With Bruises Like That. Hockey. Patrick Kane/Jonathan Towes. R.
Title: With Bruises Like That
Pairing: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Joews
Rating: R
Summary: After Tuesday's game, they need to let loose their frustrations.
Disclaimer: These are lies.
Notes: Punching. Happy Birthday, Tazer!
With Bruises Like That
Like it wasn’t bad enough everyone talking about him not having scored this series (and shut up, Kaner, words have multiple meanings), he had to go and make his one and only goal just in time for them to lose in overtime. Still, he thought, at least we forced the fuckers into overtime. It wasn’t that bad for a seventh game, he knew, but knowing and feeling weren’t ever going to be the same thing.
After all they’d gone through, to get down to overtime and be cut out just wasn’t something he wanted to have to deal with. He knew he should be able to get over it, but not right away, right? It was OK if he let himself deal with it in his own way.
Basically, Tazer needed someone near him to be in pain. Not the Canucks, as satisfying as that would have been, and ideally not himself, but he would have settled for that if no other opportunities had presented themselves. Which is why, once the handshakes and obligatory smiles were over, he went into the locker room, found a wall unoccupied by metal, and punched it with alternating fists until Kaner, having been sent back by the rest of the guys, grabbed his shoulder.
For one brief moment, before he knew what he was doing, he sent his fist flying at his friend’s chest. It was only when Kaner staggered back, still silent, that he blinked and snapped himself out of whatever fugue state he’d been in. He dropped his eyes to the floor. “Sorry, man.”
Kaner nodded slowly. “We’ll talk later, all right? Let’s make sure everyone knows you’re not dead.”
Everyone said Kaner didn’t know when to shut up, but it wasn’t true. When situations really, really called for a lack of chatter, he was right there with the perfect amount of silence. That and his ability to take a punch were possibly Tazer’s two favourite things about him. They returned in silence to a subdued group of teammates, both grinning to indicate that everything was fine. Or, at least, as fine as it was going to get for now.
When they finally got back to their room, Tazer headed straight for the suitcase still sitting on the floor next to his bed. He was going to sort through the contents and therefore be ready to leave in the morning, he was going to go straight to bed, he was going to think about how great it was that they’d come this far and not about how much it sucked that they wouldn’t be going any further. Of course, Kaner chose the middle of his determined introspection to grab his arm again.
He jerked away, turning to face his teammate. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’ We said we’d talk about this, so maybe we can be talking now.”
Tazer tilted his head. “I’m sorry for punching you. I didn’t mean to. Goodnight?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Seriously?” Tazer rubbed his eyes. “Look. You’re all into talking about how I’m too serious, right? So fine. Let’s have one night where I don’t stay up drawing plays and thinking about what we should have done right.”
“Oh, shut up, it’s not even about that.” Kaner rolled his eyes as he peeled his outermost shirt off. “It’s about you and your obsessive need for things to be in pain when you’re unhappy. Which, I’ll remind you, is creepy. You’re just lucky I put up with you.”
Tazer scowled. “You’re never gonna let me forget I told you that, are you? This is why I don’t like getting drunk around you. You collect blackmail material like most people breathe.”
“You’re not wrong, but that’s not the point. All I’m saying is, if you have to beat yourself up figuratively, at least don’t do it for real.”
“Oh, what, are you volunteering to get beat up instead? Because otherwise just let me punch my walls in peace and-” Tazer stopped, because Kaner’s expression had suddenly become even weirder than usual. “What?”
“What if I am volunteering?”
“You’re not. Don’t joke about that. Go to bed.”
“Go fuck yourself, Johnny. It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You want to hurt someone. I want you to hurt me. Why do we have to have this conversation every time?”
“Because it’s ridiculous, and because walls don’t get broken bones.”
“What’s the matter, honey? Scared to beat me up?” Patrick edged closer and closer, letting his taunts take on a wild edge. “Scared you’ll hurt me too bad and everyone else’ll find out your dirty little secret? Captain Serious, closet-” As Tazer’s arm went back he ducked the telegraphed roundhouse and popped up, eyes alight. “See? I knew you wanted to hit me.”
“Yeah, it’s not the first time.” Tazer growled something undecipherable under his breath, then reached out, almost gently, and took Kaner’s hand. He turned it over, examining it for some reason Kaner couldn’t decipher, then moved his own hand further down to hold Kaner’s wrist loosely. He rubbed a thumb over the vein, biting his lip contemplatively, before shifting his grip and clenching his hand.
Kaner’s eyes flared with pain as bones were squeezed together, but something - the set of his mouth, the way his breath quickened - told Tazer in no uncertain terms to keep going. Unbelievable. What had Tazer ever done to be part of a team so full of freaks?
“Hey!” Kaner’s voice snapped him back. “You’re not so normal yourself, buddy.”
“How- What?”
“You telegraph. You should work on that, actually. For such a stoic face, you show a lot more than people ever want to see.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Tazer swung again, and this time Kaner didn’t duck. Stars burst behind his eyes as he grinned. “That’s more like it.” A dull impact to his ribs sent his breath out of his body in a rush, and he retaliated with a jab to Tazer’s chest that sent them both stumbling into the desk between the beds.
Kaner hissed between his teeth as the corner pressed into an old bruise, and Tazer pulled back. “Are you-”
Kaner waved a hand. “Whatever, man. You’ll know when I stop being OK.” He made a show of looking up and down his friend’s body. “As long as we’re stopping, can we lose some clothes? Or are we pretending it’s not gonna go past punching this time?”
Tazer cuffed his shoulder far more lightly than either of them would have preferred, but set about shucking his clothing anyway. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - for Kaner, Tazer was the first to remove all his clothing, at which point he tackled his teammate onto the bed. Once Kaner was flat on his back Tazer gripped his wrists again, pinning them down, and scraped his collarbone with his teeth. Gently at first, as Kaner struggled to free his hands, but then harder and harder each time Kaner’s movements lessened, until he was biting down directly over the bone and worrying the skin with his tongue. There was going to be a mark there tomorrow, they both knew, bruising unexplainable to anyone who happened to see Kaner with his shirt off, even in the context of his other injuries. Good. What was the point of this, each thought to himself, if it didn’t leave marks?
The bites moved slowly down Kaner’s chest, decreasing in strength each time he made even a semi-serious effort to free himself. Finally Tazer let go of his wrists altogether, trusting him to stay still under pain of… well, lack of pain. Kaner hadn’t yet gotten his underwear off when he’d been thrown to bed, so Tazer sat up halfway and started to pull them off. A pinch to the thigh got Kaner lifting his hips to make it easier, and soon the boxer briefs were deposited on the floor with the rest of their combined clothes. Tazer barely glanced at his friend’s cock before standing up, much to Kaner’s dismay.
“What the f-”
“Down here.” Tazer pointed to the end of the bed before turning around and sitting on the edge. “Well?” he asked when a few seconds had gone by without the bed shifting behind him. “Why aren’t you here yet?”
“I…” Kaner interrupted himself, scrambling to sit next to Tazer on the bed, but was startled to find himself being pushed to the floor. “Dude, can you use your words sometimes?”
Tazer shot him a look, then grinned. “Do you need me to tell you which two words I’m thinking of right now?”
Kaner rolled his eyes, moving to kneel between Tazer’s legs. “Let me guess : ‘Suck it.’”
“Good boy.” Tazer gripped Kaner’s hair tightly, steering his head in the right direction. “You know what to do.”
And Kaner did. They’d done this enough by now that he also knew what not to do, which was a far more valuable skill. For example, don’t stick to the tip unless you’re also working his balls, and don’t go back past the balls unless you’re deep-throating him. Both of these would lead to hits that were too hard to be worth it, which was saying something. On the other hand, doing what he wanted, which Kaner was very good at by now, led to increased hair-pulling and - agh - blows to the head and shoulders that made his eyes roll back and persuaded one of his hands to sneak down.
Kaner knew how it sounded, getting hit while getting off, but fuck it: it worked for them, and it was a lot more awesome than most people would ever realise. And fuck, when Tazer pulled his hair so that his head was jerked back off his teammate’s cock and he was left panting, looking up at him to see what he wanted next, it was like a wire directly to his dick. So he basically said screw you to the rest of the world, because what Tazer wanted was to be sucked dry. Kaner was pretty sure he could do that.
A few minutes later, Tazer shooting down his throat was the last straw, and he groaned around the cock in his mouth as he came on the carpet. Pulling back, he slumped against the bed and let Tazer pet his hair. He knew this wasn’t worth losing the Cup, because nothing was worth that, but this was definitely a bright side to the situation. He let himself be pulled back up onto the bed, let Tazer pull the blanket from the next bed across the gap and over them. Tomorrow they’d go home, but at least they’d shown Vancouver what they were made of. For now, that was enough.
“Now, you know what you have to do next, right?”
As he surrendered to sleep, Kaner strained to hear the last few words:
“Cut your fucking hair tomorrow.”
Pairing: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Joews
Rating: R
Summary: After Tuesday's game, they need to let loose their frustrations.
Disclaimer: These are lies.
Notes: Punching. Happy Birthday, Tazer!
With Bruises Like That
Like it wasn’t bad enough everyone talking about him not having scored this series (and shut up, Kaner, words have multiple meanings), he had to go and make his one and only goal just in time for them to lose in overtime. Still, he thought, at least we forced the fuckers into overtime. It wasn’t that bad for a seventh game, he knew, but knowing and feeling weren’t ever going to be the same thing.
After all they’d gone through, to get down to overtime and be cut out just wasn’t something he wanted to have to deal with. He knew he should be able to get over it, but not right away, right? It was OK if he let himself deal with it in his own way.
Basically, Tazer needed someone near him to be in pain. Not the Canucks, as satisfying as that would have been, and ideally not himself, but he would have settled for that if no other opportunities had presented themselves. Which is why, once the handshakes and obligatory smiles were over, he went into the locker room, found a wall unoccupied by metal, and punched it with alternating fists until Kaner, having been sent back by the rest of the guys, grabbed his shoulder.
For one brief moment, before he knew what he was doing, he sent his fist flying at his friend’s chest. It was only when Kaner staggered back, still silent, that he blinked and snapped himself out of whatever fugue state he’d been in. He dropped his eyes to the floor. “Sorry, man.”
Kaner nodded slowly. “We’ll talk later, all right? Let’s make sure everyone knows you’re not dead.”
Everyone said Kaner didn’t know when to shut up, but it wasn’t true. When situations really, really called for a lack of chatter, he was right there with the perfect amount of silence. That and his ability to take a punch were possibly Tazer’s two favourite things about him. They returned in silence to a subdued group of teammates, both grinning to indicate that everything was fine. Or, at least, as fine as it was going to get for now.
When they finally got back to their room, Tazer headed straight for the suitcase still sitting on the floor next to his bed. He was going to sort through the contents and therefore be ready to leave in the morning, he was going to go straight to bed, he was going to think about how great it was that they’d come this far and not about how much it sucked that they wouldn’t be going any further. Of course, Kaner chose the middle of his determined introspection to grab his arm again.
He jerked away, turning to face his teammate. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’ We said we’d talk about this, so maybe we can be talking now.”
Tazer tilted his head. “I’m sorry for punching you. I didn’t mean to. Goodnight?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Seriously?” Tazer rubbed his eyes. “Look. You’re all into talking about how I’m too serious, right? So fine. Let’s have one night where I don’t stay up drawing plays and thinking about what we should have done right.”
“Oh, shut up, it’s not even about that.” Kaner rolled his eyes as he peeled his outermost shirt off. “It’s about you and your obsessive need for things to be in pain when you’re unhappy. Which, I’ll remind you, is creepy. You’re just lucky I put up with you.”
Tazer scowled. “You’re never gonna let me forget I told you that, are you? This is why I don’t like getting drunk around you. You collect blackmail material like most people breathe.”
“You’re not wrong, but that’s not the point. All I’m saying is, if you have to beat yourself up figuratively, at least don’t do it for real.”
“Oh, what, are you volunteering to get beat up instead? Because otherwise just let me punch my walls in peace and-” Tazer stopped, because Kaner’s expression had suddenly become even weirder than usual. “What?”
“What if I am volunteering?”
“You’re not. Don’t joke about that. Go to bed.”
“Go fuck yourself, Johnny. It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You want to hurt someone. I want you to hurt me. Why do we have to have this conversation every time?”
“Because it’s ridiculous, and because walls don’t get broken bones.”
“What’s the matter, honey? Scared to beat me up?” Patrick edged closer and closer, letting his taunts take on a wild edge. “Scared you’ll hurt me too bad and everyone else’ll find out your dirty little secret? Captain Serious, closet-” As Tazer’s arm went back he ducked the telegraphed roundhouse and popped up, eyes alight. “See? I knew you wanted to hit me.”
“Yeah, it’s not the first time.” Tazer growled something undecipherable under his breath, then reached out, almost gently, and took Kaner’s hand. He turned it over, examining it for some reason Kaner couldn’t decipher, then moved his own hand further down to hold Kaner’s wrist loosely. He rubbed a thumb over the vein, biting his lip contemplatively, before shifting his grip and clenching his hand.
Kaner’s eyes flared with pain as bones were squeezed together, but something - the set of his mouth, the way his breath quickened - told Tazer in no uncertain terms to keep going. Unbelievable. What had Tazer ever done to be part of a team so full of freaks?
“Hey!” Kaner’s voice snapped him back. “You’re not so normal yourself, buddy.”
“How- What?”
“You telegraph. You should work on that, actually. For such a stoic face, you show a lot more than people ever want to see.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Tazer swung again, and this time Kaner didn’t duck. Stars burst behind his eyes as he grinned. “That’s more like it.” A dull impact to his ribs sent his breath out of his body in a rush, and he retaliated with a jab to Tazer’s chest that sent them both stumbling into the desk between the beds.
Kaner hissed between his teeth as the corner pressed into an old bruise, and Tazer pulled back. “Are you-”
Kaner waved a hand. “Whatever, man. You’ll know when I stop being OK.” He made a show of looking up and down his friend’s body. “As long as we’re stopping, can we lose some clothes? Or are we pretending it’s not gonna go past punching this time?”
Tazer cuffed his shoulder far more lightly than either of them would have preferred, but set about shucking his clothing anyway. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - for Kaner, Tazer was the first to remove all his clothing, at which point he tackled his teammate onto the bed. Once Kaner was flat on his back Tazer gripped his wrists again, pinning them down, and scraped his collarbone with his teeth. Gently at first, as Kaner struggled to free his hands, but then harder and harder each time Kaner’s movements lessened, until he was biting down directly over the bone and worrying the skin with his tongue. There was going to be a mark there tomorrow, they both knew, bruising unexplainable to anyone who happened to see Kaner with his shirt off, even in the context of his other injuries. Good. What was the point of this, each thought to himself, if it didn’t leave marks?
The bites moved slowly down Kaner’s chest, decreasing in strength each time he made even a semi-serious effort to free himself. Finally Tazer let go of his wrists altogether, trusting him to stay still under pain of… well, lack of pain. Kaner hadn’t yet gotten his underwear off when he’d been thrown to bed, so Tazer sat up halfway and started to pull them off. A pinch to the thigh got Kaner lifting his hips to make it easier, and soon the boxer briefs were deposited on the floor with the rest of their combined clothes. Tazer barely glanced at his friend’s cock before standing up, much to Kaner’s dismay.
“What the f-”
“Down here.” Tazer pointed to the end of the bed before turning around and sitting on the edge. “Well?” he asked when a few seconds had gone by without the bed shifting behind him. “Why aren’t you here yet?”
“I…” Kaner interrupted himself, scrambling to sit next to Tazer on the bed, but was startled to find himself being pushed to the floor. “Dude, can you use your words sometimes?”
Tazer shot him a look, then grinned. “Do you need me to tell you which two words I’m thinking of right now?”
Kaner rolled his eyes, moving to kneel between Tazer’s legs. “Let me guess : ‘Suck it.’”
“Good boy.” Tazer gripped Kaner’s hair tightly, steering his head in the right direction. “You know what to do.”
And Kaner did. They’d done this enough by now that he also knew what not to do, which was a far more valuable skill. For example, don’t stick to the tip unless you’re also working his balls, and don’t go back past the balls unless you’re deep-throating him. Both of these would lead to hits that were too hard to be worth it, which was saying something. On the other hand, doing what he wanted, which Kaner was very good at by now, led to increased hair-pulling and - agh - blows to the head and shoulders that made his eyes roll back and persuaded one of his hands to sneak down.
Kaner knew how it sounded, getting hit while getting off, but fuck it: it worked for them, and it was a lot more awesome than most people would ever realise. And fuck, when Tazer pulled his hair so that his head was jerked back off his teammate’s cock and he was left panting, looking up at him to see what he wanted next, it was like a wire directly to his dick. So he basically said screw you to the rest of the world, because what Tazer wanted was to be sucked dry. Kaner was pretty sure he could do that.
A few minutes later, Tazer shooting down his throat was the last straw, and he groaned around the cock in his mouth as he came on the carpet. Pulling back, he slumped against the bed and let Tazer pet his hair. He knew this wasn’t worth losing the Cup, because nothing was worth that, but this was definitely a bright side to the situation. He let himself be pulled back up onto the bed, let Tazer pull the blanket from the next bed across the gap and over them. Tomorrow they’d go home, but at least they’d shown Vancouver what they were made of. For now, that was enough.
“Now, you know what you have to do next, right?”
As he surrendered to sleep, Kaner strained to hear the last few words:
“Cut your fucking hair tomorrow.”