn’t look reassured at all. “It’ll be okay, I know it will,” Patrick adds, “Besides- I’m sure you’re good at it. You’re good at everything, Jonny.”
Jonny looks down, and he’s quiet for a moment. “So long as you think so,” he says, so quiet Patrick almost can’t hear it.
“Everyone thinks so. Don’t worry about it, man,” Patrick says.
“But-,” Jonny says quietly, staring down at the bedspread, “yeah. Cool.” The highlights have ended, so Jonny turns off the TV, pulls his blankets up.
“Goodnight, Jonny,” Patrick says.
“Night, Kaner,” Jonny says, and it - stings, a little, but whatever. Patrick pulls the covers up higher, and goes to sleep.
0o0o0o0o0o0oo
Jonny didn’t sleep last night. That’s not saying much, because he hasn’t really been able to sleep decently for a while, but last night he just didn’t sleep. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he was told about it, and now it’s going to happen in an hour. He’s surprised he hasn’t just died from the anticipation, to be honest.
He spends a ridiculous amount of time choosing a shirt, only to be handed his jersey when he arrives, anyways. Patrick’s already here, grinning at him from across the room.
“There’s my kissing partner!” he yells over, only to get swatted at by the woman examining the sleeve of his jersey.
“You’ve had it on for two minutes and you spill water on it,” she chastises, shaking her head.
“Sorry,” he says, doesn’t sound apologetic at all, too cheery. Jonny sighs, turns back to pulling on his jersey. Patrick’s not going to be taking this seriously, unsurprisingly. Then again, it wasn’t like there was any chance he would, either.
He can hear the crowd from the hallway. He’s leaning back against the wall, trying not to look at Patrick, who’s humming and trying to look through the crack between the doors. Oh, God, how is this really here, happening right now? Jonny’s heart’s beating faster already, something in his chest constricting painfully. He just can’t do this. He’s imagined it so many times, thought about what it’ll feel like, kissing Patrick, he’s thought about it, worried about it, been chirped about it, obsessed over it and jerked off to it and he just can’t get it out of his head. He’s always wanted to kiss Patrick, always, wanted to kiss adorable, ridiculous, obnoxious Patrick, and now he’s going to -
“That’s my cue!” Patrick’s saying suddenly, shoots a surprisingly gentle smile at Jonny. “See you out there!” And then he’s gone, throwing open the doors and running out with his arms over his head as the emcee announces, “Chicago’s sorta-sweetheart who’s really not that sweet, Patrick Kane!”
Jonny really can’t breathe and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He can’t do this. He really can’t do this. What if Patrick thinks he’s a bad kisser? What if he fucks this up, in front of twenty thousand people, right in front of Patrick? What if Patrick can somehow tell this is way too important to Jonny, what if he can somehow taste it, that Jonny’s worried about this way too much? What if it shows on his face, that he’s lain awake every night thinking I can’t do this how can I do this.
And then it’s his turn to go out, and oh, God, there’s a loveseat at centre ice, there’s the emcee and there’s Sharpy in a ref’s uniform and fans screaming like he’s about to score a goal, and there’s Patrick, waving to the crowd and grinning. Jonny waves at the fans kind of stiffly and attempts a smile before he goes to join Patrick, arms crossed over his chest, tries to breathe evenly.
“And we’re gonna put the fifteen minutes up on the clock up there,” The DJ is announcing from his little stand by the bench, where Sharpy’s standing, grinning. “You know, in case you guys get outta hand and have to be reminded when to stop!” The crowd screams at this.
“Better make that buzzer loud, then!” Patrick yells back, as if anyone but the first row can hear him.
“Time to get cozy!” Sharpy has his own microphone, which seems to Jonny to be the world’s worst idea.
“The fine folks at Darvin Furniture graciously donated this loveseat,” the DJ says, “Now, they tell me it’s been treated with Scotchguard, just in case you guys happen to spill anything on it,” he pauses as the crowd screams. “But either way, they don’t want it back!”
“After you,” Patrick says to Jonny, sweeps an arm towards the couch. Jonny’s glad to sit down; his knees are feeling kind of weak. He sinks down, and Patrick sits next to him, throws an arm over the low back of the couch. Patrick tucks one leg up under himself, the picture of relaxation, and Jonny just feels more edgy, so obviously stressed in comparison to Patrick’s ease.
“Now, that loveseat - and those jerseys - will be sold to the highest bidder right after this monumental event,” the DJ is saying, “in case you want to commemorate the Blackhawks’s most memorable Valentines day. But the Chicago Blackhawks are not responsible for anyone who gets pregnant sitting on that couch - Kaner’s lawyer insisted on putting that in the contract! Because you never know, am I right?”
“Let’s get to the main event!” Sharpy says, to uproarious cheers. Patrick, being Patrick, pulls out a little thing of breathspray and pretends to spray it at Jonny before tossing it over his shoulder, making the fans laugh and cheer for them to get on with it. Jonny would normally be a little exasperated, but he can’t even think straight right now.
“Alright, you guys ready?” the DJ yells, “three- two-”
“Ready?” Patrick whispers. Jonny can’t breathe.
“One!”
Patrick leans in and presses his lips to Jonny’s. Jonny tenses, struggles to keep it together. This is easy. He can do this. He can feel Patrick smiling, like this whole thing is just a joke, and it is, Jonny has to remember that, they’re going to pull back in a few minutes and Patrick will still be grinning like nothing’s happened.
“Come on!” Sharpy yells, “Give these people what they paid for, Tooooeesss!”
“It’s for the kids!” the DJ contributes, the fans screaming louder than Jonny’s ever heard them.
“Slip him the tongue, Peekaboo!” Sharpy calls helpfully, laughing. Jonny feels Patrick’s smile broaden before Patrick opens his mouth a little, leans in just a tiny bit, and the fans somehow perceive this, start screaming even louder. He swipes his tongue into Jonny’s mouth and Jonny - oh, he’s gone. He opens his lips for Patrick and Patrick’s licking into his mouth and kissing him. Suddenly - suddenly this doesn’t feel like a publicity thing. It doesn’t feel like it’s for the fans, it feels like - like it’s just them. Patrick shifts in closer and he licks at this spot behind Jonny’s teeth that makes him whimper helplessly, so quiet. He grabs Patrick’s jersey to pull him in closer and keep him here, whimpering into his mouth because he just can’t help it. Patrick’s up on his knees now, leaning into Jonny’s chest, and he cups Jonny’s face in his hands, making these little whimpering sounds. This is just - it’s just so good, Patrick’s moves one hand to the back of Jonny’s neck like he doesn’t want Jonny to go anywhere, kissing him sweet and deep and it’s insistently hungry and somehow really gentle, and Jonny didn’t think it would be like this. Patrick isn’t smiling anymore, and this this - this isn’t a kiss for charity, this isn’t the beginning of something that will wreck him, this is what tells him he’s far past the beginning, already doomed to be ruined by Patrick, because this - this is everything.
He tries not to think about it, and that’s not difficult because Patrick’s making these sounds, barely-audible moans that are all Jonny can hear.
“Whoa, reign it in, eh?” The DJ’s crowing, “there’s kids here!” Jonny ignores the DJ, because Patrick’s other hand is settled on Jonny’s hip and tugging him in a little closer, and he’s - he’s into this. He’s kissing Jonny back, and - and oh, God, Jonny’s getting hard and he can’t help it, because Patrick’s little sounds and he’s such a good kisser and it’s Patrick, Patrick. He’s who Jonny wants and he’s kissing Jonny like he means it. Jonny squirms and whines, just needs, because he wants this, wants Patrick so badly, and he’s so fucking hard, erection pressing insistently against the front of his jeans, he just can’t handle this.
“Not much time left!” the DJ calls out.
Jonny can’t help the desperate little sound he makes when Patrick’s fingertips skim over his hip under the jersey, just tugs on Patrick’s jersey harder so Patrick won’t stop. Oh, he just - it just feels so impossibly good because it’s Patrick, Jonny’s kissing Patrick, it’s so good and oh, oh, he’s so close, leaking steadily into his boxerbriefs and he can feel himself getting closer, can’t stop it. He whines helplessly without knowing what he wants, and Patrick licks that spot in his mouth again and Jonny oh, God, Jonny’s coming right as the fifteen-minutes buzzer sounds, covering up the moan he can’t help. Patrick kisses him through it, even after the buzzer’s stopped, kissing him slow and easy, his thumb stroking over Jonny’s hip gently.
“Guys, guys!” the DJ is yelling, “Whoa, Kaner, come on!”
The noise of the crowd hits Jonny hard when Patrick draws back, screaming all around when the only thing he can see is Patrick, his parted lips and the way he’s breathing a little hard, pale blue eyes on Jonny. This is it, Jonny realises, this absurd moment of staring at Patrick on a loveseat at centre ice in front of twenty-thousand screaming people, he’s fucked. This will be what ruins him, it’ll be his cocky, grinning best friend, it’ll be Patrick, who says sweet things to him in the dark of hotel rooms and isn’t serious except when he looks at Jonny after unbelievable goals and says you see what we can do.
It’s always been Patrick, and it’s always going to be him, because in the middle of all the screaming and the people, he’s the only thing Jonny sees.
“Well, that was quite a show!” The DJ calls out, “Let’s hear it for Chicago’s best Valentines!” The crowd gets impossibly louder; Jonny looks over his shoulder, sees Sharpy standing by the DJ’s stand. Sharpy’s looking down at the ice, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Jonny moves a hand over the wet spot in his jeans self-consciously, can feel himself turning red. How the fuck did he let this happen? It just - it was so good, unfairly good, why did it have to be?
“Okay, guys!” the DJ’s saying, coming over with his microphone, “now, tell us, how was it?” He holds the microphone out towards Patrick, who grins.
“It was awesome, of course,” he says, “it was a ton of fun.” He smiles, and Jonny suddenly feels horrible. The way Patrick’s smiling, this isn’t what Jonny wanted. He wanted - he wanted, impossibly, for their first kiss to be somewhere quiet and hidden away, wanted Patrick to smile at him afterwards, this little, secretive smile just for Jonny. But here they are, Patrick’s smiling for the twenty thousand people here and countless more, not just for Jonny, because even their kiss, that wasn’t just for them either.
“I’m sure we all agree,” The DJ says, then turns to Jonny. Jonny’s acutely aware of Patrick right next to him,not touching him anymore.Oh, God, all eyes are on him, and all he can feel is the way his heart is still racing, he can still taste Patrick on his lips, and the sticky mess in his boxerbriefs is so uncomfortable, making him burn with embarrassment.”So, Tazer,” the DJ says, oblivious, “tell us, is Kaner as good a kisser as he thinks he is?”
What the fuck. Jonny can feel the blush that burns on his face. How can he answer that, he’s incapable of saying anything other than it was amazing, because it was amazing,it was ruining, it was everything he didn’t know could exist and will never have again, he can’t possibly lie when he can still taste Patrick on his lips.
“I’m just honoured to have been a part of this event, and I just want to thank the Blackhawks fans for their participation,” he says instead, “the Children’s Memorial Hospital does amazing things for those kids, and working with them is one of the best parts of being a Blackhawk.” The DJ smiles at this like it’s what he was expecting to hear, and turns back to Patrick.
“And I guess you’re gonna tell us that you kissed him so thoroughly he can’t give a sensible answer to a question right now, huh?” Patrick beams like he’s proud of this, just another thing Jonny wishes could really be theirs. “But seriously, that looked like some kiss. I thought we were gonna have to turn a hose on you guys to get you apart!”
“Well, I can only take half the credit,” Patrick says, “Tazer brings a lot to the table!” The DJ laughs at that. Jonny hopes they’re done, but now the DJ is bringing over two girls, giggly teenagers who must have watched the - the event from those two armchairs over there. Jonny didn’t even notice them.
“Now, our contest winners have some questions for you! You first, Sarah.” She’s wearing a Kane jersey, smiling really big.
“Tazer, does Kaner have soft lips?” she asks, and the DJ laughs.
“How bout it, Tazer?” he urges. Jonny can feel himself turn even redder. How can they expect him to answer questions like this? He just kissed Patrick, the kind of thing that can only be described with incoherency, spreading his hands in silence to say the world’s gone, everything I knew is gone.
“Well, Sarah,” Patrick cuts in, “why don’t you come over here and find out?” He goes over to hug her, kisses her on the cheek.
“Your turn, Maria,” the DJ says, “what’s your question?” The other girl is blushing madly as she looks to Patrick; she’s wearing a Kane jersey, too.
“Um, Kaner,” she says,”which is better? Kissing Tazer or winning the Stanley Cup?”
Jonny wants to die. He’s just - he’s never wondered that, he’s always known kissing Patrick would be better. He never thought he’d have to share things between the experiences, that both would come with screaming fans and an arena, he never wanted to share things. Kissing Patrick was better, though. It’s the epitome everything in his life will be compared to.
Patrick looks at Jonny, smiles, and it’s almost like it’s just them. “This definitely ranks right up there,” Patrick says. Jonny looks down, terrified he’s going to blurt out I wish it was better, I think it was.
The DJ goes on, thanking them and the organisers and who-fucking-ever, and finally they’re allowed to leave. Jonny gets off the ice as fast as socially permittable, Patrick following, still waving to people until they reach the hallway. There are people milling around the hallway, but the locker room is empty.
“I can’t believe you were worried you wouldn’t be good at it!” Patrick says after the door closes behind them. “Like, wow, Jonny. That was like.. the best kiss of my life. If you repeat that, I’ll deny it,” he says, smiling at Jonny brightly. Jonny just bites his lip; all he can see is the denying, what would happen if he said Patrick said I’m the best, hearing Patrick say he’s not and wondering if that’s true.
“Oh, um.” Jonny manages. He takes off his jersey, changes back into his shirt before starting back across the room. Patrick follows, still pulling on his own shirt.
“You should’ve brought a change of jeans, Jonny! Be prepared! Weren’t you a moose scout, or whatever the hell you have up there?” Jonny yanks the door open, face burning in humiliation.
“Fuck off, Kaner.” Jonny just - just can’t handle this, can’t handle Patrick acting like everything isn’t different, like everything they had has suddenly changed.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Patrick persists, chasing after him down the hall. “I probably would have done the same thing in another five minutes. It was just taking me longer because I have superhuman stamina. And no one could blame you, Jonny. I’m incredibly hot.”
“I said fuck off.”
“Hey...” Patrick rushes to keep up with him, “are you like, mad at me? for making you come?” Jonny doesn’t answer, pulls open the door out. The parking lot is silent, empty of people. “No one could tell,” Patrick says, more serious than Jonny’s ever heard him, “And I won’t tell anyone, Jonny. I promise.” He’s looking at Jonny all earnesty, and it just tears Jonny’s heart out, that he could take all this and still want more from Patrick. He’s taking an amazing kiss, the best he’ll ever have, and wanting more. “I’m sorry for getting you off or whatever. But it was fun, right? And it was for charity. So...”
“Yeah. Charity,” Jonny says, sick with the thought. It was just for charity. It wasn’t for anything but that. It certainly wasn’t for him. Patrick follows him across the lot to his car, just won’t leave.
“So, what are you gonna do now? Do you want to do something? After you, um, shower, I mean. We could do something,” Patrick says. Jonny shakes his head no. He just can’t - can’t face Patrick anymore today, already shaken to his core and unable to stand even the slightest tremor. If Patrick so much as smiled at him, he would break into pieces.
“I have stuff to do, so. I’ll just see you later.”
“Oh.” Everything leaves Patrick suddenly, his excitement, earnestness, the way he was smiling at Jonny just a little while ago. “Okay. Later...”
Jonny forces himself not to look back, but as he’s driving out of the lot, he thinks it might be safe. He looks in the rearview mirror, and sees Patrick still standing there. Jonny looks away.
The whole world shifted, but there’s one thing that will never change, because Patrick’s still at the centre of it, the eye of an ever-changing hurricane.
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