Space Invaders
Title : Space Invaders - Beware the Invasion
Author : Russian Torque
Team/Pairing : Chicago Blackhawks - Jonathan Toews / Patrick Kane
Words : 751
Overall Rating/Warning : R - m/m, language
“See this here? It’s my fucking bubble. Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Sensitive much?” Patrick grumbled, digging the keycard to their room out of his wallet with a grimace. “Bubble my ass, you tremendous dickwad. Captain mother fucking Serious all up on my groove.”
Sure, they’d lost the game, but the Hawks were still at the head of the division, conference, and league. The only team with the same amount of points had played one game less than them and they were totally going to cream Detroit on their next game. Just watch.
Johnny had retired earlier and was probably sitting on his bed sulking over replays from the game. Of course. Pat expected as much from his bestest buddy in the world and that probably meant he was going to spend yet another night curled up alone on his side of the room with a raging case of blue balls. Just like the night before... and the night before that...
Fuck. He didn’t even remember the last time he got head, let alone actually had a nice fuck.
“Baby, I’m home,” he called into the room dryly, working at the buttons on his shirt and wrenching off his tie before the door even slammed shut behind him.
And Johnny was exactly where Patrick expected him to be. Except he was shirtless and there was a tumbler full of a suspicious amber-colored liquid on the bedside table.
“Are you getting wasted?” Pat asked in disbelief, “You never drink on the road.”
Johnny flicked him the bird, not even bothering to look up from his laptop. Right.
Pat wasted no time stripping off the rest of his suit and slipping on a pair of pajama pants. Damned slacks were constricting as all hell, and the shoes were even worse. Whoever thought it was a good idea to wear nice suits after a hockey game was a fucking idiot in his opinion. It was like jumping into a vice that squeezed and rubbed in all the wrong places.
The TV was off and the remote sitting right next to Johnny’s drink. Well, that was great. Just another one of Johnny’s passive aggressive ways of getting under his skin.
“So...” Patrick laid back on his bed, fingers curling on his own stomach and dipping under the waistband of his pants. “How about you put that away and come over here instead.”
Johnny scoffed. “Yeah, sure. How about you take your job seriously for once?”
Well, that was just offensive. Look at Tazer, acting all badass. As if he was the best thing since Wayne fucking Gretzky.
“You know what? Fine. I’ll go see if there’s any single ladies down at the bar.”
“No you won’t,” Johnny shot back, pushing his computer aside. “You’re a horrible liar.”
A pillow flew across the room and nailed Johnny right in the head. “You’re an asshole.”
Patrick couldn’t even laugh at the appalled look on Johnny’s face. He was too pissed off to do anything more than worm under his sheets and roll over to face the wall. This was nothing new, just another night of Tazer with a giant stick up his ass.
And yeah, last season? Could have gone so much better than it did. But the past was the past and they were doing okay now. The team was out of their slump, things were looking up. But even though they weren’t really together, Pat still felt Johnny didn’t have any real excuse to be such a dick.
He was startled when his bed dipped down under a sudden weight and a tentative hand slid under the sheets to rest on his hip. And that turned into outright gleeful surprise when that hand wormed its way into his pajamas to grope at his dick coupled with a hot, wet tongue licking at the back of his neck.
“What happened to your bubble?” Pat asked, ever the smart-ass even as he turned into Johnny, his hips moving on their own to grind into his touch. “I’m not invading your space, am I?”
Johnny smiled- a sight he hadn’t seen in a while and that made Pat even more happy than the hand currently jacking him off in slow, teasing strokes.
“Some midget that thinks he’s a hockey player popped it with his shitty pickup lines.”
Patrick took comfort in the fact that no matter how much Johnny changed, became an asshat or a self-centered prick, his miserable sense of humor always remained the same.
X x X x X
Author : Russian Torque
Team/Pairing : Chicago Blackhawks - Jonathan Toews / Patrick Kane
Words : 751
Overall Rating/Warning : R - m/m, language
“See this here? It’s my fucking bubble. Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Sensitive much?” Patrick grumbled, digging the keycard to their room out of his wallet with a grimace. “Bubble my ass, you tremendous dickwad. Captain mother fucking Serious all up on my groove.”
Sure, they’d lost the game, but the Hawks were still at the head of the division, conference, and league. The only team with the same amount of points had played one game less than them and they were totally going to cream Detroit on their next game. Just watch.
Johnny had retired earlier and was probably sitting on his bed sulking over replays from the game. Of course. Pat expected as much from his bestest buddy in the world and that probably meant he was going to spend yet another night curled up alone on his side of the room with a raging case of blue balls. Just like the night before... and the night before that...
Fuck. He didn’t even remember the last time he got head, let alone actually had a nice fuck.
“Baby, I’m home,” he called into the room dryly, working at the buttons on his shirt and wrenching off his tie before the door even slammed shut behind him.
And Johnny was exactly where Patrick expected him to be. Except he was shirtless and there was a tumbler full of a suspicious amber-colored liquid on the bedside table.
“Are you getting wasted?” Pat asked in disbelief, “You never drink on the road.”
Johnny flicked him the bird, not even bothering to look up from his laptop. Right.
Pat wasted no time stripping off the rest of his suit and slipping on a pair of pajama pants. Damned slacks were constricting as all hell, and the shoes were even worse. Whoever thought it was a good idea to wear nice suits after a hockey game was a fucking idiot in his opinion. It was like jumping into a vice that squeezed and rubbed in all the wrong places.
The TV was off and the remote sitting right next to Johnny’s drink. Well, that was great. Just another one of Johnny’s passive aggressive ways of getting under his skin.
“So...” Patrick laid back on his bed, fingers curling on his own stomach and dipping under the waistband of his pants. “How about you put that away and come over here instead.”
Johnny scoffed. “Yeah, sure. How about you take your job seriously for once?”
Well, that was just offensive. Look at Tazer, acting all badass. As if he was the best thing since Wayne fucking Gretzky.
“You know what? Fine. I’ll go see if there’s any single ladies down at the bar.”
“No you won’t,” Johnny shot back, pushing his computer aside. “You’re a horrible liar.”
A pillow flew across the room and nailed Johnny right in the head. “You’re an asshole.”
Patrick couldn’t even laugh at the appalled look on Johnny’s face. He was too pissed off to do anything more than worm under his sheets and roll over to face the wall. This was nothing new, just another night of Tazer with a giant stick up his ass.
And yeah, last season? Could have gone so much better than it did. But the past was the past and they were doing okay now. The team was out of their slump, things were looking up. But even though they weren’t really together, Pat still felt Johnny didn’t have any real excuse to be such a dick.
He was startled when his bed dipped down under a sudden weight and a tentative hand slid under the sheets to rest on his hip. And that turned into outright gleeful surprise when that hand wormed its way into his pajamas to grope at his dick coupled with a hot, wet tongue licking at the back of his neck.
“What happened to your bubble?” Pat asked, ever the smart-ass even as he turned into Johnny, his hips moving on their own to grind into his touch. “I’m not invading your space, am I?”
Johnny smiled- a sight he hadn’t seen in a while and that made Pat even more happy than the hand currently jacking him off in slow, teasing strokes.
“Some midget that thinks he’s a hockey player popped it with his shitty pickup lines.”
Patrick took comfort in the fact that no matter how much Johnny changed, became an asshat or a self-centered prick, his miserable sense of humor always remained the same.
X x X x X