Reframing the Loss
Title: Reframing the Loss
Summary: After the game against the Anaheim Ducks, Johnny helps Patrick get past his guilt over the loss.
Characters: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,651
Warnings: None. This is just pwp.
Disclaimer: None of this is real! I'm just borrowing their likenesses. Obviously, this is all made up, and just for fun, and… yeah. All fake.
Neurotic Author's Note 1: So, uh, I wrote hockey RPF. I wrote hockey RPF pwp. I am not sure how this happened, except that I blame queerly_it_is for most of it. He is a bad influence. neros_violin enabled, and then delicatale made a comment about wanting fix-it fic after Kaner blamed himself for losing the game, and then the comment turned into a bunny and the next thing I knew I was writing shower sex. IDEK.
Neurotic Author's Note 2: I owe infinite thanks to neros_violin and delicatale for betaing this thing, helping out with characterization (of entirely fictionalized accounts of the people involved) and pointing out where all my logic failed because I was writing at 2 am.
Neurotic Author's Note 3: Also, titles are hard. /o\
Patrick's never been more grateful to escape to his hotel room in his life. After a promising start, the game just fell apart right before his eyes, and if he thinks about it for one second longer he's pretty sure he's going to have to put his fist through the nearest wall. If he does that, then Johnny's going to bitch at him about the cost of repairs and then bitch at him even more for hurting his hand during the season, and the last thing he wants is to disappoint Johnny even more today.
He already showered at the rink, but it feels like that barely got the worst of the sweat off him. His clothes are clinging to him, and he could swear he still reeks of failure. He doesn't turn on the TV-all he'll see is replays of every last mistake he made tonight, followed by Johnny's devastated face as he tries to explain away why they lost without He ducks into the bathroom and turns on the shower, turning the knob until the water is so hot he can barely stand it. He lets the spray hit squarely against his spine, pulsing against the muscles that are already beginning to tighten in his back and shoulders, and leans both forearms against the tiled wall. He stops short of burying his face in his hands, figuring that he may as well try not to wallow too much in self-pity tonight. That will come later, along with whatever alcohol he can dig out of the mini bar. Johnny would disapprove, partly because minibar alcohol is really expensive, and sometimes he used to threaten to hide all the booze, back when they were roommates. He never did hide the alcohol, and it's kind of funny to think that he if he knew what Patrick was up to now, except for how it isn't.
Right now, Kane just wants to scrub every last remaining memory of the game from off his skin, and maybe get drunk later if he's not too damned tired. Twenty-five minutes of ice time, and it feels like he's run three marathons.
He's not sure how long he's been there before he hears the door to the bathroom open and close again with a click, and there's a blast of cold air that's gone just as quickly as the shower door opens and shuts. He doesn't flinch when he feels warm hands slide along his waist to come to rest at his hips, but he can't help the small shiver of anticipation when he feels the expected press of a smooth expanse of skin against his back.
"So what was all that?" Johnny murmurs into his ear, and for a split-second Patrick almost regrets letting him have a key to the room. But the time, it seemed logical enough-they used to room together, and he's accustomed to Johnny having the run of the place. It's weird sometimes, coming in and finding the room empty except for his stuff, but they agreed it was better this way.
He shakes his head instead of answering, playing dumb. They both know he knows exactly what Johnny's talking about, but he doesn't want to discuss it, not now, not ever. It's his fault everything went to hell in those last minutes, and he can't bear the thought of dissecting what went wrong with Tazer, not now, and certainly not like this.
Johnny doesn't seem to be in a hurry, though. Instead he reaches for the bottle of body wash sitting on a corner shelf, and the air fills with the pungent scent of citrus as he squeezes it into one hand and begins to work it into lather.
"Hold still," he orders quietly, nudging Patrick with his knee when he tries to move aside. "I got you, okay?"
He can only nod dumbly, stays braced on his forearms, and shudders a little when Johnny's hands make contact with his skin again, slick with water and soap, fingers moving with deft assurance along his muscles. He doesn't deserve this, but it appears Johnny's not taking no for an answer, and he's too damned tired to even think about arguing with his captain. He lets his head drop forward a fraction, relaxing under Tazer's touch in spite of himself, feeling today's loss finally begin to sluice away along with the shower water, circling the drain at their feet.
Johnny's hands move up to scrub at his neck, slide over his shoulders and back down over his chest. The shower stall is just big enough to accommodate them without either of them having to worry about knocking their elbows against the walls, but it's still a pretty tight fit, and Patrick can feel the heat radiating off of Tazer's body, mere inches from his, one ankle hooked around his leg, anchoring him in place. Patrick shifts his weight a little, trying to accommodate him, but whatever Johnny's planning, he's taking his own sweet time getting there, smoothing his palms along Patrick's abs, spreading the soap lather in broad, sweeping circles that reach almost to his hips. By the time Tazer has worked his way to his back, both thumbs kneading at each knot in the muscles with that same single-minded determination Johnny brings to each game, taking care not to press too hard against the bruises mottling his entire body.
Patrick's gone completely pliant, knees threatening to buckle at the slightest provocation, breathing as hard as if he's just come off the ice. He's half-hard now, his legs trembling so badly he's pretty sure he's going to fall on his ass and ruin the whole mood. His muscles keep seizing up, betraying him with the exhaustion that's been steadily creeping up on him for what feels like forever. Part of him just wants to turn curl up against Johnny's chest, wrap himself up in his arms, and sleep for the next week. To his surprise, Tazer bypasses his dick entirely, using more body wash to run his hands over his ass and thighs, working his fingers into the crease where his legs meet his hips, and Kane's dick goes from kind of interested to rock-hard in the blink of an eye, because Christ, Johnny's hands. Tazer drops to a crouch for a few moments, hands caressing the inside of Patrick's thighs, tracing the outline of his calves and ankles before pushing himself to his feet again.
This time he wraps both arms around Patrick's waist, moving up so his erection, hot and insistent, is pressing against Patrick's skin. Johnny kisses his neck, worrying at it gently with his teeth until Patrick is sure he's never going to be able to explain the marks to anyone's satisfaction. He shudders and presses back against him anyway, spreading his legs a little to give Johnny access, if that's what he wants.
"Uh-uh," Johnny breathes in his ear. "C'mon, turn around. Face me."
He shakes his head again. He has no idea what sort of expression he has on his face, but he's damned well sure that, whatever it is, he doesn't want Johnny seeing it. But then, he should know better by now than to think he has any say at all in these matters. What Tazer wants, Tazer gets, and less than ten seconds later Patrick is letting Johnny take him by the shoulders and turn him around like some sort of shopping mall mannequin and pressed up against the wall while Johnny kisses him. It's not the usual urgent, passionate affair that's all tongue and teeth and hands, the way Johnny often is after a game. This time, like everything else he's been doing, he's taking his time, tongue exploring Kane's mouth like he's discovering a new and exotic flavor behind every tooth. If he didn't know any better he'd swear it was questioning, even hesitant, like Johnny's trying to gauge if he really wants this.
So he breaks away, just to see what will happen, and Johnny looks at him with that earnest expression that does awful things to his heart and makes his guts twist up, the one he wishes Johnny wouldn't use on him because it makes him want things he can't really have. He bites his lower lip and lets his gaze slide away, just so he won't have to look at Tazer looking at him like that, and so the next kiss takes him almost by surprise. This one is demanding, full of intent, and so he's not surprised when he feels Johnny's hand between his legs, slicked up with God only knows what. Trust Johnny to somehow manage to get lube into the shower, he thinks distractedly.
He turns back around-the angle is impossible if they're facing each other. He feels his captain's fingers gently pushing past the ring of muscle in his ass and then stopping, allowing him a moment to get used to the sensation. He lets his breath out in a whoosh, forces himself to relax against the intrusion, only to buck forward a moment later as Johnny crooks his fingers to brush deliberately against his prostate. His feet slip on the wet tile, and he has to brace himself with both hands on the wall Tazer holding him up with one arm wrapped around his chest, eyes slamming shut as Johnny works him open, so slowly that it's maddening. He's panting and squirming now, thrusts shamelessly as Johnny adds a third finger, and a fourth, thinks he might come just like this if only Johnny would just get on with it, already.
"Johnny, c'mon, please," he manages, pretty pleased that he's able to be that coherent even with his teeth clenched and his eyes screwed shut because it feels like he's about to fly into a million different pieces.
Tazer lunges forward, spins Patrick around again in order to catch his lower lip between his teeth, then alternates licks and bites and kissed all along his jaw and neck before pressing him even harder up against the wall. Glancing down Patrick can see his cock, thick and flushed and curving up toward his belly, wanting, and it's a simple enough matter to line himself up, to let Tazer lift him ever so slightly so he can slide down. They slot together perfectly like this, Kane's ankles locked behind Toews' thighs, and Johnny braces them both against the wall, setting a rhythm that's excruciatingly slow and deliberate. For all that the sex with them is usually faster, rougher than this, he finds he's enjoying this unexpectedly tender side of Toews, and getting manhandled by him like this-an unspoken demonstration of strength underneath the gentleness-is hotter than fucking sin.
Johnny kisses him again, quickly and delicately. "Now talk to me," he says, and God, it is just unfair that he's still able to speak while they're doing this. "C'mon, Kane. You can't honestly believe that?"
He shakes his head. "Dunno what you mean," he lies, and lets out a quiet moan as Tazer's cock strokes up against his prostate again.
"You really think you're the reason we lost?"
He doesn't want to think about that. Not now, not ever. "Don't…"
"Don't what?" Tazer licks water off his collarbone, making Patrick squirm harder. "You think you're the only one who made mistakes tonight?"
"No, I-fuck, Johnny," he lets his head fall back until it collides with the tiled wall behind him with a painful crack, but it's worth it. "I missed-"
"There's no 'I' in team," Tazer tells him, and Patrick doesn't know whether to laugh or cry or kiss him, and he settles on a combination of all three and just hopes that Johnny can't tell the difference between shower water and tears.
They stay locked that way for what feels like forever and only a few seconds, Johnny's hands wrapped so tightly around his biceps that in the morning he'll find finger-shaped bruises on his arms, kissing as though they're each other's sole source of oxygen. Patrick's eyes slam shut again as Johnny speeds up, thrusting against him so hard that he can feel the tile slip-sliding against his back, and if it's a little uncomfortable he can't really bring himself to care. He can feel the beginnings of his orgasm coiling in the pit of his stomach, and when Johnny's rhythm begins to falter he urges him along, thrusting hard in counterpoint until he feels Johnny come hard and hot inside him, teeth buried in Patrick's shoulder to muffle the groan that tears its way out of him. Still shaking from his climax, Johnny manages to thrust one hand between them and brings Patrick off with a few deft, twisting strokes with those fucking wonderful fingers. Patrick doesn't even bother trying to stifle the yell it pulls from him, he just keeps his grip on Johnny's shoulders and hangs on for dear life until the world does him the favour of holding still again.
When they break off, Tazer keeps talking as though he was never interrupted, reaching up to cup the back of his head with one hand. "What happened tonight, it was everybody's fault. We all screwed up, it happens.
"You can't take all this on. Take it from an expert on taking on too much, okay?" he adds, smiling, and Patrick finds himself grinning back, a little stupidly, boneless and more than a little sore, but his eyes are still watering, and he's not sure he likes what he sees reflected back at him in Johnny's eyes.
"I just-there were so many things I could've-"
"Stop," Johnny shakes him a little. "Stop. We can second-guess ourselves until Kingdom Come. You've been pulling double shifts, and you're exhausted, and you're human. You are not the reason we lost. The reason we lost is because the team dropped the ball. You can't possibly be so arrogant as to think our victories rest solely on your shoulders?"
It's easy to lose himself in Johnny's smile, and Patrick finds himself responding to that instead of what he's actually saying. "Yeah, okay."
Tazer huffs impatiently. "I'm not getting through to you, am I?"
He shrugs sheepishly. "You know me. Slow on the uptake, sometimes."
The water's turned cold, and he shivers, feeling suddenly exposed under the bright bathroom lights, but Johnny seems to figure it out and reaches over to switch off the water, and pulls a bath sheet around his shoulders, chivvying him out of the stall to dry off. He even takes a towel to Patrick's hair until he's sure it must be sticking out in all directions. It'll take forever to get it back to normal, he thinks dazedly, even as he's being all but herded toward his bed like a stray sheep.
To his surprise, Johnny slides in under the bedclothes beside him, and hooks one leg around his knees. He's so surprised, in fact, that it doesn't even occur to him to protest at being the little spoon. Johnny's got his own room-they agreed it would be better that way. Well, at the time Johnny had agreed, and Patrick hadn't figured out a way to explain that he didn't agree, so maybe he had agreed to sleep alone in a cold bed after all.
"What're you doing?"
Johnny fucking snuggles up against him, draping an arm over his waist, and Kane's heart skips a beat. "Making sure you don't go anywhere. Stop thinking, Kaner. Overthinking things is my department, remember?"
It's hard to just let it go, but with Johnny looking at him like that, he's willing to try just about anything. So he wedges himself more comfortably against Tazer's warm bulk, and settles down with his head pillowed on his arm.
"Well start again tomorrow," Johnny says, breath hot against the nape of his neck, and it feels like a promise.
This entry was originally posted at http://ratherastory.dreamwidth.org/231075.html, where there are
: comments, currently. Feel free to comment wherever you'd like! ♥
Summary: After the game against the Anaheim Ducks, Johnny helps Patrick get past his guilt over the loss.
Characters: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,651
Warnings: None. This is just pwp.
Disclaimer: None of this is real! I'm just borrowing their likenesses. Obviously, this is all made up, and just for fun, and… yeah. All fake.
Neurotic Author's Note 1: So, uh, I wrote hockey RPF. I wrote hockey RPF pwp. I am not sure how this happened, except that I blame queerly_it_is for most of it. He is a bad influence. neros_violin enabled, and then delicatale made a comment about wanting fix-it fic after Kaner blamed himself for losing the game, and then the comment turned into a bunny and the next thing I knew I was writing shower sex. IDEK.
Neurotic Author's Note 2: I owe infinite thanks to neros_violin and delicatale for betaing this thing, helping out with characterization (of entirely fictionalized accounts of the people involved) and pointing out where all my logic failed because I was writing at 2 am.
Neurotic Author's Note 3: Also, titles are hard. /o\
Patrick's never been more grateful to escape to his hotel room in his life. After a promising start, the game just fell apart right before his eyes, and if he thinks about it for one second longer he's pretty sure he's going to have to put his fist through the nearest wall. If he does that, then Johnny's going to bitch at him about the cost of repairs and then bitch at him even more for hurting his hand during the season, and the last thing he wants is to disappoint Johnny even more today.
He already showered at the rink, but it feels like that barely got the worst of the sweat off him. His clothes are clinging to him, and he could swear he still reeks of failure. He doesn't turn on the TV-all he'll see is replays of every last mistake he made tonight, followed by Johnny's devastated face as he tries to explain away why they lost without He ducks into the bathroom and turns on the shower, turning the knob until the water is so hot he can barely stand it. He lets the spray hit squarely against his spine, pulsing against the muscles that are already beginning to tighten in his back and shoulders, and leans both forearms against the tiled wall. He stops short of burying his face in his hands, figuring that he may as well try not to wallow too much in self-pity tonight. That will come later, along with whatever alcohol he can dig out of the mini bar. Johnny would disapprove, partly because minibar alcohol is really expensive, and sometimes he used to threaten to hide all the booze, back when they were roommates. He never did hide the alcohol, and it's kind of funny to think that he if he knew what Patrick was up to now, except for how it isn't.
Right now, Kane just wants to scrub every last remaining memory of the game from off his skin, and maybe get drunk later if he's not too damned tired. Twenty-five minutes of ice time, and it feels like he's run three marathons.
He's not sure how long he's been there before he hears the door to the bathroom open and close again with a click, and there's a blast of cold air that's gone just as quickly as the shower door opens and shuts. He doesn't flinch when he feels warm hands slide along his waist to come to rest at his hips, but he can't help the small shiver of anticipation when he feels the expected press of a smooth expanse of skin against his back.
"So what was all that?" Johnny murmurs into his ear, and for a split-second Patrick almost regrets letting him have a key to the room. But the time, it seemed logical enough-they used to room together, and he's accustomed to Johnny having the run of the place. It's weird sometimes, coming in and finding the room empty except for his stuff, but they agreed it was better this way.
He shakes his head instead of answering, playing dumb. They both know he knows exactly what Johnny's talking about, but he doesn't want to discuss it, not now, not ever. It's his fault everything went to hell in those last minutes, and he can't bear the thought of dissecting what went wrong with Tazer, not now, and certainly not like this.
Johnny doesn't seem to be in a hurry, though. Instead he reaches for the bottle of body wash sitting on a corner shelf, and the air fills with the pungent scent of citrus as he squeezes it into one hand and begins to work it into lather.
"Hold still," he orders quietly, nudging Patrick with his knee when he tries to move aside. "I got you, okay?"
He can only nod dumbly, stays braced on his forearms, and shudders a little when Johnny's hands make contact with his skin again, slick with water and soap, fingers moving with deft assurance along his muscles. He doesn't deserve this, but it appears Johnny's not taking no for an answer, and he's too damned tired to even think about arguing with his captain. He lets his head drop forward a fraction, relaxing under Tazer's touch in spite of himself, feeling today's loss finally begin to sluice away along with the shower water, circling the drain at their feet.
Johnny's hands move up to scrub at his neck, slide over his shoulders and back down over his chest. The shower stall is just big enough to accommodate them without either of them having to worry about knocking their elbows against the walls, but it's still a pretty tight fit, and Patrick can feel the heat radiating off of Tazer's body, mere inches from his, one ankle hooked around his leg, anchoring him in place. Patrick shifts his weight a little, trying to accommodate him, but whatever Johnny's planning, he's taking his own sweet time getting there, smoothing his palms along Patrick's abs, spreading the soap lather in broad, sweeping circles that reach almost to his hips. By the time Tazer has worked his way to his back, both thumbs kneading at each knot in the muscles with that same single-minded determination Johnny brings to each game, taking care not to press too hard against the bruises mottling his entire body.
Patrick's gone completely pliant, knees threatening to buckle at the slightest provocation, breathing as hard as if he's just come off the ice. He's half-hard now, his legs trembling so badly he's pretty sure he's going to fall on his ass and ruin the whole mood. His muscles keep seizing up, betraying him with the exhaustion that's been steadily creeping up on him for what feels like forever. Part of him just wants to turn curl up against Johnny's chest, wrap himself up in his arms, and sleep for the next week. To his surprise, Tazer bypasses his dick entirely, using more body wash to run his hands over his ass and thighs, working his fingers into the crease where his legs meet his hips, and Kane's dick goes from kind of interested to rock-hard in the blink of an eye, because Christ, Johnny's hands. Tazer drops to a crouch for a few moments, hands caressing the inside of Patrick's thighs, tracing the outline of his calves and ankles before pushing himself to his feet again.
This time he wraps both arms around Patrick's waist, moving up so his erection, hot and insistent, is pressing against Patrick's skin. Johnny kisses his neck, worrying at it gently with his teeth until Patrick is sure he's never going to be able to explain the marks to anyone's satisfaction. He shudders and presses back against him anyway, spreading his legs a little to give Johnny access, if that's what he wants.
"Uh-uh," Johnny breathes in his ear. "C'mon, turn around. Face me."
He shakes his head again. He has no idea what sort of expression he has on his face, but he's damned well sure that, whatever it is, he doesn't want Johnny seeing it. But then, he should know better by now than to think he has any say at all in these matters. What Tazer wants, Tazer gets, and less than ten seconds later Patrick is letting Johnny take him by the shoulders and turn him around like some sort of shopping mall mannequin and pressed up against the wall while Johnny kisses him. It's not the usual urgent, passionate affair that's all tongue and teeth and hands, the way Johnny often is after a game. This time, like everything else he's been doing, he's taking his time, tongue exploring Kane's mouth like he's discovering a new and exotic flavor behind every tooth. If he didn't know any better he'd swear it was questioning, even hesitant, like Johnny's trying to gauge if he really wants this.
So he breaks away, just to see what will happen, and Johnny looks at him with that earnest expression that does awful things to his heart and makes his guts twist up, the one he wishes Johnny wouldn't use on him because it makes him want things he can't really have. He bites his lower lip and lets his gaze slide away, just so he won't have to look at Tazer looking at him like that, and so the next kiss takes him almost by surprise. This one is demanding, full of intent, and so he's not surprised when he feels Johnny's hand between his legs, slicked up with God only knows what. Trust Johnny to somehow manage to get lube into the shower, he thinks distractedly.
He turns back around-the angle is impossible if they're facing each other. He feels his captain's fingers gently pushing past the ring of muscle in his ass and then stopping, allowing him a moment to get used to the sensation. He lets his breath out in a whoosh, forces himself to relax against the intrusion, only to buck forward a moment later as Johnny crooks his fingers to brush deliberately against his prostate. His feet slip on the wet tile, and he has to brace himself with both hands on the wall Tazer holding him up with one arm wrapped around his chest, eyes slamming shut as Johnny works him open, so slowly that it's maddening. He's panting and squirming now, thrusts shamelessly as Johnny adds a third finger, and a fourth, thinks he might come just like this if only Johnny would just get on with it, already.
"Johnny, c'mon, please," he manages, pretty pleased that he's able to be that coherent even with his teeth clenched and his eyes screwed shut because it feels like he's about to fly into a million different pieces.
Tazer lunges forward, spins Patrick around again in order to catch his lower lip between his teeth, then alternates licks and bites and kissed all along his jaw and neck before pressing him even harder up against the wall. Glancing down Patrick can see his cock, thick and flushed and curving up toward his belly, wanting, and it's a simple enough matter to line himself up, to let Tazer lift him ever so slightly so he can slide down. They slot together perfectly like this, Kane's ankles locked behind Toews' thighs, and Johnny braces them both against the wall, setting a rhythm that's excruciatingly slow and deliberate. For all that the sex with them is usually faster, rougher than this, he finds he's enjoying this unexpectedly tender side of Toews, and getting manhandled by him like this-an unspoken demonstration of strength underneath the gentleness-is hotter than fucking sin.
Johnny kisses him again, quickly and delicately. "Now talk to me," he says, and God, it is just unfair that he's still able to speak while they're doing this. "C'mon, Kane. You can't honestly believe that?"
He shakes his head. "Dunno what you mean," he lies, and lets out a quiet moan as Tazer's cock strokes up against his prostate again.
"You really think you're the reason we lost?"
He doesn't want to think about that. Not now, not ever. "Don't…"
"Don't what?" Tazer licks water off his collarbone, making Patrick squirm harder. "You think you're the only one who made mistakes tonight?"
"No, I-fuck, Johnny," he lets his head fall back until it collides with the tiled wall behind him with a painful crack, but it's worth it. "I missed-"
"There's no 'I' in team," Tazer tells him, and Patrick doesn't know whether to laugh or cry or kiss him, and he settles on a combination of all three and just hopes that Johnny can't tell the difference between shower water and tears.
They stay locked that way for what feels like forever and only a few seconds, Johnny's hands wrapped so tightly around his biceps that in the morning he'll find finger-shaped bruises on his arms, kissing as though they're each other's sole source of oxygen. Patrick's eyes slam shut again as Johnny speeds up, thrusting against him so hard that he can feel the tile slip-sliding against his back, and if it's a little uncomfortable he can't really bring himself to care. He can feel the beginnings of his orgasm coiling in the pit of his stomach, and when Johnny's rhythm begins to falter he urges him along, thrusting hard in counterpoint until he feels Johnny come hard and hot inside him, teeth buried in Patrick's shoulder to muffle the groan that tears its way out of him. Still shaking from his climax, Johnny manages to thrust one hand between them and brings Patrick off with a few deft, twisting strokes with those fucking wonderful fingers. Patrick doesn't even bother trying to stifle the yell it pulls from him, he just keeps his grip on Johnny's shoulders and hangs on for dear life until the world does him the favour of holding still again.
When they break off, Tazer keeps talking as though he was never interrupted, reaching up to cup the back of his head with one hand. "What happened tonight, it was everybody's fault. We all screwed up, it happens.
"You can't take all this on. Take it from an expert on taking on too much, okay?" he adds, smiling, and Patrick finds himself grinning back, a little stupidly, boneless and more than a little sore, but his eyes are still watering, and he's not sure he likes what he sees reflected back at him in Johnny's eyes.
"I just-there were so many things I could've-"
"Stop," Johnny shakes him a little. "Stop. We can second-guess ourselves until Kingdom Come. You've been pulling double shifts, and you're exhausted, and you're human. You are not the reason we lost. The reason we lost is because the team dropped the ball. You can't possibly be so arrogant as to think our victories rest solely on your shoulders?"
It's easy to lose himself in Johnny's smile, and Patrick finds himself responding to that instead of what he's actually saying. "Yeah, okay."
Tazer huffs impatiently. "I'm not getting through to you, am I?"
He shrugs sheepishly. "You know me. Slow on the uptake, sometimes."
The water's turned cold, and he shivers, feeling suddenly exposed under the bright bathroom lights, but Johnny seems to figure it out and reaches over to switch off the water, and pulls a bath sheet around his shoulders, chivvying him out of the stall to dry off. He even takes a towel to Patrick's hair until he's sure it must be sticking out in all directions. It'll take forever to get it back to normal, he thinks dazedly, even as he's being all but herded toward his bed like a stray sheep.
To his surprise, Johnny slides in under the bedclothes beside him, and hooks one leg around his knees. He's so surprised, in fact, that it doesn't even occur to him to protest at being the little spoon. Johnny's got his own room-they agreed it would be better that way. Well, at the time Johnny had agreed, and Patrick hadn't figured out a way to explain that he didn't agree, so maybe he had agreed to sleep alone in a cold bed after all.
"What're you doing?"
Johnny fucking snuggles up against him, draping an arm over his waist, and Kane's heart skips a beat. "Making sure you don't go anywhere. Stop thinking, Kaner. Overthinking things is my department, remember?"
It's hard to just let it go, but with Johnny looking at him like that, he's willing to try just about anything. So he wedges himself more comfortably against Tazer's warm bulk, and settles down with his head pillowed on his arm.
"Well start again tomorrow," Johnny says, breath hot against the nape of his neck, and it feels like a promise.
This entry was originally posted at http://ratherastory.dreamwidth.org/231075.html, where there are
: comments, currently. Feel free to comment wherever you'd like! ♥