What's the Use of Defense - Part 1
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Jonathan Toews
Rating: mature
Word Count: 8,120
AO3 here!
“It’s not serious, it was just one night.” Jonny knows it’s a lie as soon as he hears his own voice crack. Pat holds up one hand to stop him. “I will literally never be drunk enough to want to know about Crosby’s dick.”
Jonny huffs out a laugh, but his smile fades fast. “I left. I mean, I bolted, before he woke up.”
Jonny and Sid hook up at Sochi, and nothing is quite the same afterwards.
An incredibly belated birthday present for mrsvc, who has been nothing but patient with me.
Jonny’s been back from the Olympics for a week now and Patrick is still fully committed to nationalistic chirping. He’s been doing his best to grin and bear it, because it’s not like they didn’t trounce the US thoroughly already, but there’s only so many beaver jokes one man can take before it becomes impossible to muster up a fake laugh.
“Man,” Pat whines, sticking his feet up on Jonny’s coffee table and managing to catch his heel in a half-eaten carton of lo mein, “You’re not as much fun since Russia. What the fuck, Jonny, stop being so serious and bask in your win. I’ll even give you a free chirp about the US without punching you.”
Patrick’s got orange goop on his sock now and he’s smearing it all over the table like a heathen. Jonny’s not sure why they’re friends.
He blinks and picks the xbox controller back up, then musters up a half-hearted, “No need to chirp you when the scores do it for me.”
Pat groans. “Low blow, Jonny. But seriously, dude, what the fuck’s with you? You didn’t replace me with a new Canadian buddy while I was doing my part for a better country, did you? You’ve been all mopey since we got back.”
Jonny is not dignifying that with a response.
Pat sits up straighter. “Wait. Wait, really?”
“Yes, Patrick,” he deadpans. “I made friends with the teammates I had to train with and work closely with for weeks. How dare I.” He nudges the open container of egg rolls closer to Pat, who picks one up and shoves half of it in his face without even pausing the game. He’s not sure himself if he intends it as a peace offering or a way to get Pat to shut up, but he’s not going to complain if it does both. There’s only so long he can silence Pat with awful Chinese takeout, though, particularly when he seems determined to not change the topic.
Pat’s chewing, but he’s eyeing Jonny like he’s trying to figure him out. It’s an unsettling reminder that for all that Kaner’s brash and obnoxious, he’s not actually an idiot.
Pat’s character on screen snipes Jonny, and then he turns the game off and twists around on the couch so he’s crosslegged facing Jonny.
Jonny is going to have to get that lo mein dry cleaned out of his couch, he thinks idly. There’s even a noodle between two of the cushions. Pat is disgusting and not allowed on his furniture ever again.
“So,” Pat says, and it’s unusually hesitant. They don’t really do feelings conversations, not about things other than game wins and losses and how terrifying it is to be injured out. “Uh, this seems, you know. Different.”
Jonny rolls his eyes. Pat doesn’t look like he’s about to give up, though.
“You’re friendly with all your teammates, even when you’re playing for someone other than the Hawks. You don’t get all weird and moody afterwards, though. You made like, an actual adult friend and you miss them, don’t you?” Pat laughs. “Captain Serious is all grown up and having real person feelings! Really though, that’s, you know, cool and all. Just don’t stop hanging out with me or the team too.”
Jonny shrugs. “It’s not the same thing. The Olympics…”
...were a weird little bubble, he wants to say. It was different there, and things may have happened, but they happened in that vacuum and he can’t have that now that it’s over.
He hesitates, because Pat doesn’t know what happened and he doesn’t want to explain it. It’s bad enough that Pat thinks he’s pining over making friends, of all things - he doesn’t want to tell him about his entirely inadvisable choices in patriotism and adrenaline-fueled one-night stands.
“The Olympics are over,” he settles on. “I’m not playing with that team now. I can’t just hang out with the same guys so easily.”
Patrick, as expected, is rolling his eyes. “Dude, the team isn’t going to hold it against you if you want to go commune with your Canadian bretheren. Just text whoever it is and go get drunk with them next time we kick their team’s asses, it’ll be fine.”
Patrick turns the tv back on again and Jonny doesn’t argue with him, just picks his own controller back up and gets ready. He isn’t even feeling competitive about this game for once, but he’s afraid if they keep talking, the next words out of his mouth are going to be “I fucked Crosby and I don’t know what to do about it.”
He’d expected- he’s not entirely sure what he expected, because when he’d followed Crosby out into the hall from the locker room and crowded up into his space, his decisions had been shaped by the champagne they’d nearly drowned in and the way Sid had grinned at him on the ice. He’d never thought about it before with Sid; he’d looked at other hockey players before and thought maybe, but he’d always tamped that down.
Jonny’s known he liked boys as long as he’d liked girls. His family knows- has known for years, because Jonny never wanted to hide that from them- but the risk stopped being worth it when he realized he had a shot at the draft and going pro. Maybe if he wasn’t bi, if he couldn’t date anyone he’s into openly he would have come out years ago and said to hell with the risk, but it’s manageable this way and he can deal with that. Was dealing with that.
Sid had felt safe in that moment, because Sid had the same stakes that he did and could hardly out Jonny without outing himself. Maybe even higher stakes, because Jonny suspects Sidney isn’t into girls at all and would get the worse end of the media shitstorm.
He and Pat are bros, but he doesn’t want to have a conversation with him about how he’s been a mess ever since he touched Crosby’s dick.
Jonny suspects this whole stupid hangup is just left over from finally having slept with a guy. It confirmed what he’s known for years, that if he wasn’t worried about staying in the closet that he’d happily date both men and women, and it’s a little rough coming down from that and reminding himself that he can’t afford to do it again until he retires. On the plus side, this way he knows for sure and he doesn’t have to stress about picking someone up in a bar and making them sign a nondisclosure agreement just to satisfy his own curiosity. Sid’s not going to want them to hang out now that they’re back to playing against each other, let alone date- they’re both far too competitive to mess with that.
Now he’s just got to get his shit together and stop thinking about Sid naked before they play the Penguins again, and everything will be fine.
---
‘Fuck me’ is the first thought that goes through Jonny’s head when Sid skates out at Soldier Field, immediately fizzling into static when Sid turns, thigh muscles bunching up. Jonny knows how powerful those thighs are from when he’d picked Sid up so he could shove him further up on the bed and they’d clenched around his waist. He’d had bruises afterwards, dull red across his waist and spots of fading purple where Sid’s fingers had dug into his back for support.
Sid looks relaxed, glad to be skating despite the plummeting temperature and the snow. It’s probably reminding him of pond hockey as a kid; they both were out in any weather growing up, even weather like this, eager for any chance to get on the ice. Jonny hasn’t seen Sid look this happy since he tipped his head back, baring his throat as his hips spasmed and-
Operation “Stop Thinking About Sid Naked” is a miserable failure. The only thing going for Jonny today is that he’s cold down to his bones; being frozen solid will prevent him from popping the world’s most awkward boner in front of sixty thousand people and god knows how many cameras.
They make eye contact. Jonny looks away first.
Sid is clearly trying to keep it professional. There’s nothing to indicate that he’s been thinking about Jonny at all, and who knows, maybe he doesn’t remember what happened. Jonny had woken up first and spent a few minutes transfixed by the feeling of Sid curled up against his back before he bolted. He’s not proud of it, but he hadn’t wanted to risk a roommate returning and finding him there. It’s possible with how freely the alcohol had been flowing after their win that Sid woke up and assumed he’d dreamed the whole thing.
The Hawks are on fire, playing a brutal game and the Pens just can’t get it together to score. Sid’s keeping his head down and focus on the game, increasingly tense as the lines struggle to stay cohesive. Jonny feels like he’s still flying off his Olympics win, proud of his team and how well they’ve come back together today, but he’s not keen on the way Sidney’s calm demeanor has been taken over by brittle, angry determination. He gives Sid a smile when they’re both over by the rep, tapping him with his stick to get his attention. The announcers will probably take it as a taunt and assume he’s baiting Sid. Jonny’s never been one to kick the opposing team while they’re down, though, and he thinks Sidney will know it as the friendly chin-up it’s intended to be.
They steamroll right over Pittsburgh, five to one. Jonny can feel Sid staring at him as the team all dogpiles. He slips up during the post-game interviews, calls him Sid too many times instead of Crosby, and hopes his voice doesn’t sound as disgustingly fond as he fears.
Patrick sidles up to him later at the bar, slinging an arm over Jonny’s shoulders and breathing his gross beer breath right into his face.
“Good thing Crosby isn’t your weird Canadian Olympics buddy or you’d be having even more friendship troubles right now, huh? That was a hell of a win.” Patrick pats him on the shoulder. “You’d be in the doghouse forfuckingever man. He’d make you watch the game tape in slo-mo and quiz you on plays until he thought he could beat us next time.”
Jonny doesn’t know what his face is doing right now, but he definitely just felt something spasm.
Pat stops petting the side of his neck and stares.
“Okaaaaaay,” he drawls out, shoving off his stool. “Wait right here. No moving.” He narrows his eyes. “If you leave I’m gonna volunteer you for that PR thing with the sick kids where everyone will ask you when you’re gonna settle down.”
Jonny manfully restrains himself from bolting out the door when Pat turns his back. They’ve known each other too long for him to mistake it for an idle threat. If Pat volunteers him for that, there will be media photos of him with babies. David’s not above sending those photos to their mom.
Pat slams down an entire tray of shots between them, scooting back onto his own stool so that Jonny is trapped in the booth part of their corner table.
“Uh. That’s… that’s a lot of shots?” Jonny eyes the tray. “You know most of the team already left for a different bar, right?” They’re neon pink. Jonny’s still mostly sober, certainly way more sober than Patrick, but there’s no way he’s doing that many shots.
“They’re supposed to taste like strawberry cheesecake,” Pat says, waving him off. It’s no secret that Jonny’s more likely to go for cheesecake than any other dessert on the rare occasions he lets himself cheat on their nutritional plan.
“Remember when we talked about what we’d do if the lockout didn’t end?” Pat’s leaning forward, elbows up on the table and chin resting on his hands. It had been an awful conversation, both of them avoiding it for weeks until they finally had it out, Jonny teetering between long pauses and yelling. “You downed like, an entire beer every time you wanted to avoid talking about your feelings, and this way you can just do a shot each time instead of chugging a whole beer.”
Jonny stares at the lines of shots. “I’m going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?” he says faintly.
Pat snorts. “I already regret this conversation, but nobody else on the team can out-stubborn you. Now fucking spill, Jonny. You can’t confirm that you’ve got some weird tragic long distance friendship going on with Crosby and then not give me details, man.”
Jonny downs a shot before he even realizes he’s picked it up, curses Pat in his head for being able to predict him, then argues that he didn’t confirm anything.
“Funny story: your face does this thing where it spasms when you’re trying to repress your emotions right before you go to that blank I-Am-Your-Captain look. Your face did the thing, and I want details.” Pat spins one of the shots around before tipping it back, blinking as he sets the empty shotglass down. “Holy shit, it’s like liquid frosting.”
Jonny realizes he isn’t getting out of this conversation, so he waits until Pat is drinking his next shot before he deadpans, “Well, when two guys like each other very much-”
“Oh my god!” Pat yelps and sprays pink vodka all over the table. “Not those details, you asshole!”
Jonny resolutely stares down at the table, then quietly says, “...but I do like him a lot.”
“Oh god.” Pat is the one with his face in his hands now.
“You kept asking when I didn’t want to talk about it, what the hell did you think I was going to say?”
Pat looks like he’s sobering up and isn’t happy about it. “Uh, honestly, I thought that I was just gonna get you drunk until you cried embarassingly about how you’re not allowed to be friends with other teams because of team loyalty and your captainly responsibilities, then I’d tell you that you’re allowed to have a life outside the team and stuff. I didn’t think there were, like, serious feelings involved here.”
“It’s not serious, it was just one night.” He knows it’s a lie as soon as he hears his own voice crack.
“Wow, okay, things I never wanted to know.”
“I mean, if you really want to know about what happened, then-”
Pat holds up one hand to stop him. “I will literally never be drunk enough to want to know about Crosby’s dick.”
Jonny huffs out a laugh, but his smile fades fast. “I left.”
“Well yeah, you had to come back to Chicago.”
Jonny shakes his head. “No, I mean I bolted. Before he woke up.”
Pat cringes, uncurls the fist Jonny hadn’t even realized he was making, then slides another shot into his hand. “That, uh. That doesn’t seem like it’ll help with the whole feelings thing.”
Jonny downs it. They’re getting gross, too sweet to drink so many back to back, but he’s rapidly approaching a point where he’s not going to care. “I don’t get to have that here. It’s not like we could date, anyway. It’s better to not fight about it.”
“Why, just because he lives in Pittsburgh? You have stupid amounts of money, it’s not even a two hour flight, you guys could visit each other whenever we have a couple days between games.”
“That’s not how relationships work.” Jonny thinks about all the family holidays and dinners he misses as it is, unable to find the time in the winter to get away between games. Even if one of them had enough days between games over Christmas, the other wouldn’t be so lucky. He tries to picture opening presents over Skype and it feels hollow.
“Bullshit.”
Jonny stares at Patrick. “Excuse me?”
“That’s total bullshit. When have you ever been happy with a typical relationship anyway? You always complain to me about how the girls you date end up whining about you being gone all the time and then they want to go out constantly when you finally have time off and you’re exhausted.”
Pat shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe it’s more complicated to have to plan flights and stuff, but wouldn’t it be nice to date someone who thinks that your dedication to the team is a good thing and who is supportive of you being away on road trips all the time? You guys could totally celebrate holidays on different days and stuff. Like, I always call my sisters on their birthdays, right? But we celebrate on whatever day one of us can get out to see the other and it’s fine.”
Jonny sighs. “Yeah, sure, but what then?
“What?”
“I mean, what about long term?” Jonny shakes his head. “He’s not leaving the Penguins, and I’m a Hawk for life.”
“Okay, first of all, worry about actually taking him on a first date before you worry about that. Also, let’s be honest, neither of you fucking weirdos are gonna make enough time outside of hockey to get married or have kids or what the fuck ever until after you retire anyway, so it’s not like it’s gonna make it any worse than you’re both hockey players.” Patrick leans across the table and beckons Jonny closer, then stage whispers, “Challenge him to faceoffs some day to decide where you’re gonna settle down, you’ll totally win.”
Jonny can’t help it - he giggles and then punches Patrick in the shoulder.
“Oh my god,” he realizes abruptly, “I’m going to have to do the meet the parents dinner with Mario Lemieux.”
Patrick laughs so hard he cries.
[ Part 2]
Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Jonathan Toews
Rating: mature
Word Count: 8,120
AO3 here!
“It’s not serious, it was just one night.” Jonny knows it’s a lie as soon as he hears his own voice crack. Pat holds up one hand to stop him. “I will literally never be drunk enough to want to know about Crosby’s dick.”
Jonny huffs out a laugh, but his smile fades fast. “I left. I mean, I bolted, before he woke up.”
Jonny and Sid hook up at Sochi, and nothing is quite the same afterwards.
An incredibly belated birthday present for mrsvc, who has been nothing but patient with me.
Jonny’s been back from the Olympics for a week now and Patrick is still fully committed to nationalistic chirping. He’s been doing his best to grin and bear it, because it’s not like they didn’t trounce the US thoroughly already, but there’s only so many beaver jokes one man can take before it becomes impossible to muster up a fake laugh.
“Man,” Pat whines, sticking his feet up on Jonny’s coffee table and managing to catch his heel in a half-eaten carton of lo mein, “You’re not as much fun since Russia. What the fuck, Jonny, stop being so serious and bask in your win. I’ll even give you a free chirp about the US without punching you.”
Patrick’s got orange goop on his sock now and he’s smearing it all over the table like a heathen. Jonny’s not sure why they’re friends.
He blinks and picks the xbox controller back up, then musters up a half-hearted, “No need to chirp you when the scores do it for me.”
Pat groans. “Low blow, Jonny. But seriously, dude, what the fuck’s with you? You didn’t replace me with a new Canadian buddy while I was doing my part for a better country, did you? You’ve been all mopey since we got back.”
Jonny is not dignifying that with a response.
Pat sits up straighter. “Wait. Wait, really?”
“Yes, Patrick,” he deadpans. “I made friends with the teammates I had to train with and work closely with for weeks. How dare I.” He nudges the open container of egg rolls closer to Pat, who picks one up and shoves half of it in his face without even pausing the game. He’s not sure himself if he intends it as a peace offering or a way to get Pat to shut up, but he’s not going to complain if it does both. There’s only so long he can silence Pat with awful Chinese takeout, though, particularly when he seems determined to not change the topic.
Pat’s chewing, but he’s eyeing Jonny like he’s trying to figure him out. It’s an unsettling reminder that for all that Kaner’s brash and obnoxious, he’s not actually an idiot.
Pat’s character on screen snipes Jonny, and then he turns the game off and twists around on the couch so he’s crosslegged facing Jonny.
Jonny is going to have to get that lo mein dry cleaned out of his couch, he thinks idly. There’s even a noodle between two of the cushions. Pat is disgusting and not allowed on his furniture ever again.
“So,” Pat says, and it’s unusually hesitant. They don’t really do feelings conversations, not about things other than game wins and losses and how terrifying it is to be injured out. “Uh, this seems, you know. Different.”
Jonny rolls his eyes. Pat doesn’t look like he’s about to give up, though.
“You’re friendly with all your teammates, even when you’re playing for someone other than the Hawks. You don’t get all weird and moody afterwards, though. You made like, an actual adult friend and you miss them, don’t you?” Pat laughs. “Captain Serious is all grown up and having real person feelings! Really though, that’s, you know, cool and all. Just don’t stop hanging out with me or the team too.”
Jonny shrugs. “It’s not the same thing. The Olympics…”
...were a weird little bubble, he wants to say. It was different there, and things may have happened, but they happened in that vacuum and he can’t have that now that it’s over.
He hesitates, because Pat doesn’t know what happened and he doesn’t want to explain it. It’s bad enough that Pat thinks he’s pining over making friends, of all things - he doesn’t want to tell him about his entirely inadvisable choices in patriotism and adrenaline-fueled one-night stands.
“The Olympics are over,” he settles on. “I’m not playing with that team now. I can’t just hang out with the same guys so easily.”
Patrick, as expected, is rolling his eyes. “Dude, the team isn’t going to hold it against you if you want to go commune with your Canadian bretheren. Just text whoever it is and go get drunk with them next time we kick their team’s asses, it’ll be fine.”
Patrick turns the tv back on again and Jonny doesn’t argue with him, just picks his own controller back up and gets ready. He isn’t even feeling competitive about this game for once, but he’s afraid if they keep talking, the next words out of his mouth are going to be “I fucked Crosby and I don’t know what to do about it.”
He’d expected- he’s not entirely sure what he expected, because when he’d followed Crosby out into the hall from the locker room and crowded up into his space, his decisions had been shaped by the champagne they’d nearly drowned in and the way Sid had grinned at him on the ice. He’d never thought about it before with Sid; he’d looked at other hockey players before and thought maybe, but he’d always tamped that down.
Jonny’s known he liked boys as long as he’d liked girls. His family knows- has known for years, because Jonny never wanted to hide that from them- but the risk stopped being worth it when he realized he had a shot at the draft and going pro. Maybe if he wasn’t bi, if he couldn’t date anyone he’s into openly he would have come out years ago and said to hell with the risk, but it’s manageable this way and he can deal with that. Was dealing with that.
Sid had felt safe in that moment, because Sid had the same stakes that he did and could hardly out Jonny without outing himself. Maybe even higher stakes, because Jonny suspects Sidney isn’t into girls at all and would get the worse end of the media shitstorm.
He and Pat are bros, but he doesn’t want to have a conversation with him about how he’s been a mess ever since he touched Crosby’s dick.
Jonny suspects this whole stupid hangup is just left over from finally having slept with a guy. It confirmed what he’s known for years, that if he wasn’t worried about staying in the closet that he’d happily date both men and women, and it’s a little rough coming down from that and reminding himself that he can’t afford to do it again until he retires. On the plus side, this way he knows for sure and he doesn’t have to stress about picking someone up in a bar and making them sign a nondisclosure agreement just to satisfy his own curiosity. Sid’s not going to want them to hang out now that they’re back to playing against each other, let alone date- they’re both far too competitive to mess with that.
Now he’s just got to get his shit together and stop thinking about Sid naked before they play the Penguins again, and everything will be fine.
---
‘Fuck me’ is the first thought that goes through Jonny’s head when Sid skates out at Soldier Field, immediately fizzling into static when Sid turns, thigh muscles bunching up. Jonny knows how powerful those thighs are from when he’d picked Sid up so he could shove him further up on the bed and they’d clenched around his waist. He’d had bruises afterwards, dull red across his waist and spots of fading purple where Sid’s fingers had dug into his back for support.
Sid looks relaxed, glad to be skating despite the plummeting temperature and the snow. It’s probably reminding him of pond hockey as a kid; they both were out in any weather growing up, even weather like this, eager for any chance to get on the ice. Jonny hasn’t seen Sid look this happy since he tipped his head back, baring his throat as his hips spasmed and-
Operation “Stop Thinking About Sid Naked” is a miserable failure. The only thing going for Jonny today is that he’s cold down to his bones; being frozen solid will prevent him from popping the world’s most awkward boner in front of sixty thousand people and god knows how many cameras.
They make eye contact. Jonny looks away first.
Sid is clearly trying to keep it professional. There’s nothing to indicate that he’s been thinking about Jonny at all, and who knows, maybe he doesn’t remember what happened. Jonny had woken up first and spent a few minutes transfixed by the feeling of Sid curled up against his back before he bolted. He’s not proud of it, but he hadn’t wanted to risk a roommate returning and finding him there. It’s possible with how freely the alcohol had been flowing after their win that Sid woke up and assumed he’d dreamed the whole thing.
The Hawks are on fire, playing a brutal game and the Pens just can’t get it together to score. Sid’s keeping his head down and focus on the game, increasingly tense as the lines struggle to stay cohesive. Jonny feels like he’s still flying off his Olympics win, proud of his team and how well they’ve come back together today, but he’s not keen on the way Sidney’s calm demeanor has been taken over by brittle, angry determination. He gives Sid a smile when they’re both over by the rep, tapping him with his stick to get his attention. The announcers will probably take it as a taunt and assume he’s baiting Sid. Jonny’s never been one to kick the opposing team while they’re down, though, and he thinks Sidney will know it as the friendly chin-up it’s intended to be.
They steamroll right over Pittsburgh, five to one. Jonny can feel Sid staring at him as the team all dogpiles. He slips up during the post-game interviews, calls him Sid too many times instead of Crosby, and hopes his voice doesn’t sound as disgustingly fond as he fears.
Patrick sidles up to him later at the bar, slinging an arm over Jonny’s shoulders and breathing his gross beer breath right into his face.
“Good thing Crosby isn’t your weird Canadian Olympics buddy or you’d be having even more friendship troubles right now, huh? That was a hell of a win.” Patrick pats him on the shoulder. “You’d be in the doghouse forfuckingever man. He’d make you watch the game tape in slo-mo and quiz you on plays until he thought he could beat us next time.”
Jonny doesn’t know what his face is doing right now, but he definitely just felt something spasm.
Pat stops petting the side of his neck and stares.
“Okaaaaaay,” he drawls out, shoving off his stool. “Wait right here. No moving.” He narrows his eyes. “If you leave I’m gonna volunteer you for that PR thing with the sick kids where everyone will ask you when you’re gonna settle down.”
Jonny manfully restrains himself from bolting out the door when Pat turns his back. They’ve known each other too long for him to mistake it for an idle threat. If Pat volunteers him for that, there will be media photos of him with babies. David’s not above sending those photos to their mom.
Pat slams down an entire tray of shots between them, scooting back onto his own stool so that Jonny is trapped in the booth part of their corner table.
“Uh. That’s… that’s a lot of shots?” Jonny eyes the tray. “You know most of the team already left for a different bar, right?” They’re neon pink. Jonny’s still mostly sober, certainly way more sober than Patrick, but there’s no way he’s doing that many shots.
“They’re supposed to taste like strawberry cheesecake,” Pat says, waving him off. It’s no secret that Jonny’s more likely to go for cheesecake than any other dessert on the rare occasions he lets himself cheat on their nutritional plan.
“Remember when we talked about what we’d do if the lockout didn’t end?” Pat’s leaning forward, elbows up on the table and chin resting on his hands. It had been an awful conversation, both of them avoiding it for weeks until they finally had it out, Jonny teetering between long pauses and yelling. “You downed like, an entire beer every time you wanted to avoid talking about your feelings, and this way you can just do a shot each time instead of chugging a whole beer.”
Jonny stares at the lines of shots. “I’m going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?” he says faintly.
Pat snorts. “I already regret this conversation, but nobody else on the team can out-stubborn you. Now fucking spill, Jonny. You can’t confirm that you’ve got some weird tragic long distance friendship going on with Crosby and then not give me details, man.”
Jonny downs a shot before he even realizes he’s picked it up, curses Pat in his head for being able to predict him, then argues that he didn’t confirm anything.
“Funny story: your face does this thing where it spasms when you’re trying to repress your emotions right before you go to that blank I-Am-Your-Captain look. Your face did the thing, and I want details.” Pat spins one of the shots around before tipping it back, blinking as he sets the empty shotglass down. “Holy shit, it’s like liquid frosting.”
Jonny realizes he isn’t getting out of this conversation, so he waits until Pat is drinking his next shot before he deadpans, “Well, when two guys like each other very much-”
“Oh my god!” Pat yelps and sprays pink vodka all over the table. “Not those details, you asshole!”
Jonny resolutely stares down at the table, then quietly says, “...but I do like him a lot.”
“Oh god.” Pat is the one with his face in his hands now.
“You kept asking when I didn’t want to talk about it, what the hell did you think I was going to say?”
Pat looks like he’s sobering up and isn’t happy about it. “Uh, honestly, I thought that I was just gonna get you drunk until you cried embarassingly about how you’re not allowed to be friends with other teams because of team loyalty and your captainly responsibilities, then I’d tell you that you’re allowed to have a life outside the team and stuff. I didn’t think there were, like, serious feelings involved here.”
“It’s not serious, it was just one night.” He knows it’s a lie as soon as he hears his own voice crack.
“Wow, okay, things I never wanted to know.”
“I mean, if you really want to know about what happened, then-”
Pat holds up one hand to stop him. “I will literally never be drunk enough to want to know about Crosby’s dick.”
Jonny huffs out a laugh, but his smile fades fast. “I left.”
“Well yeah, you had to come back to Chicago.”
Jonny shakes his head. “No, I mean I bolted. Before he woke up.”
Pat cringes, uncurls the fist Jonny hadn’t even realized he was making, then slides another shot into his hand. “That, uh. That doesn’t seem like it’ll help with the whole feelings thing.”
Jonny downs it. They’re getting gross, too sweet to drink so many back to back, but he’s rapidly approaching a point where he’s not going to care. “I don’t get to have that here. It’s not like we could date, anyway. It’s better to not fight about it.”
“Why, just because he lives in Pittsburgh? You have stupid amounts of money, it’s not even a two hour flight, you guys could visit each other whenever we have a couple days between games.”
“That’s not how relationships work.” Jonny thinks about all the family holidays and dinners he misses as it is, unable to find the time in the winter to get away between games. Even if one of them had enough days between games over Christmas, the other wouldn’t be so lucky. He tries to picture opening presents over Skype and it feels hollow.
“Bullshit.”
Jonny stares at Patrick. “Excuse me?”
“That’s total bullshit. When have you ever been happy with a typical relationship anyway? You always complain to me about how the girls you date end up whining about you being gone all the time and then they want to go out constantly when you finally have time off and you’re exhausted.”
Pat shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe it’s more complicated to have to plan flights and stuff, but wouldn’t it be nice to date someone who thinks that your dedication to the team is a good thing and who is supportive of you being away on road trips all the time? You guys could totally celebrate holidays on different days and stuff. Like, I always call my sisters on their birthdays, right? But we celebrate on whatever day one of us can get out to see the other and it’s fine.”
Jonny sighs. “Yeah, sure, but what then?
“What?”
“I mean, what about long term?” Jonny shakes his head. “He’s not leaving the Penguins, and I’m a Hawk for life.”
“Okay, first of all, worry about actually taking him on a first date before you worry about that. Also, let’s be honest, neither of you fucking weirdos are gonna make enough time outside of hockey to get married or have kids or what the fuck ever until after you retire anyway, so it’s not like it’s gonna make it any worse than you’re both hockey players.” Patrick leans across the table and beckons Jonny closer, then stage whispers, “Challenge him to faceoffs some day to decide where you’re gonna settle down, you’ll totally win.”
Jonny can’t help it - he giggles and then punches Patrick in the shoulder.
“Oh my god,” he realizes abruptly, “I’m going to have to do the meet the parents dinner with Mario Lemieux.”
Patrick laughs so hard he cries.
[ Part 2]