Fic: KazerKiss (3/5)
ETA: the formatting is fucked on this one. I'll be trying to fix it :(
Leaving without Jonny felt wrong. Patrick hasn’t been able to shake the feeling all night, because after kissing Jonny, after hearing his little moans and feeling the way Jonny came undone for him, being without him feels wrong, like Patrick knowingly left a part of himself behind. When he tries to sleep, he dreams about kissing Jonny, and in the dream, Jonny pulls back and says don’t forget this is for charity, like it’s a warning, like he’s saying after this, I’m leaving, and Patrick keeps jerking awake, frantically breathless when he finds that Jonny’s not here, every time.
Around six, he can’t stand to do it anymore, fall asleep only to be jolted awake, frantic with the need to see Jonny and crushed every time he’s not here, so Patrick gets out of bed, goes to wander around his apartment and just wait for when he can finally leave for the airport. He can’t wait, because seeing Jonny, it’ll normalise him, it’ll re-prove what he knows must be true: everything is fine, it’s all in his head, there’s no reason to be sleepless and edgy.
When he finally gets to the airport lounge, most of the guys are already there, acting in the most predictable way possible.
“Dude, we had a viewing party,” Seabs informs him when he walks in, “holy shit, Kaner!”
“Got drunk and watched you guys make out, basically,” Duncs says from beside Seabs, and Patrick laughs.
“It was like, this far from porn,” Brandon demonstrates an inch with his fingers, “you ever think about going into the industry?”
“Hilarious,” Patrick rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. So what, he’s allowed to be glad he and Jonny look hot together. Patrick’s hot, it’s a compliment. And in this, he and Jonny are something together.
“See,” Shawsy’s holding his phone, reading off the screen, “this says you guys ‘displayed inspiring commitment to the charity,’ so, like, that means you guys were goin’ at it.”
“Commitment’s the name of my game, man,” Patrick tells him, looking around for Jonny. He’s not usually late; they’ve already started boarding the plane. “Speaking of, where is Tazer?” As he’s looking, he spots Jonny just coming in, and grins. “Never mind, found him.” He ignores Shawsy’s remark about Tazer-radar and heads over. “You’re like, ninety seconds late!” Patrick says cheerily, “I was worried it was the zombie apocalypse or something. Which would be bad, since you’re my apocolypase buddy and you weren’t here.”
“What do apocalypse buddies do?” Jonny asks as they walk across the lounge.
“I dunno, hang out and not die? Plus, you’re from the Great White North, and I assume you’re more equipped to handle a shotgun.”
“They don’t give gun lessons to kids up there, no matter what you’ve heard.”
“Well, I’m a city man. I’ll navigate.”
“You can’t navigate for shit.”
“Drive, then.”
“I’d rather take my chances with the zombies,” Jonny says dryly, and Patrick laughs. He follows Jonny onto the plane, reeling with how comfortingly normal this feels. And then - Jonny takes a window seat. Which is kind of weird, but whatever, Patrick takes the aisle seat beside him anyways. He watches Jonny take out a book from his bag, start flipping through it to get to his page, and things are almost normal. Except - Patrick wants to touch him, be close and holding onto him, and that’s not new, but this accompanying feeling is. He just feels so strongly like it’s wrong not to be touching Jonny in some way, and that’s new, that’s terrifying, makes him feel unsteady like he’s stumbling through a room he thought he knew by heart in the dark, running into things because his mental map is just off enough that he’s completely lost.
The plane takes off, and Jonny still hasn’t said much to Patrick, and it’s fucking weird, the kind of weird
that makes Patrick feel edgy and unsettled, like big things have gone wrong.
“What’re you reading?” he asks.
“Sherlock Holmes,” Jonny says, predictably. Every now and then, he remembers that he’s on this kick where he thinks that because a book’s a classic, it means he’s supposed to read it. Last season, he scoffed his way through Great Expectations and threw David Copperfield aside with an exasperated sigh, no less than thirty-two times, before he finished it.
“Is it good?” Patrick leans against Jonny to look at the page, and something in him steadies as soon as he gets close.
“It’s just okay,” Jonny says, pauses. “It’s boring as fuck. But maybe it’ll get better.”
Patrick laughs, scoots over a little closer. He just - needed to hear this, to hear Jonny insult a classic he’ll drag himself through anyways, to sit close on the plane and be assured that it doesn’t matter, that he now knows what Jonny tastes like and the way his moans sound, nothing changed. He shifts so he’s laying agains tJonny, turns on his side to snuggle in close. He yawns, watches Jonny turn the page.
“Did you, um. Sleep okay last night?” Jonny asks, this new unease in his voice.
“Mmm...” Patrick thinks of his bursts of sleep, broken up by frantic looking around, the pain of not seeing Jonny there every time. “Not really. How about you?”
“Um. Fine. Yeah, fine,” Jonny says hastily. Patrick yawns, closes his eyes.
“Cool.” Maybe now he’ll be able to sleep; it won’t matter what nightmares he has, because even if he wakes up panicked, he’ll see Jonny, Jonny’s right here, he’s here.
Patrick dreams about kissing Jonny again, but it’s different this time. They’re at centre ice,
but the arena is completely empty. It’s just them, no one but them, but then Jonny pulls back and says, “not like this,” and waves a hand to indicate all the empty seats.
“There’s no one watching,” Patrick says slowly, somewhere between confused and just dreading the pain that might be coming.
“I know,” Jonny says, and Patrick flinches awake. He blinks in confusion, breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees he’s still on Jonny’s shoulder, so close they’re touching. Jonny’s still reading, doesn’t look up when Patrick stands and scoots into the aisle. Patrick goes to the bathroom, stops on the way back to flick Shawsy in the ear and laugh at him for snarling at his PSP. When Patrick slides back into his own seat, he has to push up the armrest - it was up before, when did it get put down? - and snuggles back in even closer to Jonny, falls asleep to this time dream of a blissful nothing.
It’s raining in Detroit when they arrive, and the guys are still complaining about it as they walk into the hotel, but Patrick’s excited. He loves rainy days on the road, because this is when him and Jonny stay in for the night, order room service and watch movies.
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asks when they’re up in their room, Jonny setting
his suitcase on the foldout stand. “Dude. Coneys. yes?”
“Oh, um. I dunno, anything,” Jonny says distractedly. Patrick frowns a little, looks out at the rain hammering against the window. “Or, we could just get room service. Since it’s raining,” he adds hopefully. Then they can watch a movie together, can sit close and talk through it and Patrick misses that.
“Sounds good,” Jonny replies, and Patrick grins. He flips open the room service menu, starts undoing his tie as he reads.
“Okay, so they fail at having coneys, but there’s chili and hot dogs on the kids menu,” he reports as he unbuttons his shirt. “They’ll let me order off that, right? We did that in Dallas, remember, they had grilled cheese and let me do that there.”
“I don’t see why not.” Jonny’s taking off his button-up and pulling on a t-shirt, and Patrick tries not to stare.
“So what do you want? Salad?”
“Yeah. Please.” Jonny goes to hang up his shirt and Patrick calls in their order. He tries to pull on a t-shirt as he holds the phone to his ear.
“Room service,” the lady over the phone says, “can I take your order?”
“Hi! I’d like the salad - d’you put shredded cheese on that?”
“We can, yes.”
“No cheese,” Jonny calls over from the closet, like Patrick doesn’t know that.
“Okay,” Patrick says into the phone, “can I get extra cheese?”
“Dude, what the hell,” Jonny growls in irritation, and Patrick ignores him. “Kaner, I don’t want cheese, okay.”
“On the side, though, please? And d’you put onions?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get them like, diced? And on the side, too?”
Jonny has retreated to the bed, and by the time Patrick finishes ordering and hangs up, he’s out of his suit and wearing shorts and a t-shirt instead. “What should we watch?” he asks Jonny as he changes his clothes. “It’s your turn to pick.”
“Um, it’s okay. You choose.”
“Dude, anything, I’ll probably fall asleep anyway.” He loves the way that feels, falling asleep in Jonny’s bed. Sometimes, Jonny doesn’t bother moving, and Patrick will wake up to see Jonny sprawled on the other half of the bed, t-shirt rucked up and his hair mussed, so impossibly hot that Patrick just has to stare for a few long moments.
Jonny’s clicking through movie options on the TV when their food comes, and Patrick listens as he starts to assemble his coneys.
“There’s a new horror movie - it looks stupid, though,” Jonny’s saying, “one of those things where they’re like, ‘oh, this place doesn’t exist in time,’ or what-fucking-ever.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a total cynic?” Patrick asks, and Jonny snorts with laughter.
“It’s not my fault I have taste. There’s a Spiderman, but forget that guy, he’s too wimpy.”
“Yeah, I don’t like a Spiderman I know I could beat up.” Patrick pauses as he picks up the little bowl of diced onions. “Would you kiss me if I had onion breath?” he asks. Jonny pauses in his movie searching.
“Um. I- I dunno,” he stammers out.
“Want some for your salad?”
“Um. No thanks.”
“Should I leave them off mine?”
“Uh, if you want?” Jonny’s clicking through movies again, too fast for him to actually be registering much. Patrick leaves off the onions just in case, because he just - just in case.
“See anything yet?” Jonny asks, and - is his voice shaking? No. Maybe.
“Hmm,” Patrick watches the movie choices go by as he eats, just so steadily happy with how normal this is feeling. They end up deciding on some supernatural-whatever superpowers movie, and as Jonny clicks the order, and then confirm, Patrick grabs his pillow and gets into Jonny’s bed, scoots into the centre. He leans back against the pillows, and as the movie starts, he’s just watching Jonny. He really can’t be blamed for this, because Jonny’s right there next to him, so close they’re nearly touching.
And Jonny - he keeps glancing over. He sneaks looks at Patrick, so quick that Patrick’s not entirely sure he didn’t just imagine it. But then, he catches Jonny’s eye this time, and smiles. Jonny blushes, turns red and looks away quickly. Patrick grins, scoots so he’s lying down and looks up to smile at Jonny. Jonny catches his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze darting down to Patrick, and then he inches down a little, finally closer. Patrick can’t help but smile more.
“C’mere,” he says, and Jonny scoots down to him. He’s still blushing, looking at Patrick like he’s nervous, maybe even a little hopeful. Patrick takes this as a good sign, slips a hand onto the back of Jonny’s neck and pulls him in close, presses their lips together. For a second, he just lets himself have this, he’s been dying to kiss Jonny again, and then he draws back.
“W-what’re you doing?” Jonny asks.
“Kissing you.”
“I. Um. Um.” Jonny stammers out, and he can’t seem to form sentences, so Patrick just leans in and kisses him again. It’s just - how can it be this good? They’re just kissing, but Patrick’s dying for it, and it’s just - because it’s Jonny. He’s kissing Jonny, and somehow, that makes it just different from every kiss Patrick’s ever had before. It’s because he’s kissing his best friend who gets exasperated at his lack of organisational skills, his teammate who hugs him hard after goals they score together, it’s because it’s Jonny, and Patrick’s always wanted to kiss him, always. Just this is getting him hard, but he doesn’t want to do anything, just in case, doesn’t ever want to ruin this, so he just licks into Jonny’s mouth and pets over his hair and just does this.
Jonny’s starting to make needy little panting sounds and Patrick can’t stand how much he loves that - and then there’s a knock on the door, and he has to pull away.
“Can we ignore that, you think?” he asks, even though he knows Jonny is physically incapable of doing things like that, can’t even let his phone ring without answering it. Patrick sits up reluctantly, slides over to sit on the side of the bed. Fuck, he doesn’t want to answer the door; his erection’s kind of obvious, and he tries to rearrange, shoots a smile at Jonny as he does before hopping up to get the door. Duncs and Seabs are standing in the hallway, looking sheepish.
“We broke our remote, can we borrow yours?” Duncs asks.
“We need ours. Just call the front desk, dude,” Patrick says, but Seabs sighs pitifully. “You just don’t want to look like idiots, is that it?”
“Maybe,” Seabs says defensively.
“Well, man the fuck up and call.” Patrick shuts the door before they can protest. He waits for a minute, then opens the door again, peeks out. No one’s around, so he takes the do not disturb sign and hangs it on the door before closing the door. He runs across their room and dives back into Jonny’s bed, even two minutes too long to be away.
“So what do you think?” he asks, scooting in close again, “Which kiss was better?”
“Um. I don’t. Don’t know.” Jonny’s blushing again, and Patrick kind of likes that, the way his cheeks turn pink and he bites his lip. Patrick wraps his arms around Jonny, feels like he’s allowed to now, smiles up at him.
“I like this time better,” he says, this mix of thrilled and shy, like he’s admitting something so big that he really wants Jonny to know. “Just me and you.”
“Yeah,” Jonny says hoarsely, and Patrick smiles.
“Of course, you didn’t come tonight,” he adds, “yet.” He presses closer to Jonny, leans up to kiss him again. Jonny moans into his mouth, desperate little noises like during their first kiss, but this time, all of this is just for Patrick. There aren’t thousands of people watching, it’s just them in a quiet room. Last time, it felt like just them, but this - it changes things. These sounds are just for Patrick, everything his alone. He kisses Jonny harder for it, slides his leg over Jonny’s and moans when his erection rubs against Jonny’s.
“Fuck, Patrick,” Jonny mumbles against his lips, and when his hips rock against Patrick’s, it’s hard not to moan loudly. It’s not long at all before Jonny’s rubbing against him faster, increasingly breathless, and then he gives a low moan, hips stuttering against Patrick’s. And this - oh, actually feeling Jonny come undone in his arms, knowing no one can see this but him. It’s more than Patrick can handle and less than five seconds later he’s coming too, gasping and burying his face against Jonny’s neck.
He kisses Jonny again as his breathing slows back to normal, kisses along his jaw and neck because he just can’t get enough, needs more, everything. Jonny holds him so tight, like he needs this too. Patrick snuggles in close, could fall asleep just like this, every night.
“Tonight is definitely my favourite,” he says, as if there was ever any doubt. Kissing Jonny when it’s just for them, ending up in Jonny’s arms, fit against his body, this is unlike anything else. He yawns, scoots so his head’s on Jonny’s chest, always wants to sleep like this, tangled together.
“I was scared you wouldn’t let me do this,” Patrick says quietly, “if it wasn’t for charity.” He holds onto Jonny a little tighter, presses a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m so glad you did.”
“Patrick,” Jonny breathes, and there may be a lot of things that Patrick doesn’t understand right now, but that, the way Jonny says his name like it’s fragile, something to be held close and safe, that’s something Patrick can count on, understand without needing any words.
There’s still a lot Patrick could say to him, tell him I never did it for charity, I did it for me, tell him I never want to stop kissing you, wants to curl in close and say words that are only possible when Jonny’s holding him tight, things he’d be afraid to let leave his lips if he wasn’t speaking them against Jonny’s chest. There’s so much he could say, maybe he even needs to, but maybe this is enough, maybe the way he tucks his head under Jonny’s chin and clings tight to him will say it all for him, will be all the words they need.
Patrick falls asleep, dreams that he’s kissing Jonny until suddenly he’s just drowning, can’t breathe. When he jerks awake, he finds that he’s tossed and turned so much he’s ended up on his side, his back to Jonny’s chest, and Jonny’s clinging to him so, so tight, making little whimpering sounds in his sleep. Patrick feels it when Jonny wakes up, breathing shallowly. Patrick doesn’t move, because Jonny stays silent and just holds onto him. He presses a kiss to Patrick’s curls, and Patrick shifts back closer to him, pulls Jonny’s arm closer to his chest. It makes Jonny’s breathing slowly steady out, and Patrick falls asleep, finally doesn’t dream of anything but kissing Jonny. Nothing happens this time, no parting words, nothing falling away, it stays just them, only them.
0o0o0o0o0o
Patrick thought he’d wake up with the new permission to kiss Jonny whenever he wants to. He thought he’d have a whole new kind of game day, of any day, but Jonny’s quiet and distant, intensely focused during the game, sleeps for the whole flight afterwards.
He’s still so quiet the next day, when they’re coming back to their St. Louis hotel room after dinner, walking a few paces too far back and being a little too easygoing when Patrick asks what he wants to do, if they should watch a movie, if he liked the restaurant.
“Are you sick?” Patrick blurts out when the door closes behind them. Jonny looks back at him, quiet for a second as he shrugs off his jacket.
“I dunno,” he sighs out, looks away. “Maybe. Just - nothing. I’m fine.”
“But what is it? Is it your head again? Fucking Bertuzzi,” Patrick hisses out, steps closer to Jonny. He touches his fingertips to Jonny’s temple gently, like he can ask here? Does here hurt? Here?, like he can fix it. “Is it?”
“No, I’m just. I dunno.” Jonny looks away, shakes his head, “really tired.”
“Would you tell me, Jonny?”
“Tell you what?” Jonny asks. Everything, Patrick wants to plead, all the important things, you wouldn’t keep this from me, would you? He wants to have the answer to that without having to ask.
“If it was your head.”
“Yeah,” Jonny says softly, “promise.” Patrick smiles in relief; he’s never known Jonny to outright lie to him, and this, this is something he can cling to. He stands up on his toes to kiss Jonny’s forehead.
“So. Can I get you anything?”
“No. Um.” Jonny pulls him into a hug suddenly, holds onto him so tight. It’s a second before Patrick can even register what’s going on, but he wraps his arms tight around Jonny, smiles against his shoulder. Maybe he is helping to fix whatever it is that’s wrong, maybe he does that without even trying, maybe he’s that right, that necessary, that perfect a fit for Jonny.
“Let’s go to bed,” he suggests when he steps back, goes to turn off the lights before he climbs into the bed Jonny’s already climbed into. Patrick scoots in towards Jonny, curls in against his chest and wraps an arm around him. Jonny holds onto him so tight, like he’s afraid he’s going to be forced to let go.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks softly, tilts his head back so he can see Jonny’s face.
“Nothing,” Jonny says, but he’s clenching his jaw tight, and his voice trembles just the tiniest bit.
“You haven’t hardly talked to me all day,” Patrick says, can’t help the desperate tilt to the words, “I thought maybe you were mad at me. But - you’re not acting mad at me now,” he says hopefully. Jonny doesn’t seem mad, seems - seems so upset, on the verge of breaking apart.
“I’m not mad at you,” he says softly.
“You’re not sick?” Patrick asks, still isn’t sure about this.
“I dunno,” Jonny mumbles, “I just feel awful. Can I just sleep?” a tense note has crept into his voice, and Patrick looks down, shifts away from Jonny. He misses holding Jonny as soon as he lets go. “Please?”
“Do you want me to get into the other bed?” Patrick asks, can’t help how pitiful he sounds, because why won’t Jonny let him just have this? Why won’t Jonny let them do this? Why won’t Jonny let Patrick try to do this for him?
“No, please,” Jonny says, so quiet there’s no tone to it.
“But you want me to shut the fuck up, right?” Patrick snaps. Goddamnit, he just wanted to comfort Jonny, why is that so bad? He can be trusted to do that, can’t he?
“No, Patrick. I’m sorry,” Jonny sighs out, but it doesn’t - doesn’t sound like he wants Patrick here.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Patrick snarls, arching back to glare up at him.
“I can - go to the other bed if you want,” Jonny says weakly, biting his lip.
“Don’t bother,” Patrick jerks away, stalks over to the other bed and throws himself down on it. Fuck Jonny, anyways. He’s been a dick for the past few days, treated Patrick like shit, and he was fine with making out with Patrick and everything and holding onto him so tight Patrick thought it meant things, but as soon as Patrick wanted to actually talk to him, showed some concern for some part of Jonny other than his mouth and dick, Jonny didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Patrick just wanted to talk to him the way they always do, maybe even more, because he’s always wanted to know everything Jonny’s ever had to say, but Jonny basically told him to shut the fuck up and let him sleep, because apparently, Patrick isn’t worth staying awake for if he’s not getting Jonny off and kissing him. Just - just fuck him, fucking Jonny. Just fuck him.
Patrick curls up around a pillow, buries his face in it and tries not to huff out an angry breath, or throw something at the other bed. Because fuck Jonny. If Jonny wanted to still be best friends, do everything they used to do and also make out and stuff, Patrick would have been on board with that, but Jonny’s just - just decided that Patrick’s good for nothing but making out with and shit, and doesn’t want him as a friend anymore, so - so fuck him. If he wants to apologise, tell Patrick why he’s being a fucking jerk, fine, but no one can make Jonny do something he doesn’t want to do, including Patrick. He’s stubborn as fuck, and it’s one of the things Patrick’s always had a kind of sideways respect for, irritated when it works against him, admiration for when Jonny uses it right, and this, this is the worst fucking thing he could use that for. And obviously fucking Jonny won’t even let Patrick talk to him, so fuck him, because Patrick doesn’t know what he did wrong, and it’s just not fair, and - just fuck Jonny.
Patrick curls up with his back to Jonny, but he can only lie like that for a few minutes before he turns onto his other side. He always hates seeing the gap between their beds, though. It makes it impossible to forget the fact that they’re not in the same bed, that he was before Jonny just- didn’t want him there anymore. Patrick’s always wished they could share a bed, on roadtrips, but not - not like that. He wanted to lie there beside Jonny, facing him in the dark, so, so close. He wanted Jonny to stroke his back and whisper good night, Patrick and brush his lips against Patrick’s. And they’d have had awesome sex right before, loud and so great, because Patrick’s awesome at that. And then afterwards, Jonny would kiss his curls and they’d fall asleep together, share a bed every roadtrip night, every night, always. And Jonny would want him there, would want him for more.
He tries not to think about the things he won’t have, but at least he never has to wonder what he will get and what he won’t. His first kiss with Jonny wasn’t what he thought it would be, and he just - just doesn’t know what to do with that. If Patrick thinks about it though, really thinks about it, he knows exactly how he’s wanted their first kiss to be. He wanted Jonny to tug him in close and tilt his chin up, bend down and cup Patrick’s face in his big hands, the gentlest Patrick has ever seen him. He wanted Jonny to kiss him like he needed to, like Patrick’s the only thing he wants, like the world really is just them for a moment. Patrick doesn’t know if Jonny’s ever felt that way, but he has, onesided and wondering what it would feel like if they both thought the same thing in one moment.
Their kiss was different, though, and Patrick doesn’t want to care. He wants to just take what he can get, because at least he gets to kiss Jonny; ultimately, he’s getting what he wanted, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Getting what he wanted wasn’t supposed to take everything they had in exchange. He turns back onto his other side, and tries to fall asleep.
Next part
Leaving without Jonny felt wrong. Patrick hasn’t been able to shake the feeling all night, because after kissing Jonny, after hearing his little moans and feeling the way Jonny came undone for him, being without him feels wrong, like Patrick knowingly left a part of himself behind. When he tries to sleep, he dreams about kissing Jonny, and in the dream, Jonny pulls back and says don’t forget this is for charity, like it’s a warning, like he’s saying after this, I’m leaving, and Patrick keeps jerking awake, frantically breathless when he finds that Jonny’s not here, every time.
Around six, he can’t stand to do it anymore, fall asleep only to be jolted awake, frantic with the need to see Jonny and crushed every time he’s not here, so Patrick gets out of bed, goes to wander around his apartment and just wait for when he can finally leave for the airport. He can’t wait, because seeing Jonny, it’ll normalise him, it’ll re-prove what he knows must be true: everything is fine, it’s all in his head, there’s no reason to be sleepless and edgy.
When he finally gets to the airport lounge, most of the guys are already there, acting in the most predictable way possible.
“Dude, we had a viewing party,” Seabs informs him when he walks in, “holy shit, Kaner!”
“Got drunk and watched you guys make out, basically,” Duncs says from beside Seabs, and Patrick laughs.
“It was like, this far from porn,” Brandon demonstrates an inch with his fingers, “you ever think about going into the industry?”
“Hilarious,” Patrick rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. So what, he’s allowed to be glad he and Jonny look hot together. Patrick’s hot, it’s a compliment. And in this, he and Jonny are something together.
“See,” Shawsy’s holding his phone, reading off the screen, “this says you guys ‘displayed inspiring commitment to the charity,’ so, like, that means you guys were goin’ at it.”
“Commitment’s the name of my game, man,” Patrick tells him, looking around for Jonny. He’s not usually late; they’ve already started boarding the plane. “Speaking of, where is Tazer?” As he’s looking, he spots Jonny just coming in, and grins. “Never mind, found him.” He ignores Shawsy’s remark about Tazer-radar and heads over. “You’re like, ninety seconds late!” Patrick says cheerily, “I was worried it was the zombie apocalypse or something. Which would be bad, since you’re my apocolypase buddy and you weren’t here.”
“What do apocalypse buddies do?” Jonny asks as they walk across the lounge.
“I dunno, hang out and not die? Plus, you’re from the Great White North, and I assume you’re more equipped to handle a shotgun.”
“They don’t give gun lessons to kids up there, no matter what you’ve heard.”
“Well, I’m a city man. I’ll navigate.”
“You can’t navigate for shit.”
“Drive, then.”
“I’d rather take my chances with the zombies,” Jonny says dryly, and Patrick laughs. He follows Jonny onto the plane, reeling with how comfortingly normal this feels. And then - Jonny takes a window seat. Which is kind of weird, but whatever, Patrick takes the aisle seat beside him anyways. He watches Jonny take out a book from his bag, start flipping through it to get to his page, and things are almost normal. Except - Patrick wants to touch him, be close and holding onto him, and that’s not new, but this accompanying feeling is. He just feels so strongly like it’s wrong not to be touching Jonny in some way, and that’s new, that’s terrifying, makes him feel unsteady like he’s stumbling through a room he thought he knew by heart in the dark, running into things because his mental map is just off enough that he’s completely lost.
The plane takes off, and Jonny still hasn’t said much to Patrick, and it’s fucking weird, the kind of weird
that makes Patrick feel edgy and unsettled, like big things have gone wrong.
“What’re you reading?” he asks.
“Sherlock Holmes,” Jonny says, predictably. Every now and then, he remembers that he’s on this kick where he thinks that because a book’s a classic, it means he’s supposed to read it. Last season, he scoffed his way through Great Expectations and threw David Copperfield aside with an exasperated sigh, no less than thirty-two times, before he finished it.
“Is it good?” Patrick leans against Jonny to look at the page, and something in him steadies as soon as he gets close.
“It’s just okay,” Jonny says, pauses. “It’s boring as fuck. But maybe it’ll get better.”
Patrick laughs, scoots over a little closer. He just - needed to hear this, to hear Jonny insult a classic he’ll drag himself through anyways, to sit close on the plane and be assured that it doesn’t matter, that he now knows what Jonny tastes like and the way his moans sound, nothing changed. He shifts so he’s laying agains tJonny, turns on his side to snuggle in close. He yawns, watches Jonny turn the page.
“Did you, um. Sleep okay last night?” Jonny asks, this new unease in his voice.
“Mmm...” Patrick thinks of his bursts of sleep, broken up by frantic looking around, the pain of not seeing Jonny there every time. “Not really. How about you?”
“Um. Fine. Yeah, fine,” Jonny says hastily. Patrick yawns, closes his eyes.
“Cool.” Maybe now he’ll be able to sleep; it won’t matter what nightmares he has, because even if he wakes up panicked, he’ll see Jonny, Jonny’s right here, he’s here.
Patrick dreams about kissing Jonny again, but it’s different this time. They’re at centre ice,
but the arena is completely empty. It’s just them, no one but them, but then Jonny pulls back and says, “not like this,” and waves a hand to indicate all the empty seats.
“There’s no one watching,” Patrick says slowly, somewhere between confused and just dreading the pain that might be coming.
“I know,” Jonny says, and Patrick flinches awake. He blinks in confusion, breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees he’s still on Jonny’s shoulder, so close they’re touching. Jonny’s still reading, doesn’t look up when Patrick stands and scoots into the aisle. Patrick goes to the bathroom, stops on the way back to flick Shawsy in the ear and laugh at him for snarling at his PSP. When Patrick slides back into his own seat, he has to push up the armrest - it was up before, when did it get put down? - and snuggles back in even closer to Jonny, falls asleep to this time dream of a blissful nothing.
It’s raining in Detroit when they arrive, and the guys are still complaining about it as they walk into the hotel, but Patrick’s excited. He loves rainy days on the road, because this is when him and Jonny stay in for the night, order room service and watch movies.
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asks when they’re up in their room, Jonny setting
his suitcase on the foldout stand. “Dude. Coneys. yes?”
“Oh, um. I dunno, anything,” Jonny says distractedly. Patrick frowns a little, looks out at the rain hammering against the window. “Or, we could just get room service. Since it’s raining,” he adds hopefully. Then they can watch a movie together, can sit close and talk through it and Patrick misses that.
“Sounds good,” Jonny replies, and Patrick grins. He flips open the room service menu, starts undoing his tie as he reads.
“Okay, so they fail at having coneys, but there’s chili and hot dogs on the kids menu,” he reports as he unbuttons his shirt. “They’ll let me order off that, right? We did that in Dallas, remember, they had grilled cheese and let me do that there.”
“I don’t see why not.” Jonny’s taking off his button-up and pulling on a t-shirt, and Patrick tries not to stare.
“So what do you want? Salad?”
“Yeah. Please.” Jonny goes to hang up his shirt and Patrick calls in their order. He tries to pull on a t-shirt as he holds the phone to his ear.
“Room service,” the lady over the phone says, “can I take your order?”
“Hi! I’d like the salad - d’you put shredded cheese on that?”
“We can, yes.”
“No cheese,” Jonny calls over from the closet, like Patrick doesn’t know that.
“Okay,” Patrick says into the phone, “can I get extra cheese?”
“Dude, what the hell,” Jonny growls in irritation, and Patrick ignores him. “Kaner, I don’t want cheese, okay.”
“On the side, though, please? And d’you put onions?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get them like, diced? And on the side, too?”
Jonny has retreated to the bed, and by the time Patrick finishes ordering and hangs up, he’s out of his suit and wearing shorts and a t-shirt instead. “What should we watch?” he asks Jonny as he changes his clothes. “It’s your turn to pick.”
“Um, it’s okay. You choose.”
“Dude, anything, I’ll probably fall asleep anyway.” He loves the way that feels, falling asleep in Jonny’s bed. Sometimes, Jonny doesn’t bother moving, and Patrick will wake up to see Jonny sprawled on the other half of the bed, t-shirt rucked up and his hair mussed, so impossibly hot that Patrick just has to stare for a few long moments.
Jonny’s clicking through movie options on the TV when their food comes, and Patrick listens as he starts to assemble his coneys.
“There’s a new horror movie - it looks stupid, though,” Jonny’s saying, “one of those things where they’re like, ‘oh, this place doesn’t exist in time,’ or what-fucking-ever.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a total cynic?” Patrick asks, and Jonny snorts with laughter.
“It’s not my fault I have taste. There’s a Spiderman, but forget that guy, he’s too wimpy.”
“Yeah, I don’t like a Spiderman I know I could beat up.” Patrick pauses as he picks up the little bowl of diced onions. “Would you kiss me if I had onion breath?” he asks. Jonny pauses in his movie searching.
“Um. I- I dunno,” he stammers out.
“Want some for your salad?”
“Um. No thanks.”
“Should I leave them off mine?”
“Uh, if you want?” Jonny’s clicking through movies again, too fast for him to actually be registering much. Patrick leaves off the onions just in case, because he just - just in case.
“See anything yet?” Jonny asks, and - is his voice shaking? No. Maybe.
“Hmm,” Patrick watches the movie choices go by as he eats, just so steadily happy with how normal this is feeling. They end up deciding on some supernatural-whatever superpowers movie, and as Jonny clicks the order, and then confirm, Patrick grabs his pillow and gets into Jonny’s bed, scoots into the centre. He leans back against the pillows, and as the movie starts, he’s just watching Jonny. He really can’t be blamed for this, because Jonny’s right there next to him, so close they’re nearly touching.
And Jonny - he keeps glancing over. He sneaks looks at Patrick, so quick that Patrick’s not entirely sure he didn’t just imagine it. But then, he catches Jonny’s eye this time, and smiles. Jonny blushes, turns red and looks away quickly. Patrick grins, scoots so he’s lying down and looks up to smile at Jonny. Jonny catches his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze darting down to Patrick, and then he inches down a little, finally closer. Patrick can’t help but smile more.
“C’mere,” he says, and Jonny scoots down to him. He’s still blushing, looking at Patrick like he’s nervous, maybe even a little hopeful. Patrick takes this as a good sign, slips a hand onto the back of Jonny’s neck and pulls him in close, presses their lips together. For a second, he just lets himself have this, he’s been dying to kiss Jonny again, and then he draws back.
“W-what’re you doing?” Jonny asks.
“Kissing you.”
“I. Um. Um.” Jonny stammers out, and he can’t seem to form sentences, so Patrick just leans in and kisses him again. It’s just - how can it be this good? They’re just kissing, but Patrick’s dying for it, and it’s just - because it’s Jonny. He’s kissing Jonny, and somehow, that makes it just different from every kiss Patrick’s ever had before. It’s because he’s kissing his best friend who gets exasperated at his lack of organisational skills, his teammate who hugs him hard after goals they score together, it’s because it’s Jonny, and Patrick’s always wanted to kiss him, always. Just this is getting him hard, but he doesn’t want to do anything, just in case, doesn’t ever want to ruin this, so he just licks into Jonny’s mouth and pets over his hair and just does this.
Jonny’s starting to make needy little panting sounds and Patrick can’t stand how much he loves that - and then there’s a knock on the door, and he has to pull away.
“Can we ignore that, you think?” he asks, even though he knows Jonny is physically incapable of doing things like that, can’t even let his phone ring without answering it. Patrick sits up reluctantly, slides over to sit on the side of the bed. Fuck, he doesn’t want to answer the door; his erection’s kind of obvious, and he tries to rearrange, shoots a smile at Jonny as he does before hopping up to get the door. Duncs and Seabs are standing in the hallway, looking sheepish.
“We broke our remote, can we borrow yours?” Duncs asks.
“We need ours. Just call the front desk, dude,” Patrick says, but Seabs sighs pitifully. “You just don’t want to look like idiots, is that it?”
“Maybe,” Seabs says defensively.
“Well, man the fuck up and call.” Patrick shuts the door before they can protest. He waits for a minute, then opens the door again, peeks out. No one’s around, so he takes the do not disturb sign and hangs it on the door before closing the door. He runs across their room and dives back into Jonny’s bed, even two minutes too long to be away.
“So what do you think?” he asks, scooting in close again, “Which kiss was better?”
“Um. I don’t. Don’t know.” Jonny’s blushing again, and Patrick kind of likes that, the way his cheeks turn pink and he bites his lip. Patrick wraps his arms around Jonny, feels like he’s allowed to now, smiles up at him.
“I like this time better,” he says, this mix of thrilled and shy, like he’s admitting something so big that he really wants Jonny to know. “Just me and you.”
“Yeah,” Jonny says hoarsely, and Patrick smiles.
“Of course, you didn’t come tonight,” he adds, “yet.” He presses closer to Jonny, leans up to kiss him again. Jonny moans into his mouth, desperate little noises like during their first kiss, but this time, all of this is just for Patrick. There aren’t thousands of people watching, it’s just them in a quiet room. Last time, it felt like just them, but this - it changes things. These sounds are just for Patrick, everything his alone. He kisses Jonny harder for it, slides his leg over Jonny’s and moans when his erection rubs against Jonny’s.
“Fuck, Patrick,” Jonny mumbles against his lips, and when his hips rock against Patrick’s, it’s hard not to moan loudly. It’s not long at all before Jonny’s rubbing against him faster, increasingly breathless, and then he gives a low moan, hips stuttering against Patrick’s. And this - oh, actually feeling Jonny come undone in his arms, knowing no one can see this but him. It’s more than Patrick can handle and less than five seconds later he’s coming too, gasping and burying his face against Jonny’s neck.
He kisses Jonny again as his breathing slows back to normal, kisses along his jaw and neck because he just can’t get enough, needs more, everything. Jonny holds him so tight, like he needs this too. Patrick snuggles in close, could fall asleep just like this, every night.
“Tonight is definitely my favourite,” he says, as if there was ever any doubt. Kissing Jonny when it’s just for them, ending up in Jonny’s arms, fit against his body, this is unlike anything else. He yawns, scoots so his head’s on Jonny’s chest, always wants to sleep like this, tangled together.
“I was scared you wouldn’t let me do this,” Patrick says quietly, “if it wasn’t for charity.” He holds onto Jonny a little tighter, presses a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m so glad you did.”
“Patrick,” Jonny breathes, and there may be a lot of things that Patrick doesn’t understand right now, but that, the way Jonny says his name like it’s fragile, something to be held close and safe, that’s something Patrick can count on, understand without needing any words.
There’s still a lot Patrick could say to him, tell him I never did it for charity, I did it for me, tell him I never want to stop kissing you, wants to curl in close and say words that are only possible when Jonny’s holding him tight, things he’d be afraid to let leave his lips if he wasn’t speaking them against Jonny’s chest. There’s so much he could say, maybe he even needs to, but maybe this is enough, maybe the way he tucks his head under Jonny’s chin and clings tight to him will say it all for him, will be all the words they need.
Patrick falls asleep, dreams that he’s kissing Jonny until suddenly he’s just drowning, can’t breathe. When he jerks awake, he finds that he’s tossed and turned so much he’s ended up on his side, his back to Jonny’s chest, and Jonny’s clinging to him so, so tight, making little whimpering sounds in his sleep. Patrick feels it when Jonny wakes up, breathing shallowly. Patrick doesn’t move, because Jonny stays silent and just holds onto him. He presses a kiss to Patrick’s curls, and Patrick shifts back closer to him, pulls Jonny’s arm closer to his chest. It makes Jonny’s breathing slowly steady out, and Patrick falls asleep, finally doesn’t dream of anything but kissing Jonny. Nothing happens this time, no parting words, nothing falling away, it stays just them, only them.
0o0o0o0o0o
Patrick thought he’d wake up with the new permission to kiss Jonny whenever he wants to. He thought he’d have a whole new kind of game day, of any day, but Jonny’s quiet and distant, intensely focused during the game, sleeps for the whole flight afterwards.
He’s still so quiet the next day, when they’re coming back to their St. Louis hotel room after dinner, walking a few paces too far back and being a little too easygoing when Patrick asks what he wants to do, if they should watch a movie, if he liked the restaurant.
“Are you sick?” Patrick blurts out when the door closes behind them. Jonny looks back at him, quiet for a second as he shrugs off his jacket.
“I dunno,” he sighs out, looks away. “Maybe. Just - nothing. I’m fine.”
“But what is it? Is it your head again? Fucking Bertuzzi,” Patrick hisses out, steps closer to Jonny. He touches his fingertips to Jonny’s temple gently, like he can ask here? Does here hurt? Here?, like he can fix it. “Is it?”
“No, I’m just. I dunno.” Jonny looks away, shakes his head, “really tired.”
“Would you tell me, Jonny?”
“Tell you what?” Jonny asks. Everything, Patrick wants to plead, all the important things, you wouldn’t keep this from me, would you? He wants to have the answer to that without having to ask.
“If it was your head.”
“Yeah,” Jonny says softly, “promise.” Patrick smiles in relief; he’s never known Jonny to outright lie to him, and this, this is something he can cling to. He stands up on his toes to kiss Jonny’s forehead.
“So. Can I get you anything?”
“No. Um.” Jonny pulls him into a hug suddenly, holds onto him so tight. It’s a second before Patrick can even register what’s going on, but he wraps his arms tight around Jonny, smiles against his shoulder. Maybe he is helping to fix whatever it is that’s wrong, maybe he does that without even trying, maybe he’s that right, that necessary, that perfect a fit for Jonny.
“Let’s go to bed,” he suggests when he steps back, goes to turn off the lights before he climbs into the bed Jonny’s already climbed into. Patrick scoots in towards Jonny, curls in against his chest and wraps an arm around him. Jonny holds onto him so tight, like he’s afraid he’s going to be forced to let go.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks softly, tilts his head back so he can see Jonny’s face.
“Nothing,” Jonny says, but he’s clenching his jaw tight, and his voice trembles just the tiniest bit.
“You haven’t hardly talked to me all day,” Patrick says, can’t help the desperate tilt to the words, “I thought maybe you were mad at me. But - you’re not acting mad at me now,” he says hopefully. Jonny doesn’t seem mad, seems - seems so upset, on the verge of breaking apart.
“I’m not mad at you,” he says softly.
“You’re not sick?” Patrick asks, still isn’t sure about this.
“I dunno,” Jonny mumbles, “I just feel awful. Can I just sleep?” a tense note has crept into his voice, and Patrick looks down, shifts away from Jonny. He misses holding Jonny as soon as he lets go. “Please?”
“Do you want me to get into the other bed?” Patrick asks, can’t help how pitiful he sounds, because why won’t Jonny let him just have this? Why won’t Jonny let them do this? Why won’t Jonny let Patrick try to do this for him?
“No, please,” Jonny says, so quiet there’s no tone to it.
“But you want me to shut the fuck up, right?” Patrick snaps. Goddamnit, he just wanted to comfort Jonny, why is that so bad? He can be trusted to do that, can’t he?
“No, Patrick. I’m sorry,” Jonny sighs out, but it doesn’t - doesn’t sound like he wants Patrick here.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Patrick snarls, arching back to glare up at him.
“I can - go to the other bed if you want,” Jonny says weakly, biting his lip.
“Don’t bother,” Patrick jerks away, stalks over to the other bed and throws himself down on it. Fuck Jonny, anyways. He’s been a dick for the past few days, treated Patrick like shit, and he was fine with making out with Patrick and everything and holding onto him so tight Patrick thought it meant things, but as soon as Patrick wanted to actually talk to him, showed some concern for some part of Jonny other than his mouth and dick, Jonny didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Patrick just wanted to talk to him the way they always do, maybe even more, because he’s always wanted to know everything Jonny’s ever had to say, but Jonny basically told him to shut the fuck up and let him sleep, because apparently, Patrick isn’t worth staying awake for if he’s not getting Jonny off and kissing him. Just - just fuck him, fucking Jonny. Just fuck him.
Patrick curls up around a pillow, buries his face in it and tries not to huff out an angry breath, or throw something at the other bed. Because fuck Jonny. If Jonny wanted to still be best friends, do everything they used to do and also make out and stuff, Patrick would have been on board with that, but Jonny’s just - just decided that Patrick’s good for nothing but making out with and shit, and doesn’t want him as a friend anymore, so - so fuck him. If he wants to apologise, tell Patrick why he’s being a fucking jerk, fine, but no one can make Jonny do something he doesn’t want to do, including Patrick. He’s stubborn as fuck, and it’s one of the things Patrick’s always had a kind of sideways respect for, irritated when it works against him, admiration for when Jonny uses it right, and this, this is the worst fucking thing he could use that for. And obviously fucking Jonny won’t even let Patrick talk to him, so fuck him, because Patrick doesn’t know what he did wrong, and it’s just not fair, and - just fuck Jonny.
Patrick curls up with his back to Jonny, but he can only lie like that for a few minutes before he turns onto his other side. He always hates seeing the gap between their beds, though. It makes it impossible to forget the fact that they’re not in the same bed, that he was before Jonny just- didn’t want him there anymore. Patrick’s always wished they could share a bed, on roadtrips, but not - not like that. He wanted to lie there beside Jonny, facing him in the dark, so, so close. He wanted Jonny to stroke his back and whisper good night, Patrick and brush his lips against Patrick’s. And they’d have had awesome sex right before, loud and so great, because Patrick’s awesome at that. And then afterwards, Jonny would kiss his curls and they’d fall asleep together, share a bed every roadtrip night, every night, always. And Jonny would want him there, would want him for more.
He tries not to think about the things he won’t have, but at least he never has to wonder what he will get and what he won’t. His first kiss with Jonny wasn’t what he thought it would be, and he just - just doesn’t know what to do with that. If Patrick thinks about it though, really thinks about it, he knows exactly how he’s wanted their first kiss to be. He wanted Jonny to tug him in close and tilt his chin up, bend down and cup Patrick’s face in his big hands, the gentlest Patrick has ever seen him. He wanted Jonny to kiss him like he needed to, like Patrick’s the only thing he wants, like the world really is just them for a moment. Patrick doesn’t know if Jonny’s ever felt that way, but he has, onesided and wondering what it would feel like if they both thought the same thing in one moment.
Their kiss was different, though, and Patrick doesn’t want to care. He wants to just take what he can get, because at least he gets to kiss Jonny; ultimately, he’s getting what he wanted, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Getting what he wanted wasn’t supposed to take everything they had in exchange. He turns back onto his other side, and tries to fall asleep.
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