twentysomething: (chelsea chelsea i believe)
Title: Write Our Names On the Wall

Fandom: NHL RPS

Pairing: Always-a-girl!Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews

Summary: ""What are you saying?" Johnny says slowly, because this sounds like she's trying to pick him up, which is impossible, because if Kaner has one concrete rule, it's ‘anyone but teammates.’

"We can help each other out here," Kaner suggests, crossing her legs in her too-short skirt. "That's all. Two friends helping each other out in a dry spell. You're free to do whatever. It wouldn't be a big deal.""

Length: 16,000 wordsish

Warnings: genderbend all day erry day also this is like 95% porn. 96%.

Notes: This was inevitable. I can't stop myself. Props and love to The Hoyden, who pushed me along and beta'd this fabulously. There were like, eight terrible, lazy jokes she made me cut and you should thank her. Also love to asleepunderpurpleskies, who, like me, totally imagines Kaner as Ke$ha, every halloween, fighting the idea that leotards aren't pants. Love to Moonklutz, who most importantly informed me that scurvy is actually apparently still a thing, for real. <3

If you needed a soundtrack to read this to, please use any song from Justin Timberlake's FutureSex/LoveSounds or anything Ke$ha ever but most importantly, "C'mon." In fact, just go download "C'mon" now.

She's just Johnny's type- something a little reserved and secretive about her smile, neat and professional looking, perfectly styled brown hair- probably does something with the word analyst in her job title. She makes a face at the guys in the booth- some of the rookies rough-housing with each other a little bit- and rolls her eyes.

"Hard to have a conversation here," Johnny suggests, taking a sip of his drink. "Want to get out of here?"

"Thanks," she says, but gives him a look like he should have known better. "But no thanks." She finishes her drink and throws a few bills on the counter, slipping away before Johnny can even say anything else.

He's staring at his drink, wondering if he should order another one or just head home when Kaner bounces down on the stool recently vacated. Another drink, then.

"Dude," she says sounding gleeful. "You struck out so hard I could hear it across the bar." She flags down the bartender and then turns back to face Johnny, an amused little shimmy of her shoulders making her obnoxiously sequined tank top sparkle aggressively at him.

"Thanks, Kaner," he sighs. The bartender gives them the 'quit talking to each other and fucking order' nod. "A beer and a Malibu and coke."

Kaner punches him in the shoulder. "Aw, you shouldn't." she teases. She turns and barks at the bartender's back, "Make it a double."

Johnny rolls his eyes. "Real classy," he says.

"Ain't no party like a Malibu party because a Malibu party tastes like sunscreen," Kaner sing-songs happily. "But seriously, Tazer, that was pitiful. Sad as shit, bro." She gives the bartender the evil eye, watching him pour the shots for her drink until he throws in a little extra.

"Like you can talk," he says, eyeballing her. "Not like you're doing any better tonight." Kaner usually draws a small crowd of admirers that Sharpy will occasionally shoo away depending on how much he feels like smothering her ‘game.’ Guys are lured to her like moths to a neon and metallic print flame.

Kaner laughs, pulling her hair back, and Johnny can just see a hint of the fuck-awful red streaks she dyed in for the playoffs last year, fading into a pinkish orange. The bartender drops off their drinks and she pounds half of hers back. "Bar's full of uggos tonight," she says cheerfully.

"So what, you headed out?" Johnny asks.

Kaner shrugs. "Well, you're useless, this place is dead..." she says and eyes him thoughtfully before slamming back the rest of her drink. "It's not like I have a problem getting laid when I have you know, viable options and shit, but when you don't get any, you're a real bitch."

Johnny is a little horrified, because he has no idea where this conversation is going unless Kaner is about to offer to be his wingman. "Kaner," he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Look, I'm just saying, you're not bad-looking," Kaner says, staring at him like he's a car she's thinking about buying. "I'm not fucking anyone, I know you aren't. No sense in both of us being bored and horny when there's an alternative."

"What are you saying?" Johnny says slowly, because this sounds like she's trying to pick him up, which is impossible, because if Kaner has one concrete rule, it's ‘anyone but teammates.’

"We can help each other out here," Kaner suggests, crossing her legs in her too-short skirt. "That's all. Two friends helping each other out in a dry spell. You're free to do whatever. It wouldn't be a big deal."

This is an astoundingly bad idea, a bad idea on such an astronomically huge level that Johnny can't even comprehend it and he's opening his mouth to say so when Kaner smirks at him.

"You know, if you think you could handle it," Kaner says, eating a cherry she steals right out of the fruit bin. "I mean, if you're still having trouble finding the clit like the rest of the guys over there, I'll pass."

"What," Johnny demands.

Kaner waggles her eyebrows at him. "I had to explain to one of the rookies that there's no shame in asking. Making his girl feel good is more important than pride," she says, syrupy sweet.

Johnny knows he's being set up. He absolutely knows it. But instead of walking away, Johnny leans in and hisses, "Yeah, what do you know about it? I bet you just lie there making that face you think is sexy."

Kaner narrows her eyes at him, but grins, crazy and Johnny wishes he could say he wasn't suddenly half-hard. "Only one way for you to find out, asshole."

Johnny throws a handful of bills down on the counter. "Don't disappoint me, Kaner."

She looks so fucking smug it makes Johnny feel like his skin is too tight. "I'm not the one who should be worrying," she says, shrugging her coat on.

"And you're saying I should be?" Johnny asks, eyebrows raising.

"Don't disappoint me, Johnny," she says, lowering her voice, in an obvious and poor imitation of him. She breezes right by him, brushing a hand over his chest.

She lets him drive, and smirks at him the whole time like she knows something he doesn't and the more he thinks about it the more pissed he gets. One- he's great at sex, two- like Kaner of all people is any good at sex, yeah, right. Kaner is just shit talking.

Johnny is going to make her come so hard she's gonna forget her fucking name, and that's just where he's starting.

The elevator ride is just as bad as the car ride and Johnny's hands curl into fists to stop himself from reaching for her, to kiss her until she moans, to finger her until she begs to get fucked. He's never let himself think about Kaner in any kind of sexual context- partially as a respect thing and partially as a sanity thing. Kaner has about zero boundaries and had cheerfully tried to tell Johnny about her conquests when they were rookies and he'd cut her off immediately. Kaner is pretty overtly sexual and makes no bones about it- she goes out, gets hers and Johnny can respect that, just like the rest of his teammates.

But this was her idea and as far as Johnny's concerned, that's permission to think and look. She's biting her lip, looking at him with something he can only describe as a leer. But her biting at her lip makes him think about her fucking oral fixation, chewing on her mouth guard, sucking and chewing on straws at bars. He can see the dip of her collarbones, the tacky sequined tank top low enough that he can see the edge of her bra, bright, eye-searing pink. She's still summer tan, hair always lighter after she's been on the lake, sunbathing with her sisters all day for weeks on end. He's idly curious about tan lines, where whatever fucking neon monstrosity of a bikini she was wearing will have left lines, swathes of pale skin.

Finally, the elevator dings and Johnny can hardly wait for the doors to open before he's hustling Kaner down the hall, practically stabbing at the door with his keys.

"Eager?" Kaner barely has time to say it before Johnny sweeps anything unlucky enough to be on his entryway table onto the floor to lift her up there, sequins scratching against his palms.

"You're too fucking short to kiss, Kaner," Johnny says, penning her in so he can get that smirking fucking mouth under his.

"Who says I wanted you to kiss me on the mouth, Johnny?" Kaner asks, filthy, making herself laugh. Kaner kisses like a fucking collision- fast, hard, catastrophic. She kisses like she wants to ruin him for anyone else, and Johnny's never been kissed by anyone like they'd die without it, like she's trying to wreck him.

"Fuck," she breathes out, giddy, when he has to come up for air, pulling in gasping breaths like he's been running. "Oh, we are going to have so much fun, Johnny. I mean, if you can keep up." The look she gives him says she's playing him and having fun with it, but Johnny doesn't give a fuck, because he wants to make Kaner say that he did more than keep up, because he's going to give it all he has- he's going to make her come again and again. He wants to see what she looks like, fucked out and boneless with it, and he wants her to know, to own to who got her there.

"Worry about yourself," Johnny says, pushing a hand into her hair to tilt her face up to his, bringing his other hand up to wrap around her knee, tugging her flush against him.

She gives as good as she gets, pushing up against him, her ass barely resting on the edge of the table as she basically tries to climb him. Her shitty boots are digging into his ass as she locks her legs around Johnny's waist. "I know there's a bed around here, get your fucking act together and get us there," Kaner says, grinning against Johnny's mouth, biting at his lower lip.

"I should have guessed you'd be fucking pushy," Johnny mutters, but he just gets two handfuls of Kaner's ass and drags her up, her arms flying around his neck as he lifts.

Kaner laughs, seemingly delighted. "You're one to talk, Captain Caveman. Why don't you just throw me over your shoulder, huh?"

"If I thought it would shut you up, I would," Johnny says, burying his face in her neck to bite, following a hunch based off of years of watching Kaner poorly cover up hickeys before media scrums.

She gasps and hums appreciatively. "Fuck, I should have guessed you'd be a biter," she sighs, arching her neck. "Lucky me."

"All that Twilight shit you read," Johnny says, as judgmental as he can manage.

"Do you want me to call you Edward, because this is a whole fucked up side of you I never would have guessed about, Toews," she says, losing it halfway and starting to laugh already. "At least tell me you're going to break the headboard."

"Just you," Johnny says, right into her ear, and there's something addictive in the way Kaner's breath hitches and stutters when he pushes her up against the wall, so he can kiss her deep and thorough.

Her eyes are a little glazed when he pulls back, which, thank you, his sexual abilities should never have been in question. "You can try," she says, breathing hard, narrowing her eyes at him. "But you should be ready."

"For what?" Johnny asks. "How you're gonna go down?"

"Nope," Kaner says and Johnny might have to privately revise his assessment of Kaner's sexy face arsenal, because the cocky, hyper-confident smirk he normally sees, fuck, in shootouts, seems to be doing something for him. "How you're gonna go down."

She grinds against him, her short, blunt nails scraping through the hair at the nape of his neck. Johnny bites down on a groan.

"Well?" She prompts. "It's not gonna lick itself."

Johnny stares at her disbelievingly for a full five seconds. "You did not just say that."

She grins, completely unrepentant. "Pussying out?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows, a couple seconds away from an "Eh? Eh?" to make sure he got the double entendre.

"You're going to be screaming before-" Johnny checks his watch over Kaner's shoulder. "10:47."

“Yawning,” she says, and Johnny pinches her ass, hard. It makes Johnny’s night to watch her shit eating grin fall off her face as she squawks.

“You’re gonna beg,” Johnny tells her.

“Make me,” Kaner hisses, squeezing her thighs around his waist.

Johnny thinks they might have knocked over a lamp on the way into the bedroom.

She’s tugging at the buttons on his shirt, sucking what’s probably going to be the most obvious hickey of all time into his neck. He’s having to do all the hard work of actually getting them down the hallway without killing either of them while trying to ignore how fucking hard he is, just from some junior-high pawing in the hallway.

“If you don’t stop fucking squirming, I’m going to drop you,” Johnny warns her.

“Put me down anyway, Cro-Magnon, I can’t get you naked like this,” Kaner whines.

Johnny drops her on the bed.

“Asshole,” Kaner says, but she’s reaching for his pants at the same time, so it’s obviously not like she cares.

“Oops,” Johnny says, as deadpan as he can.

Kaner snorts, tugging his pants down. “Seriously, shirt, you’re useless.”

“You’re still wearing a coat, idiot,” Johnny points out.

“Whatever,” Kaner says. Johnny can strip down fast- years of locker rooms- but Kaner goes from fully dressed to underwear in seconds.

That being said-

“I have to get you out of that underwear,” Johnny says.

Kaner grins. “Yeah, you do.”

“No, I mean I have to get you out of that underwear so I can throw it away,” Johnny says, still horror struck. It’s like Ke$ha made an American Apparel line.

“What?” Kaner demands, sitting on the bed. He’d known the bra was hot pink, but in combination with the blinding yellow panties, it’s like a highlighter pack.

“Are you color blind?” he asks, pulling his shirt off.

“Fuck you, you wish you had swagger like this,” she says, rolling her eyes at him. “Now put your mouth where my money is.”

“You are so seriously… wrong,” Johnny says, but he’s still reaching for the waistband of those electric yellow nightmares, tugging them down and off, throwing them somewhere far, far away. He kneels down, pulling her legs over his shoulders.

“And you’re still about to go down on me,” Kaner gloats.

“Am I,” Johnny says, but he spreads Kaner open and licks, firm, pressing his mouth to her clit and sucking hard.

Kaner shrieks. “Jesus, Johnny!”

He glances at his watch, pressing Kaner’s hip down. “10:46.” Johnny grins straight into the smooth, delicate skin between hip and torso, letting himself bite there, gently.

“Fuck you, I will kick you in the head, put your mouth back on my pussy,” she says, nudging Johnny’s neck with her knee. “Smug motherfucker.”

Johnny doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just goes to work on Kaner. Johnny’s not bad at cunnilingus- certainly never had any complaints- but he wants to make Kaner fall apart, go fucking crazy. So he just pulls her flush with his mouth and licks and licks, slow and easy. He can hear Kaner swearing up a storm, nonsensical combinations of any profanity she can think of. It only makes him more determined, ignoring the slight twinge in his jaw to keep going, just the same pace.

“C’mon, more, you’re fucking killing me,” Kaner whines.

He thinks about it, but he can also feel the way her thighs are starting to shake, he can feel the tension in her abs under the hand keeping her hips pressed against the bed. So instead, Johnny just keeps going like he wants to, holding her open with one hand, keeping her steady with the other.

“Fuck, are you actually timing yourself about how long you can push me before I beg for it?” Kaner asks breathlessly.

Johnny hums thoughtfully against her pussy, even as Kaner makes a noise that sounds like it’s half moan, half groan. He actually would check his watch, but it’s not in his sightline, really.

Johnny!” Kaner shouts. “Fine, I’ll fucking beg, just let me come! Jesus, Johnny, fuck, please!”

He finally focuses on her clit, circling it with his tongue, licking up over it, sucking, and Kaner knits both of her hands into his hair, just shy of painful, holding his head in place. She’s sopping wet and it’s the easiest thing in the world to slip two fingers in her, pressing up just right and Kaner is coming, loud and hard.

Her legs fall off his shoulders, her whole body arching so fast and taut that he thinks he hears her back crack. Johnny tries to ease her through it, stroking his hands over her stomach down to her hips, his thumbs circling lightly at the top of her thighs, but she just shivers and shivers for a good thirty seconds.

Johnny can’t help but feel pleased, watching her chest heave, sucking in breaths that never seem to satisfy her, gasping for air. His mouth is slick and his jaw fucking aches, but fuck if he didn’t just wreck her. He’s also so fucking hard he’s leaking into his boxers, tenting them obscenely.

“Fuck,” Kaner finally breathes out and Johnny congratulates himself on a job well done. He’s not sure he’s ever seen her speechless that long without being asleep.

“Not bad,” she says, grinning, and he’s just about to point out how he fucking rocked her world, when she cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows. “You got me warmed up. What else have you got?”

Johnny stares at her incredulously. He just put in a fucking pro performance and she’s gonna—


“Should have guessed you’d be lazy in bed, Kaner,” he says, getting up to get a condom out of the nightstand.

“Excuse me?” she asks, sitting up on her elbows.

“Lazy,” Johnny repeats. “Knew it.”

“The fuck I am,” Kaner says, pulling him down into the bed. She’s all over him, pulling his boxers down just enough to get her hand on his dick. “Give me the condom, fucker.” She tugs it out of his hand, ripping open the foil with her teeth, slipping it on in one smooth, practiced glide.

“You sure you got this?” Johnny can’t resist asking, his chin automatically tipping up just a bit, challenging.

Kaner snorts, tugging off his boxers until Johnny can kick them off and popping the clasp on her bra, one handed. She does have tan lines, still. “Pretty sure I can handle you, Johnny,” she says, tossing her bra aside as she throws a leg over him.

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Johnny says and flips them over. Kaner is hot like a furnace underneath him, he can already feel himself starting to sweat, their bodies slick where they’re touching.

“You wanna be on top, America’s Next Top Model, then you gotta fuck the fuck, not just talk the talk,” Kaner says, reaching for his ass and squeezing hard. “If you can move all that ass, all that ass inside them jeans.”

“I miss when I made you come so hard you shut up for five seconds,” Johnny tells her.

Kaner smiles up at him sweetly. “I’m even quieter with a dick in my mouth,” she says, face utterly angelic as Johnny chokes on fucking air, blindsided with the image of Kaner sucking his cock, staring up at him through her stupidly long eyelashes. “You gotta earn the quiet, Tazer.”

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters. He decides to shut her up another way, kissing her silent.

“I’m not going to break, Johnny, just fucking give it to me,” she says, biting his lip, hard. “C’mon. Let’s give your neighbors something to complain about.”

“My neighbors have been complaining about you for years,” Johnny says.

“And you weren’t even getting any then,” Kaner says, smug-ass grin firmly in place. “Shit sad, bro.”

“Not getting any right now,” he points out.

“Yeah, and I’m the lazy one?” she teases, arching up under him and locking her arms around his neck. “You gonna fuck me some time before Christmas?”

Johnny doesn’t bother to answer, he just grabs his cock and pushes in, slow, inch by inch, completely consumed with the way that Kaner’s mouth drops open, her breath coming in short gasps that make her breasts shiver. She makes this whimpering sigh when he’s settled, balls deep; she bites her lower lip and her nails rake over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” she breathes out on a shaky exhale.

Johnny privately agrees. Kaner leans up to kiss his neck, teeth scraping after her mouth until she’s breathing right next to his ear, just barely grazing his earlobe.

Move,” she hisses at him, dark and hungry for it, and Johnny can’t stop his hips from grinding against hers.

Johnny is normally so careful during sex- he’s a pretty big guy with a fair amount of muscle and he wants to make sure he’s in control of himself, his body- but Kaner is shameless, pulling him close enough to kiss, dirty and wet, rolling her hips to meet the rhythm he sets, urging him to go faster and harder with a whispering stream of filth.

“Come on, I wanna ache tomorrow, I wanna feel you between my legs all day,” she tells him, tangling her hands in his hair.

Johnny swears and his hips snap faster and faster, slamming into Kaner, who is grinning like a madwoman, like she scored a goal. Johnny is seriously worried about the number of facial expressions Kaner makes on ice that are exactly the same in bed.

“That’s it, Johnny, oh, fuck, do you know how wet I am, just from how good you’re giving it to me?” Kaner asks. “Fuck, can you feel that?”

He can, actually- Kaner is slick and tight and so fucking hot, Johnny feels like he’s losing it. But he straight out re-fucking-fuses to come before she does again, and this time he’s going to get to watch it happen, watch her face when he pushes her over the edge.

“What do you need, what’s it gonna take?” he asks, slipping a hand down to rub against her clit, Kaner jolting in surprise.

“Fuck, like that,” she says, one of her hands letting go of his hair to slam against the bed. “Like that, Johnny, I’m so fucking close, gonna come right here on your dick, so fucking-“ she breaks off to make an inarticulate noise that Johnny takes as validation of the way his thumb is circling her clit.

“Jesus, just fucking come, Kaner,” Johnny growls, and Kaner actually does. It’s just as fierce as the first one, her back bowing up, pressing her breasts against his chest, and as her pussy clenches hard, greedy, against his dick, Johnny can’t help but come too, burying himself deep and holding on as best he can.

It’s almost too much, the aftershocks working their way through her muscles, but Johnny can’t pull out. He’s barely holding himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush Kaner. But their chests are still flush, both of them breathing hard, Kaner still silent in the wake of her orgasm. It feels like forever before he makes himself grab the base of his dick, holding the condom in place as he eases out slowly, Kaner taking a little hitching breath as he does that sends a pang to his over-sensitive dick, already.

He rolls over, stripping the condom off, knotting it closed and tossing it in the direction of the bathroom. It’s disgusting, but Johnny seriously doesn’t think he can move right now. He isn’t certain how long they lie there, but he does know that his post-orgasm daze is abruptly ended by the realization that he just had sex- however unbelievably good sex- with Kaner.

Johnny’s brain hasn’t gotten further than the third panicked, “Oh god,” before Kaner stretches and makes a deeply satisfied noise that Johnny desperately wishes was unattractive and sits up.

“You took a lot more work than I usually go in for, but thanks, babe.” Kaner says, leaning over and pecking him on the cheek. “Totally solid performance.”

Johnny is trying to make himself say anything, but his mouth and brain are too busy independently forming complaints- only solid?- to work together.

Kaner bounces up, fully naked and totally unabashed. At first Johnny thinks she’s headed for the bathroom, but she just picks up her skirt from the floor, and shimmies it on. The sequined tank top is next, then her jacket and Johnny’s mouth is still working aimlessly as she’s shoving her feet into her boots.

“Catch you later, Tazer,” she says with a wink as she fucking shoves her underwear in her pocket and walks out.

“What the fuck,” Johnny says to the fucking air as he hears the front door close.

He stares around the room, and the only way he knows it happened is because he’s lying in the wet spot.

Johnny has to change the sheets before he sleeps, so he makes himself get out of bed- spotting the condom on the tile of the bathroom floor and quickly tossing it in the trash- and stepping out into the hallway is like stepping into a warzone.

Two of the pictures are crooked on the wall, probably on the verge of falling off completely, there’s a standing lamp lying across the floor, which at least looks intact, and the front table has a pile of mail and god knows what all over the place next to it.

“Fuck it,” Johnny mutters to himself and walks straight into the guest room.


The next morning isn’t really any better- the hallway is still a mess that he ignores in favor of a shower. He checks his phone, but there aren’t any messages from- from anyone, so he lets the hot water in his shower beat on him for a while and refuses to touch his dick, even if it’s reminding Johnny that at least part of him had a really great time last night.

He’s clean, mostly dry and trying to repress the frantic litany of “you slept with Kaner,” that’s on repeat in his mind when of course he steps on something, only to find Kaner’s electric pink bra under his foot.

It looks worse in the light of day, if that’s even possible, and Johnny just stares at it. The bra is offensively bright, like a neon reminder that he fucked his best friend and teammate, with really, the barest coercion.

He has no idea what the fuck he’s going to do with it. He can’t bring it to practice. Johnny is just going to have to wait until the next time she’s over. He also sort of feels like he should wash it- Kaner has left dirty old hoodies and random socks over at his place hundreds of times and Johnny never hesitated for a moment to just throw them in with his own stuff, but he has no idea what to do with a bra.

In the end, he shoves it in a drawer with all his laundry debris- boxers with loose elastic, old t-shirts that don’t quite come clean any more- and puts it out of sight, aiming for out of mind. But he can still see the tiniest edge of color sticking out of the drawer, and he automatically thinks of tan lines and hard pink nipples, and Johnny slams the drawer shut again, managing to close it all the way this time.

“Fuck,” Johnny mutters to himself.


They have practice that afternoon and Johnny hasn’t wanted to pretend he was sick to get out of something since grade three, but he kind of wants to now. But there’s no other option than to go to practice, whatever the hell might happen, so he goes.

And everything is totally normal.

No one says anything, he doesn’t see a single amused look or hear a badly covered up snicker.

Kaner is her usual self, chirping the rookies, hip-checking Sharpy on the ice between drills, making Shawzy bring her an extra bottle of Gatorade.

It isn’t until they’re yelling at each other over the fourth line, suggesting totally different player configurations, that Johnny realizes absolutely nothing is different.

Practice is over, showers taken and everyone is basically dressed and Johnny still sort of feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kaner plops down next to him and this is it-

“Do you want to go get dinner, asshole?” she asks him cheerfully. “Sharpy is bringing Abby and Madelyn and we’re going to that place you like with the fish.”

“With the fish,” Johnny echoes, before he can help himself.

Kaner wrinkles her nose at him. “Shut up, you know the one I mean. You coming or what?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, because his first instinct is always to go with Kaner, if nothing else to stop her from getting into trouble. Not that Abby would let her, but.

“You’re driving,” she tells him, shoving at his shoulder. “And dry your hair, you look stupid.”

You look stupid,” Johnny says automatically.

“Shut up, I look great,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

The sad thing is- she really does. It’s like a switch has been flipped and now Johnny can’t help but watch the way her jeans cling to her ass as she walks away.

But nothing was different on the ice, and Kaner seems to think nothing is different now, so maybe- maybe it’s okay.

Everything is fine.


Dinner with the Sharps and Kaner goes as normally as it ever does with Sharpy and Kaner at the same table, but at no point does Johnny ever blurt out that he and Kaner had ill-advised sex the night before, so he’s counting it as a win.

Johnny is starting to think that maybe this is going to be one of those things that just kind of happened, like the time he walked in on Seabs and Duncs mutually beating it in their hotel room and he just backed out of the room and no one ever said anything, nor will they ever say anything. He hooked up with Kaner but that’s that.

But then they’re at the bar after a nice win at home, everyone a little loose and drunk and at the end of the night, he’s in the booth alone and Kaner sits down, looks at him and goes, “… so.”


They manage not to break anything in the hallway this time, but they fall off the bed once, Kaner giggling and kissing him anyway, laughing a little against his mouth.

She’s wearing an impossibly short dress, rucked up even further the way she’s straddling his lap, shoving him back to lean against the side of the bed.

“Shit, I can’t wait to get my hands on you,” she says, unbuckling his pants.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans as Kaner shoves his boxers down, jacking him a little.

“Hi, I missed you,” Kaner says to- to his dick.

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” Johnny says, but it comes out sounding stupidly happy.

“Don’t see you complaining,” Kaner coos at him. She runs her thumb over the slit, twisting her wrist in a move that has him seeing stars.

Johnny is in no way complaining- they’re both a little drunk and it makes everything a little hotter, a little hazy, just easy and fun. It takes less time than he might be proud of before he comes all over her hand, getting some on her dress.

“Nice,” she says, rolling her eyes a little, but she doesn’t actually seem annoyed. Kaner pulls her dress off and this time it’s a lime green bra and hunter orange panties.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Johnny says, hooking a finger in the waistband of her underwear and letting it snap back against her hip.

“You have a lot of issues with my underwear for a guy who wears what looks like the same pair every day,” Kaner shoots back.

“Yeah, but mine have never been the color of a road hazard,” he points out.

“I’ll give you a road hazard,” she says, nonsensical even for drunk, kissing him open and wet, licking her way into his mouth.

She’s squirming on his lap and there’s no way Johnny is getting it up again to fuck her right now, so he just shoves her awful underwear to the side and slips a finger in.

Kaner makes a noise Johnny can only describe as a yelp. “More, more,” she whines.

Johnny’s too drunk and wrung out to tease her like he wants to, so he gives her two fingers right away, bringing his other hand up to palm at her breast, pulling the flimsy fabric down to circle her nipple with his thumb.

“I don’t really feel like you’re giving me all your attention,” Kaner says, pouting.

Johnny crooks his fingers up and she sighs. “You sure?”

“Yeah, maybe I should just sit on your face,” she says.

Johnny thinks maybe she’s teasing him, but his throat goes a little dry at the thought, anyway. “Yeah, okay.” He says.

Kaner stares at him for a second. “Yeah?”

Johnny makes himself shrug like he doesn’t want it, like he’s not kind of dying to try it. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“Get up on the bed,” Kaner orders him. She stacks a pair of pillows against the headboard and pushes Johnny back down against them, laying him out to suit herself. “Fuck, this is gonna be good.” She squirms out of her panties and bra before climbing onto the bed.

She shoves Johnny’s head back against the pillows and straddles his face, her knees on either side of his head. She tucks her calves close to Johnny’s shoulders, and grabs the top of the headboard, keeping her pussy just an inch above Johnny’s mouth.

“You’re really getting off on this,” Kaner says, sounding a little surprised.

You’re supposed to be getting off on this,” Johnny reminds her, hoping he’s not blushing.

Kaner just hums, looking thoughtful for a second before grinning. “Well, who am I to deny you anything?” She relaxes that extra inch and suddenly Johnny has a mouthful of pussy. He knows that slow and steady will get her there, but after a few sure licks, he decides to give something else a shot.

Johnny brings his hands up to hold her hips steady in place and tilts her just so, giving him the perfect angle to fuck her with his tongue.

“Oh, holy fuck, yes,” Kaner moans. “I knew the sex would be good, but shit, this is so-“

Johnny hums his agreement. Kaner makes a high-pitched sound of sheer hedonistic enjoyment. While this is probably going to blow up in his face at some point, it is very good for his ego.

Kaner’s starting to lose it- her hands are clenched on the headboard above Johnny, but he tightens his grip on his hips- if her knees give he doesn’t want her to accidentally break his nose. That’s not something he’d care to explain to the team or the press- “Yeah, Kaner’s vagina hit me.” Actually, given Kaner’s propensity for extremely… physical orgasms, he might want to head this off at the pass.

“Flip,” he says, lifting her just enough to have room to talk.

“Mouth getting tired?” Kaner asks him, batting her lashes at him, fake solicitous, but she rolls over on shaky knees to sit against the headboard.

“I don’t want to get a black eye when you come,” Johnny says.

Kaner blinks for a second but then bursts out laughing. “I can just imagine having to tell Pierre McGuire that I knocked you out with my snatch.”

So can Johnny, which is why he’d made her get up. “Yeah, let’s avoid that.” he says and sits up, cracking his neck.

“You gonna finish what you started or what?” Kaner says, wagging her eyebrows at him.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Subtle,” he tells her, but reaches for her ankle, dragging her over toward him.

Kaner shrieks laughing. “Ticklish!” she gasps in warning.

He rubs a thumb over her ankle, firm enough not to tickle, but Kaner shivers anyway.

“You’re a dick, Tazer,” she says, biting down on a smile.

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” Johnny says, getting up. He drags her over to the edge of the bed, letting her legs dangle over the side before kneeling down between them. He leans over to press a few open-mouthed kisses to her stomach.

“Not a lot does,” Kaner admits with a wry smile.

“Wouldn’t be you if it did,” Johnny says. He draws her right leg, then her left over his shoulders, licking into her pussy.

Kaner just sighs, and crosses her ankles behind his head.

She’s quick to come- Johnny feels like he’s just gotten started when she tries to warn him with a rushed, “Fuck, Johnny I’m gonna- fuck,” and she nearly boxes his ears with her knees. Johnny’s going to have to be more careful when he eats her out in future- no matter how good sex with Kaner is, he’s not getting a concussion because of it.

It’s been long enough since he came that he’s sort of idly, aimlessly horny again, but that could just be a side effect of having a hot naked woman panting on his bed. He’s debating if it’s against the unspoken, Fight Club-style rules of their- whatever this is- to ask for round two when Kaner sits up.

“C’mon, get up off your knees, babe,” she says, pulling him up to sit next to her. “Can’t be that comfortable.”

He’s pretty much made up his mind to ask when Kaner stands up, pulling her dress up off the floor.

“Oh, man,” she says, rubbing at something on it, which, right- he sort of came on it, earlier. “Okay, you’re lending me some clothes.” Kaner is already opening his drawers and rummaging through his gym shorts.

“Huh?” Johnny asks, for some reason blindsided again by Kaner’s intended post-sex disappearing act.

“I don’t care if it’s only ten minutes, I’m not going to walk back to my place in a come-stained dress, thanks,” Kaner says over her shoulder, snagging her bra off of the closet door knob where she’d apparently flung it earlier. The green of it is still faintly visible through the ancient UND t-shirt she’d unearthed somewhere in his dresser. She puts on the bright red basketball shorts that Johnny keeps intending to throw out for being way too small for him, but they’re still too big on her.

The whole look makes this feel like a college hookup- especially when Kaner puts on the ridiculous glittery shoes she’d been wearing earlier. He almost feels like he should be asking if she wants to get breakfast at the dining hall.

“And you don’t think that’s more obvious?” he can’t help but ask, gesturing to her outfit.

Kaner grins at him. “Maybe I just like going to the gym really late.”

“In heels?” Johnny asks, feeling the corner of his mouth tug up into a smile.

“How do you think my calves are this nice?” she shoots back. She puts on her ridiculous, ‘80s-looking cropped leather jacket on over it, shoving her panties into the pocket. Considering that she finds money in her jeans on a weekly basis, Johnny has no idea how she isn’t accidentally pulling underwear out of her coat pockets all the time.

“You’re washing my dress, by the way,” she says and tosses it in his laundry hamper. “Hope you’re better at getting out jizz stains than Monica Lewinsky.”

“Yeah, or you’re out, what, twenty bucks at Forever 21?” Johnny asks. “Which, shopping there is officially sad once you’re older than 21.”

“Thanks, What Not To Wear,” she says, throwing her hair up into a ponytail. Kaner walks over to the bed and kisses Johnny on the mouth- just once, but slow and thorough. “Catch you tomorrow, asshole.”

She lets herself out again, before Johnny can do anything but hum in agreement. The front door clicks shut and Johnny sighs, gets up and starts the shower. He stares at his bed, which, while rumpled, at least looks clean.

“This is a bad fucking idea,” he reminds himself.

He still knows that if Kaner asks again, he’ll say yes, anyway.

Johnny sighs.


They have a long streak of home games, so they’re at the same bar as before after another win, though this one was messier and harder, a near thing with the fucking Coyotes. So really, all Johnny wants is a couple of beers and to tell himself he’s not waiting for the night to end so Kaner can take him home. He tries to tell himself it’s not a sure thing- Kaner had said that it was just until one of them found someone else during a ‘dry spell.’

Which, considering that Kaner has been talking to some guy at the bar for the last five minutes, Johnny is feeling the opposite of sure.

“Dude, you have your murder eyes on. What up? We won,” Carcillo says, sitting next to Johnny.

“Just tired, I guess,” Johnny says with a shrug.

Stalsy sits down next to Carcillo, shoving them all in the booth. “What’s he pissed about?” he asks, nudging Carcillo.

“Nothing,” Johnny bites out. Kaner is laughing, her hair catching the brighter lights over the bar.

“Are you sure? Because you look pissed,” Carbomb pushes.

“That’s just how his face looks,” Sharpy says reproachfully. He hands Johnny a fresh beer. “He can’t help it.”

Johnny takes a long drag of his beer. “Well, I’m pissed now.”

Sharpy just grins at him and pens him in the booth from the other side. “My life has meaning again.”

Johnny is trying to convince himself that it would be a) uncool and b) probably against the terms of their agreement to go to the bar and butt in on their conversation. He’s trying to pay attention to the conversation in the booth, because even if Carcillo and Stalsy didn’t notice where he was staring, Sharpy certainly would- or at least stop staring, but if he’s being honest about it, he’s failing on both counts.

“Hey, Toes,” Sharpy says, kicking him under the table in a friendly way. “Pay attention. It’s no fun making jokes at your expense if you aren’t listening.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, ripping his eyes away from where the guy has his hand on Kaner’s jacket sleeve. “Maybe you’re just not funny enough to keep my attention.”

“Stings me, right here,” Sharpy says, hand over his heart. “Quit trying to psychically kill the guy Peeks is talking to and listen to the cutting remarks I’m making about your ass.”

Carcillo snorts. “Enough of it to go around, don’t need to cut anything,” he says.

Sharpy sighs. “Weak, Carbomb. Step your game up.”

“That avenue of mockery is as old as Johnny’s ass is wide,” Kaner chirps and Johnny’s head snaps up. “Speaking of asses, Sharpy, move yours, booth hog.”

Johnny refuses to ask what happened, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dying to know.

“So, Mr. Scotch and Soda at the bar was a no go?” Sharpy asks and Johnny feels a flash of astounding gratitude.

“Aw man,” Kaner says, wrinkling her nose. “I wasn’t trying to pick up, I was trying to figure out who he looked like- which, I finally figured it out, thank you. He looked like a Staal. I would specify which, but they all look the fucking same anyway, so, it’s moot point. Gave me the straight up freaks.”

“What, enormous blond sod farmers don’t do it for you?” Sharpy teases.

Kaner rolls her eyes. “There are already eighty of them, who wants more?” she asks rhetorically. “Plus, he was absurdly tall, too, just like a Staal. Who fucking needs that?”

“Not his fault you’re so short, Peekaboo,” Sharpy says, reaching over to tap her on the nose.

Kaner tries to slap his hand away. “Ugh, Sharpy, you suck.”

Johnny counts the seven inch difference in height between him and Kaner and wonders if he falls in the ‘who fucking needs that’ category. He’s distracted and probably too quiet the rest of the night, but luckily everyone else is kept entertained by the Sharp and Kane Show.

Sharpy eventually begs off, and Carcillo and Stalsy proclaim the bar dead shortly thereafter.

“We’re gonna try one more,” Stalsy says. “You wanna come? Might be more Staals for you, Kaner.”

Kaner pantomimes puking. “Pass. Gonna crash.”

“Same,” Johnny says when they look at him questioningly.

“Later,” Carbomb says, heading out with Stalsy in tow.

Kaner lowers her lashes at Johnny and even though they’re alone in the booth now, Kaner is still close, warm all along his side.

“So,” Kaner says.


They can’t keep their hands off each other, from the moment Johnny’s apartment door closes behind them. Kaner’s dress- for fucking real- has a zipper right down the front of the dress and Johnny can’t resist that. It’s open right down the front in seconds and Johnny just rolls his eyes at the hideous neon leopard print of the bra, followed by a different neon leopard print on the thong.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Johnny says, in horrified fascination. “Does your underwear drawer just look like Lisa Frank threw up in there?”

“Did you just say Lisa Frank?” Kaner asks, looking torn between being worried and making fun of him forever.

“Like, are you doing this on purpose?” Johnny asks, totally ignoring her, tugging at the waistband of her underwear. “You don’t think they match or anything, do you?”

“Would you prefer I didn’t wear any underwear?” Kaner counters, raising her eyebrows.

Johnny scowls at her, because he absolutely does not.

Kaner smiles at him beatifically. “So, either stop bitching or, you know, do something about it.”

For a moment Johnny thinks she means for him to buy her underwear that won’t scar him, although he thinks that definitely breaches the terms of their weird, non-verbal agreement. But then he realizes she means take the underwear off, which is easy enough and something he wants to do anyway. They’re both naked before they even clear the living room.

But this means that when Hurricane Kaner is blowing out of his apartment after more too-good sex, she’s out in the hallway, and for some reason it’s one thing if she gets dressed right in front of him and leaves, but he feels weirdly obligated to pull on a fresh pair of boxers and lean against the couch while she’s trying to find her other shoe. Maybe he just doesn’t trust her not to leave the apartment naked if she wanders out of his bedroom that way. It’s also possible that he just wants to watch Kaner walk around his apartment naked.

It also means that he can look out his giant windows and see that it’s snowing hard outside. He looks at Kaner shrugging into her stupid, definitely insufficient jacket and he’s not sure what he means to say, but what comes out is, “Look, stay.”

Kaner stares at him for a moment and cocks her head to the side expectantly.

Johnny fights the urge to blush or fidget or anything stupid because this is the only non-dumbass option. “It’s snowing out and you’re wearing a summer dress, practically. I’ll drive you over to your place tomorrow when it stops.”

She watches him for another moment and he thinks she’s going to actually say no, but instead she just glances at the window and shrugs. “Okay, thanks.”

Kaner has crashed at his place before- drunken parties and the time there was a bad leak in her apartment- so Johnny figures she’ll just take the guest room, like usual. She strips the jacket off again and dumps it on the entryway table, kicking her shoes off under it, like she always does.

But instead of heading into the guest room, she walks right back into Johnny’s room and he can hear the hiss of the zipper being undone on her dress.

He’s not sure if this means they’re going for round two this time, but when he walks in, Kaner has already thrown her dress on top of the dresser along with her bra and after taking a moment to evaluate the sheets, slips into the bed.

Johnny’s frozen for a minute in the doorway, because yeah, Kaner’s been naked in his bed a fair number of times now, but he’s never seen her snuggle into the comforter, on the side of the bed Johnny sort of thinks of as his, even though all the sides of the bed are his, technically.

Kaner holds up the edge of the sheets and at first Johnny thinks she’s just arranging them to her satisfaction, but she keeps holding them up. “Get in, idiot, it’s cold,” She says and shakes the sheets at him.

Johnny gets in the bed, because he has no idea what else to do, and Kaner sighs, curls into his side and is immediately, impossibly asleep.

He’s not sure if he falls asleep or passes out because he stops breathing, terrified to move with Kaner pressed against him, her breath ghosting over his shoulder, but the last thing he remembers is the way she murmurs in her sleep and sighs, her knuckles pressed against his ribs.


Johnny wakes up alone and for a moment he thinks Kaner left in the middle of the night, until he realizes what woke him up was the muffled sound of someone making a mess in his kitchen. He ignores how weirdly relieved he feels, takes a piss and throws on a shirt before heading out to see what she’s been up to.

Kaner is in a beat up old Hawks shirt, a pair of Johnny’s thickest socks and not a lot else, poking at something that smells like eggs. Her hair is up in a confused disaster of a bun and she’s yawning and scratching her stomach.

“You’re out of milk, asshole,” is what she greets him with, blinking hazily.

“Morning, Kaner,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes.

“I made you eggs, didn’t I?” she says, in response to the implied reproach.

Johnny hums his acknowledgement, leaning in over her head to look in the pan. Kaner has a huge omelet in the works, containing all the vegetables in his fridge, including mushrooms, which he likes but knows she doesn’t really care for- so he’ll overlook all the ham she’s thrown in that’s probably not in either of their diets.

“Thanks,” he finally says, realizing how close he’s still standing. It’s probably stupid to feel weird about standing too close when they’ve had sex, but Johnny still takes a couple of steps back and looks out the window. “Still snowing hard.”

Kaner nods and says, “Yeah. Figured I wouldn’t make you drive in this, just kick your ass at Mario Kart instead.” She grins at him, kicking at his shin.

“You can try,” Johnny says with a shrug. “You’re going to burn that.”

Kaner frowns at him and points at him with the spatula she was using to poke at the omelet. “A- fuck you, no, I’m not, B- your breakfast skills consist of shitty cereals that taste like sawdust, I was amazed you even had eggs.”

“I can make eggs,” Johnny protests.

“Believe it when I see it,” she says, flipping the omelet closed. “Go be useful, get some plates.”

He does get the plates and, more importantly, starts the coffee, because Kaner has no ability to prioritize. Kaner uses the spatula to cut the omelet in half, dishing it up. Because Johnny is a considerate host, he swaps his mug in for the carafe, pouring Kaner a cup as soon as there’s enough for her 98% milk, 1% sugar, 1% coffee brew.

“Thanks, babe,” Kaner says, accepting the cup of coffee and slurping gratefully, passing him a fork in return.

He’s still waiting on enough coffee for his own cup, so he just accepts the omelet and starts eating, not wanting it to get cold. Kaner sits on the breakfast bar, which makes Johnny’s nose wrinkle with its lack of hygienic concern, but it’s too early to start shit with Kaner, so he lets her sit up there. Her legs bounce back and forth, dangling far above the ground, carelessly kicking Johnny. He elbows her thigh in retaliation and Kaner starts kicking him on purpose, with a smile around her fork.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Quit it, moron,” he says, putting down his plate to swap the carafe back in for his mug.

“Whatever,” she says, reaching out to just push at him with her foot.

“Full cup of coffee,” he reminds her, holding it out from his body carefully.

Kaner snorts. “Don’t spill it, then,” she says, taking another bite and waggling her eyebrows at him.

Johnny is suddenly struck by how familiar this is- he’s eaten thousands of breakfasts with her, all across this country and others, and they’re all like this. He didn’t realize until this moment how scared he was of losing this- the close quiet of the kitchen, Kaner’s fork scraping against her plate, the soft rasp of her borrowed socks rubbing against each other as she tries to keep her feet warm- that they wouldn’t be able to have both sex and friendship.

But this feels right and easy and Johnny takes a deep breath, exhales and takes a sip of his coffee, feeling better than he has in weeks.

He’s still pissed off when she beats him at Mario Kart, though.


They have a stretch of road games, finishing up in Philly, and they’ve been playing well- dropping one, but still super solid. It’s a little grueling being on the road for so long, but Johnny loves some things about it- spending all day with the team, weird hotel rooms and an endless supply of moderately nice free toiletries. There’s still a little bit of that teenage thrill left, the excitement of going on a trip, piling onto a bus or plane with a bag and his gear. He’s waiting for it to get old and hoping it never does, at the same time.

But it’s also been the longest he and Kaner have gone without hooking up since they started, and it’s making Johnny a little… uneasy.

It’s not the sex- well, it’d be nice, but that’s not what he’s worried about. It’s the idea that it could be over, just as out of the blue as it started, that’s eating away at a little corner of his mind.

Kaner hasn’t said anything like that, of course, but the only real rule seems to be that they don’t talk about it, ever. He’s hoping they’ll head home and everything will resolve itself, one way or another. He just has to stick it out a little longer.

But then they play Philly and Kaner lights it up, a hat trick and an assist, wearing that shit-eating grin that Johnny can’t help but associate with sex practically the whole game. They beat Philly 5-1, with goals for him and Hossa, too.

They’re all stoked and a little crazy feeling, but the game was late to start with and their flight back to Chicago is insanely early. It’s mutually agreed on that they’ll save the party for later, which is the responsible thing to do, but at the same time Johnny is absolutely disappointed.

He wants to go five doors down the hotel hallway and eat Kaner out until his jaw aches, until she’s too sensitive to take it anymore and he has no idea how to make that happen.

He’s never initiated anything, it’s always been Kaner sliding up next to him with a completely obvious look in her eyes that has always worked on him. Johnny has no frame of reference for this.

So when Kaner bumps her shoulder against his in the lobby and says, “Hey, not like I want to get crazy, but hotel bar? Just one drink?” Johnny can feel relief rushing through him.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good,” Johnny agrees, and he can’t stop the grin that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re buying,” she tells him, grinning back. “And like I’m buying the weirdest, fruitiest motherfucker on the menu. For you too.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, even if he knows he’s still smiling stupidly.

She does get a ridiculous thing with pineapple and strawberries and oranges and fuck knows what else in it other than rum that smells like floor cleaner, but lets him get a beer despite any teasing to the contrary.

“Lame,” she says, using the little plastic sword to point at him. “Live like me, footloose and scurvy free.”

“No one has gotten scurvy in two hundred years,” Johnny says, taking a long pull of his beer.

“Because of brave people like me, fighting scurvy,” she says, pulling the orange off the rim and taking a bite out of it. “For losers like you who can’t figure it out for themselves.”

Kaner eats the rest of the orange slice, and Johnny knows that if he kissed her now, her mouth would be sweet and tart and cool and he wants to, desperately.

She must see it all over his face, because she arches an eyebrow and that goal-scoring grin appears again with the same pavlovian triggering of desire.

“So,” Kaner says.

Johnny probably pays the bill twice over, but he’s not waiting for change.


Kaner has always had a room to herself, one of the few nods to being the only woman on a team of men, and Johnny has never been more grateful for that than right now- it’s not like he can sexile Bolly. If Johnny’s being honest with himself, though, he would have gone downstairs and dropped whatever money he had to for another room, if it had been necessary.

But even though they have a room to themselves, Johnny is acutely aware of the fact that the only thing that separates them from Hossa and Jamal is a wall that he can vaguely hear SportsCenter coming through.

Kaner laughs as Johnny’s hand slips over her side, apparently light enough to tickle and Johnny automatically puts a hand over her mouth.

Johnny hisses a shushing sound and Kaner frowns for a second, he can feel it under his palm. “Walls are thin,” he whispers.

Kaner blinks, and then gives Johnny a look that makes his whole body tingle. “Then we’ll have to be very,” she whispers and punctuates it with a filthy, wet kiss. “Very,” another kiss, just as dirty and open, and Johnny’s hands curl around her hips, tugging her as close as possible. “Quiet.”

“Like you know anything about being quiet,” Johnny breathes out later, when they finally have to come up for air again.

“I can do it, if you can,” she says, eyebrows up, challenging.

“I know you can’t,” Johnny says, tracing a finger down Kaner’s throat into the vee of her button down. He can’t help but wonder if she has the same terrible underwear she wears out under her suit too.

“We’ll see about that,” she says, going for his belt buckle, intent obvious enough that Johnny bites back a groan. “Can’t make a sound if my mouth is full, can I?”

Johnny goes for the buttons on her blouse, and the sheer, bright raspberry pink bra underneath answers his questions pretty affirmatively. “Take your fucking jacket off,” Johnny says, tugging her shirt out its surprisingly neat tuck.

“Take your fucking jacket off, you’re still wearing a tie, asshole, shit, this is a lot of clothes,” Kaner says, slipping her hand in his now open slacks to get in a cheap, lingering squeeze of his cock.

By fumbling forced agreement, in the interest of getting naked as quickly as possible, they give up on undressing each other, Johnny trying to keep his shit relatively neat over the desk chair, because it’ll be his turn to walk of shame it, even if it’s just down a hallway.

“C’mere, bitch,” Kaner says, pulling Johnny over by the waistband of his boxers while he’s still trying to unbutton his cuffs. “You’re out of time.” She shoves him down on to sit on the edge of the bed, getting on her knees, stark naked, her wild blond hair falling in front of her face as she leans in to breathe hot and damp along the front of his boxers.

“Fuck me,” Johnny gasps, finally getting out of his shirt, flinging it in the direction of the chair.

Kaner grins and hums to herself as she tugs his boxers down, Johnny lifting his hips obligingly. It takes him a second to realize that she’s humming “Blow.”

“Really?” Johnny demands.

Kaner laughs, loud, before remembering herself and making a totally unapologetic ‘whoops’ face. “Sorry,” she says, totally insincere.

“Shut up,” Johnny says, falling backwards onto the bed and covering his face with his hands. This is the person he keeps choosing to have sex with.

“Don’t play like that, Johnny,” she says, not even looking at him, just staring at his dick. “Fuck, you’ve got a great cock. It’s fucking gorgeous. Is that weird to say to a dude? I don’t even care.”

Johnny presses his hands against his face, trying to tell himself that he’s not getting harder from that. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says.

“I mean, dick gets the job done no matter what it looks like, I guess, but I’m not gonna lie, it helps,” Kaner says, and Johnny can feel her hand just resting at the base of his cock, not fisting it, just flat against the skin, her thumb curving around it. “You’ve just got a really good looking cock.”

“I’m glad it’s aesthetically doing it for you, but are you just gonna stare at it all night, because I can do that myself,” Johnny says, feeling both stupidly aroused and just plain stupid, listening to Kaner talk about his dick like she’s judging its artistic merit.

Kaner bites at Johnny’s hipbone and he has to slam his mouth shut on a surprised noise. “Take the compliment, fucker, I don’t say that to all the boys., she says.

Johnny feels weirdly pleased and weirdly annoyed. He can’t stop himself from wondering if she’s said that to someone else, though, and it’s none of his fucking business, but there’s a deep, angry flare of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy over anyone who got to Kaner before him, the way she bites her lip when she’s trying to hold out, the way she grins up at Johnny before doing something she knows is gonna make him lose it. But it’s not like he can do anything about that, except be better than all of them.

And then any other thought is driven right out of his head by the press of Kaner’s mouth, impossibly hot right over the skin where she bit, moving lower in a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses, her hand sliding smoothly to circle his cock.

He can feel Kaner’s grin pressed into his skin, and he manages to sit up just enough, just in time to watch her lips part and slip around the head of his cock. “Fuck,” Johnny groans, way too loud, but he doesn’t give a shit. Kaner’s mouth is perfect, made for sucking dick, for sucking his dick, and watching her lashes flutter shut as she takes his cock down to her fingers is a fantasy he never let himself have and will never be able to shake now. Kaner moans, fucking moans around his dick, like just sucking his dick is getting her so hot she can’t help it, and Johnny’s hips twitch up, just enough that he steels himself as best as he can. No one likes an inconsiderate head recipient.

Except for Kaner apparently, who slides off, spit-slick lips already red and says, “You don’t have to stop. I basically don’t have a gag reflex, anyway.”

Johnny groans and flops back onto the bed. “Fuck,” he says again, heartfelt, because she’s going to fucking kill him. He can’t believe how hot his body seems to think that is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Mm, what happened to being quiet?” Kaner teases, and before Johnny can say anything, her mouth is back on his cock, sucking hard, her other hand coming up behind his balls to press firmly.

Johnny’s not proud of the inarticulate shout that he knows he’ll regret probably sooner than later, but Kaner is sucking his dick like a fucking pro, and it’s unfairly good, hotter than it has any right to be. Johnny has had his share of post-win sex, but it’s never been like this and it’s not just winning- it’s Kaner and winning all tied up together because she played like a fucking demon tonight and Johnny can’t explain it, why it’s so good, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He can’t even bring himself to care about the low, helpless grunts that keep slipping out, because he can keep quiet or he can not come, and between the two of those, he’s going to pick not coming, pick drawing this out as long as he can. But he can’t last forever, and certainly not under these conditions, and sooner than he’d like he’s giving her an inarticulate warning that he’s about to come and she just sucks even harder, pulling his orgasm right out of him in a visceral blow that leaves him completely boneless.

“Did I break you?” she asks, wiping at the corner of her mouth with her index finger and Johnny knows she swallowed, but it’s another thing to watch her suck that finger into her mouth, licking it clean of come. She’s grinning at him, but her brows look a little genuinely concerned.

“Fuck you, no,” Johnny manages after a moment, but it’s not really convincing.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, totally sincere and Johnny can’t help but snort.

“Okay, maybe you win round one,” Johnny agrees, charitably ceding that yeah, Kaner put in some good work there.

Kaner rolls on top of him, straddling his waist. “Oh, did I?” she asks, leaning in to kiss him, playful and soft.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “You know you did.” He says. He likes the weight of her on top of him, the heels of her palms pressing into his chest.

“And when is round two?” she says, still teasing, but there’s a real impatience behind it, wanting him to get her off.

Johnny tugs her down to kiss, lazy and slow. “If you hadn’t been so eager to suck my dick, you could have gone first. I was ready to go down on you for most of the night,” he tells her, a little too truthfully.

Kaner blinks at him, looking a little flushed and a lot pleased. “Yeah?” she asks, shamelessly squirming against him.

“Since that first goal,” Johnny admits. “Fuck, it was hot.”

“You didn’t look too bad out there yourself,” Kaner says, but she’s smiling so wide and Johnny wants to kiss her dimples.

“You want that?” Johnny asks. “My mouth on your pussy, ‘til you tell me to stop?”

Kaner bites her lip. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking want that,” she says, burying her face in Johnny’s neck, the words vibrating across his skin. “I fucking deserve it.”

And she really does, so Johnny lets that slide, carefully rolling them over and agrees with his mouth instead, kissing his way down her body. Johnny grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed and lifts Kaner’s hips to give himself a little more room to work with.

Kaner’s legs splay open and Johnny just lays between them, bringing her foot up to rest on his shoulder. She’s already a little wet, slick when he brings his thumbs up to open her up even further- she must have actually been getting off a little from blowing him. He’s eaten her out enough now that she tastes familiar and he’s starting to learn what she likes best. She loves slow, thorough pressure from ass to clit, but goes nuts when he sucks on her clit, just little bursts of suction, lips locked tight, making her clit even more sensitive.

So Johnny just goes for it- he wants to make her come, hard and fast, again and again. He lets his thumb slip over, just barely pressing into her pussy as he sucks, her toes curling into his shoulder blade.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Kaner hisses at him.

Johnny just hums, letting his lips vibrate against her clit as he pushes her legs open even wider, letting his hands slip up along the cut of her hipbones, letting his hands rest in the curve of her waist. He can’t stop his hands from stroking against her sides, the firm muscles of her stomach, restless, wanting to touch her all over.

He wants to make it so good for her, wants her to be completely satisfied. Because yeah, she deserves it, and not just after a win, but all the time, he wants to see that exhausted, blissful expression her face that means a job well done. So he pushes her to the limits, working her gently through her first orgasm, holding her hips down, pinned under his hands. He builds into the second carefully- less direct stimulation, instead just kissing her all over, letting himself press his mouth into tender, vulnerable skin until she begs for his mouth on her pussy again.

“Jesus, fucking, I-“ Kaner is practically incoherent- filthy, slippery wet, her pussy so pink it’s almost red, swollen. “I’m so close, I just need, please.”

Johnny can’t say no to that, gets her there fast and dirty, and the second one is just like the first, hips bucking, her hands fisting tightly in the sheets. Johnny hopes that Hossa and Jamal are heavy sleepers, because they didn’t manage anything even remotely approximating quiet. He feels more than a little smug, watching Kaner breathe hard, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

He’s sitting up and stretching his neck out when Kaner shoves at his stomach weakly with the point of her foot. “Fuck, it wasn't a competition, asshole,” she says, but she sounds a little amused.

“Did I break you?” Johnny asks, purposefully copying her.

“Shit, a little bit,” Kaner says, grinning up at him sheepishly. “Gold star for cunnilingus.”

Johnny absolutely does not feel conceited as shit about that. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh, shut up,” she says, but she’s still grinning. “You’ve got lady juice all over your face, stop looking so smug.”

Johnny can’t help but grimace. “Seriously? ‘Lady juice?’” he asks.

“Yeah, lady juice, and also yeah, you do,” Kaner says, pulling a tissue off the nightstand box and dragging Johnny down, swiping at his mouth and chin. “There.” She tosses the tissue aside and kisses him, sweet, like a thank you.

Johnny feels like he should say something, like that he has to get back to his and Bolly’s room, or fuck knows what, but that’s stupid, she knows that, so instead he just gets up, and starts looking for his clothes. He envies Kaner’s composure, which is not something he ever thought he would have cause to think, because it’s strangely awkward gathering up his boxers from the floor at the foot of the bed, getting dressed again while she watches him, wrapped up in the top sheet.

“See you in the morning,” he finally settles on saying, leaning over to kiss her, quick.

“Bright and early,” Kaner agrees, chasing his mouth for another swift kiss.

Johnny pats down his jacket pocket to make sure that his room key is still there, then heads out, resolutely not pausing. If she can do it, so can he.

Bolly is sound asleep when Johnny lets himself in. He decides to take a quick shower because he can smell sex on himself- he’s so tired he’s a little worried he won’t make it through his shower, but he makes it out and manages a shitty towel dry and boxers before collapsing into his bed.


Bolly doesn’t say anything in the morning, either, apparently not noticing or not caring that Johnny was AWOL last night for most of the evening. He’s grateful, because it’s fucking early and he’s not sure he could think of a convincing or reasonable cover.

He’s starting to think they got away with it until everyone’s standing around outside the hotel, sleepily waiting for the bus to the airport, and Hossa and Jamal come up on either side of Kaner. She’s wearing a truly atrocious pair of sunglasses and yawning unattractively a couple of feet from him, and Johnny can’t help but think, ‘holy shit, here it comes.’

But Hossa just sticks out his fist, waiting for her to pound it, which Kaner does, looking bemused as she pushes her sunglasses back into her hair.

“No problem, bro, but what was that for?” she asks.

Jamal laughs. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I don’t want to know, but damn, Kaner,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

Kaner blinks for a second but then laughs, too. “What can I say? Had a good night last night,” she shoots back.

Johnny is equal parts horrified and embarrassed, mostly glad that he can blame his red cheeks on the cold. He’s also just the tiniest part proud, because they had sex that was so good that Hossa and Jamal not only noticed, but also felt compelled to congratulate Kaner over it. And then he’s absolutely horrified at himself for feeling any part proud.

Johnny puts his headphones on, even though he’s not listening to anything, and basically refuses to talk to anyone the entire flight back to Chicago, just stewing in his own inability to control himself around Kaner. But it’s not like that’s new, it’s just expressed in sex now, instead of stupid drinking games and other forms of pride-based escalation.

They have a few days off before their next game and Johnny fully intends to go home, by himself, and think about his life choices, but in the parking lot, Kaner catches him before he can make it to his car.

“Hey, I’m inviting myself over, you still have my copy of Zoolander, I wanna watch it,” she tells him, throwing her duffle in the trunk of his car. “Also, you drove us to the airport, remember?”

Johnny sighs, but starts the car, resigning himself to Ben Stiller and Kaner laughing until she falls over at the same jokes she always laughs too hard at, getting popcorn all over the living room.

He’s not looking forward to it.

He’s not.


Kaner stays through the movie, insists on ordering Chinese and then lies on Johnny’s couch some more, digesting. This is sadly like most of Johnny’s spare time, really. She’s been inviting herself over since they were rookies and he had a better tv, even if she had a better cable package. It’s not like Johnny minds, well, no more than he minds Kaner all the time.

There’s actually something weirdly nice about it- she’s not a needy houseguest since she already knows where everything is around the apartment, so Johnny never has to find anything for her, she just gets up and grabs a blanket from the linen closet if she wants one, or whatever.

“Hey,” Kaner says after a little while of aimless channel surfing while Johnny’s catching up on some emails on his iPad.

“What?” Johnny asks, after she fails to actually continue with her train of thought, trying to wrap up an email to David.

He’s totally focused on the screen, which is why he’s so surprised when Kaner just tugs the iPad out of his hands, suddenly in front of him, and climbs into his lap, straddling his thighs.

Hey,” Kaner repeats, leaning in close, just inches from his face. “Pay attention to me.”

“Hard not to,” Johnny says, but it doesn’t come out dry like he wants it to, encouraging her bad behavior.

“Good,” she says, and then she bridges the space between them, kissing him, her mouth just slightly sweet from the fortune cookies. Johnny chases that taste until she tastes like herself, mouth slick and open against his.

It’s not frantic or a little aggressive like usual, which isn’t to say it isn’t good, because it definitely is, but there’s just something different about it. And when Kaner whispers, “Bedroom,” Johnny gets up immediately.

Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the day, but everything feels lazy, easy. Johnny doesn’t think they’ve ever spent so much time just touching each other, usually too impatient, too turned on to wait. But today Johnny lets himself go slow, hands touching Kaner everywhere he can think- the valley between her breasts, the inside of her wrist, the cluster of freckles on her shoulder, following his hands with his mouth.

They have sex eventually, but it’s loose and rhythmic, like waves lapping at the lakeshore, like a liquid stretch easing every bit of tension out of his body when he comes.

He gets up to throw the condom away, a little surprised to find Kaner still lying on the bed when he gets back, comfortable in her nakedness, on her stomach. So Johnny just gets back in the bed, too, close but not touching.

“That was good, right?” she asks eventually.

“Yeah, of course,” Johnny replies, because it really was. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.

“Because if there’s anything you want to do, you know,” she says, waggling her eyebrows in a way that he interprets to mean ‘in bed,’ “you can tell me.”

Johnny blinks. “What?”

“You don’t have any, you know, fantasies, kinks, anything? Something good and embarrassing,” she adds, her nose wrinkling a little as she bites down on a smile.

Johnny’s most embarrassing fantasy is an unbearably filthy dream he had about him, Kaner and Sid Crosby, and there is no way he is ever telling anyone, especially Kaner, about it. He can’t even think about it without blushing.

“Okay, look at that, you must, your cheeks are red,” she says, poking at Johnny’s cheekbone. “Oh, it’s gotta be good.”

Johnny has to think of something, fast, before he accidentally tells Kaner he had a dream where he was fucking Sid. In the dream Kaner had wrapped herself around Johnny’s back, whispering how she wanted him to do it, right in his ear. “Uh, food,” he blurts out.

Kaner blinks. “Really?” she asks. “I’m not judging or anything, but I thought it was going to be so much weirder than that from the look on your face. Like, Sex in the City sushi sex or like, Varsity Blues whipped cream bikini?”

Johnny has no idea what the fuck ‘sushi sex’ is, but he’s sort of surprised by the idea of Kaner, covered in whipped cream, licking it off her body- how much that apparently actually does do it for him. “Uh, more bikini.” He says.

Kaner smirks at him. “Yeah? I still kind of can’t believe that’s it, shit, I think about this stuff all the time. Like, fuck, maybe a blindfold, tie my wrists up? Roleplay, maybe?” she asks.

“Shit, Kaner, whatever you want,” Johnny admits, too honest. There isn’t a lot he wouldn’t do for her anyway, if he thinks about it.

“What I really want is…” Kaner says, leaning in, her breath warm on his lips. “A nap.” She kisses him, just to the side of his mouth.

Johnny huffs out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

Kaner tugs at the sheets where they’re stuck under both of them. “Get up, butthead,” she says, pulling harder.

“You get up,” Johnny shoots back, getting up to pull up the blanket, thrown to the foot of the bed.

Kaner shimmies up the bed so he can pull the top sheet out from under her. “Thanks, babe,” she sighs, snuggling in under the pleasant weight of all the bedclothes.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, and drops a kiss into Kaner’s hair, which is right up in his face, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re good, Johnny,” Kaner murmurs, already drowsy, and the warmth of her pressed up against him is making his eyelids heavy, too.

Kaner had made no bones about the fact that she didn’t much care for her name or any of its usual nicknames, which had led to a lot of varying terrible results- all of Sharpy’s variants on Princess Peekaboo, case in point- before finally leading to Kaner. Which is why Johnny is surprised to find himself saying, “Go to sleep, Tish.”

“Huh,” Kaner mumbles. “That’s a new one.”

“Okay?” Johnny checks.

“Yeah,” she whispers after a second, sounding a little surprised. “Yeah.”

Johnny falls asleep with Kaner’s fingers tracing a slow, thoughtful pattern on his chest, lulling him to sleep.


Johnny doesn’t keep track after that.

Before, the only semi-concrete rule he’d been able to put on this… whatever it is with Kaner had been that it required a bar, but clearly, that’s out. So they hook up whenever, on lazy afternoons off, after a game, after the bar, and it’s just easy. He can’t even keep track of all of Kaner’s shit, originally banished to the top drawer, after being forgotten or left on his floor, but now there’ll be a ball cap on the front table, one of her fake-vintage tube socks under his couch for his cleaning lady to find and reproachfully leave on the coffee table. Johnny tips her extra, because now, more often than not, there’s two people’s worth of mess scattered around, hitting that late-mid-season exhaustion. They’d both been so tired the other night that they’d sort of fooled around and fell asleep on each other, forgetting to set an alarm and were nearly late to morning skate as a result.

He knows all these things, but it’s not until there’s a beautiful, smiling brunette at the bar asking if he’s drinking alone and he gives her a polite, automatic brush-off, that Johnny realizes what they mean.

“Fuck,” Johnny breathes out, halfway between the bar and the booth, stopping dead, carrying three beers.

It’s not like he’s Stals or Shawzy, who are in it to pick up, and hit on endless numbers of women. But he gives it a good faith effort, and the only time he ever shoots down a blatant opening like that without even considering it is when he’s dating someone, the rejection instant and instinctive.

His fight or flight instinct kicks in and he’s most of the way to the door when he realizes he’s still holding a bunch of drinks and he’s a fucking idiot. So he makes himself walk back over to the booth where Kaner is having some kind of argument with Crow about “Yeezy two,” whatever the fuck that is.

“Like you don’t want shoes designed by Ye,” Kaner says, staring at Crow skeptically.

“I’m just saying sneakers don’t ‘drop,’ they’re not an album,” Crow protests.

Kaner shrugs, expansively, almost knocking over a couple of empties. “They have a release date, asshole, yes, they drop. Don’t drink the haterade.”

Johnny is completely in love with Patricia Kane and has never been as embarrassed or terrified by any other thought, ever.

“Hey, is that my beer, loser? Where did you go to get it, the Yukon?” Kaner demands, finally noticing Johnny.

“Shut up,” Johnny says on autopilot, sitting down next to her gingerly, like he’s going to blurt it out if he moves the wrong way.

“Whatever, so I’m saying is that these are going to be the most epic kicks in the history of humanity,” she says, taking a pull of the beer she liberates from Johnny’s trio.

“This conversation is literally making me feel like I’m dying,” Oduya says, taking one of the other beers. “I would rather talk about my parents having sex.”

Kaner’s face lights up and Sharpy covers her mouth with a hand, laughing. “That wasn’t an invitation, Peeks,” he tells her. Johnny is envious of how Sharpy manages to effortlessly love Kaner and yet doesn’t want to have sex with her or watch her wake up and squint unattractively.


Johnny’s internal monologue is basically an unending and unvarying repetition of the word “fuck” for about thirty minutes, and suddenly the booth is clearing out and it’s just Johnny and Kaner.

“… So,” Kaner says, grinning and totally the same and it would take less than no effort to go back to his place, everything exactly the same.

But it’s not the same at all and Johnny panics and blurts out, “I actually feel kind of shitty.”

Kaner stares at him for a long moment, openly suspicious, but then she shrugs. “Whatever. Feel better, asshole. If you still feel shitty in the morning, you’re going straight to the doc’s, fucking plague carrier.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees, probably unconvincing as hell.

They go their separate ways and Johnny can’t describe how strange it feels. He tries for a while to convince himself that he’s in a rut, or something- that all this frequent sex with one person just tricked his brain into thinking that there was something more than a friend he hooks up with, but the idea is laughable.

He has her parents’ cell and home phone numbers saved in his phone, her sisters’ too, for that matter, Kane after Kane in his contacts- he let her have his side of the bed, for fuck’s sake. He likes that she walks around his apartment in a sports bra and his shorts, that she tries to punch him in the kidneys when they’re playing video games and the way she says his name when she’s about to fall asleep. All these things were true before he started sleeping with her and they’d be true if he stopped, too.

Johnny has known for years that he and Kaner are inescapably connected, from the moment she was drafted, since the first time they were “Kane and Toews.”

He just never thought that this is where that would lead.


He hardly sleeps that night, and the only thing that comes out of it is the firm conviction that he has to stop sleeping with Kaner.

The idea of having sex with her when he wants more and she wants just that seems… dishonest. Also, he’s hard on himself, but he’s not that into self-punishment. So he’s just going to have to back off, even if it’s the literal opposite of what he wants. Kaner had been clear about what she wanted from him and he should respect that.

He knows this, but it’s harder than he could have imagined when Kaner leans over to him at the bar and says, “So.”

Johnny can’t really meet her eyes when he says, “Not up for it tonight, sorry.” He’s waiting for the joke, for Kaner to brush him off, but it doesn’t come.

“Is-“ Kaner breaks off, and he can feel how hard she’s staring at him. “Fine.”

“Sorry,” Johnny says again, stupidly.

“I said fine,” Kaner says, with a shrug. She finishes her drink. “I’m leaving.”

“Later,” Johnny says lamely as she walks away. He resists the urge to drop his head on the bar.

He just has to keep it together. Eventually she’ll get tired of asking, maybe start up with someone else, no reason not to. He’s spent years not sleeping with Kaner, he can just go back to not sleeping with her.

But Kaner’s not just someone he hooked up with; she’s a teammate, a friend, and independent of being in love with her, he loves her. So he feels shitty when he says no, again and again, at the bar, when she shows up at his place with a six pack and chinese.

Johnny can’t think of a way to explain this to her, though- that he needs some space- without admitting why he needs space. The only outcome he can imagine is him making Kaner feel awkward, uncomfortable, putting her in the position of having to shoot him down.

They’ve been fine on the ice, weirdly enough, and Johnny has never been so glad about anything. It helps that they’re on different lines, probably, only out together during the power play, but there’s no hesitation, just the same great hockey. Those three some hours every other day are the only times Johnny really feels like he has everything together.


Johnny’s getting really tired of this bar, the one the rookies love, the one where Kaner first suggested all of this, and all he can hear is her laughter over all the noise.

He’s thinking about maybe just avoiding everything and just leaving, which is of course when Kaner appears on the stool next to him, breathlessly laughing.

“We got Saader to agree to do a fake dating show for BHTV, it’s gonna be epically dumb. Sharpy is going to wear a blue tux like Dumb and Dumber, I don’t get it, but whatever, maybe that’s supposed to be a dating show thing? I’m going to piss myself laughing,” she says. “They’re working on Shawzy and Krugs right now.”

“Oh, god, why?” Johnny asks, automatically.

“Are you kidding? This shit is gonna kill it,” Kaner says, grinning.

“This is worse than that show you made me watch with the roses and assholes,” Johnny tells her.

“Shut up, you loved Bachelor Pad,” she says, shoving at him with her elbow. “That show is dramabomb personified.”

“Rotting what little brain you have, Kaner,” Johnny tells her, hiding a smile with a sip from his beer.

And for a minute, he’d forgotten why he was avoiding her, but then Kaner gives him a look that has him instantly turned on, an ingrained reaction now. “Well, give me something to do other than watch TV, Tazer,” she says, leaning in close.

“Sorry-“ Tazer starts to say and Kaner’s easy, flirty grin falls straight into a pissed off scowl.

“Not tonight?” she asks, mimicking Johnny with a flat, nasty stare. “Look, asshole. If you want to stop, just fucking say so. Stop pretending like you’re just not feeling it tonight.”

Johnny should have known Kaner would force a confrontation; she’s so fucking stubborn. He bites his tongue on a thousand things he wants to say and stares at the beat up grain of the wooden bar.

“Yeah, I think we should stop,” Johnny finally says.

“Fine, done,” Kaner says, staring at him, hard. “Don’t be so fucking weird about it. It’s not a big deal.” She crosses her arms with a shrug.

Johnny keeps trying to make himself say something, but there’s nothing coming.

“I’m headed out,” Kaner says. She’s already picked up her jacket from the booth and is out the door before Johnny can do anything.

Johnny’s not an expert- not even an amateur- when it comes to reading people, but he knows Kaner, and the more he thinks about it, the more it obviously wasn’t fine and it takes Johnny all of ten seconds to decide he has to explain everything after all. Because he can’t stand the idea that she might feel shitty or used, and maybe he’s wrong and she really doesn’t care. But if there’s even the slightest chance that she thinks he got in her pants and bailed, or fucking whatever, he has to come clean. She can shoot him down, stomp on whatever dignity he has, he doesn’t give a shit.

So he jogs to his car, parked three blocks away, in the fucking freezing cold, and drives to Kaner’s as quickly as possible. Johnny feels like he’s going to lose it in the elevator, anxious, nervous energy crawling under his skin and he practically sprints down the hall to her door, knocking hard.

He can hear her walking in the apartment, but after a long pause she finally just says “What?” accusingly through the door.

“Look, let me explain,” Johnny says, leaning in, hyper-aware of her body, just on the other side of the metal.

There’s silence from the other side.

“I’m an asshole,” Johnny sighs.

The door swings open.

Kaner cries at everything, from Homeward Bound to commercials for TLC shows, and Johnny has seen her red faced, snotty, and miserable more times than he can count. But he sees the red-rimmed, glassy eyes and the flush on her cheeks and starts to hope.

“Have you been crying?” he asks, even though he knows she has. Kaner tries to slam the door in his face, but Johnny manages to edge his way in anyway, smiling like crazy. He knows he looks like an idiot and probably a lot like an asshole, but if she was crying- it meant something. It wasn’t just a hook up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, stop beaming at me, you fuckstick,” Kaner says, scowling at him, still clearly pissed at him.

And Johnny is still riding the chemical high of validation and he’s sure, so sure, it feels like clear ice to an empty net. He can’t resist kissing her, letting himself cup her face, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone.

Her hands slip up and press against his chest and he’s surprised when she shoves, practically checking him into the door behind him.

“Hey, no,” she says, looking confused and still more than a little angry. “You said you wanted to stop. You can’t just bust in here and kiss me half an hour later.”

“I couldn’t hook up with you any more,” Johnny starts.

Kaner glares at him viciously. “I remember, shithead, I was there the first time you said it.”

“Let me finish, Kaner,” Johnny says, impatient for her to understand. “I couldn’t just hook up with you any more.”

She looks at him so suspiciously Johnny feels it like a slap to the face. “What do you mean?” she asks, cagey.

Johnny takes a deep breath, but it’s still there, that bone deep confidence that he’s got this- they’ve got this- and says, “I want it all. Anything- everything you’ll give me.”

Kaner looks floored, biting at her lip nervously. “Stop being cryptic, it’s not romantic, Twilight. Just ask me,” she says and takes a step toward him, palms flat against his chest again, but it’s a total 180 from a moment ago. “I’m gonna say yes.”

Johnny exhales, relieved, letting out a breath he wouldn’t have said he was holding- startled into almost laughing. He leans in, slowly, making his intentions obvious. Kaner gives just an inch and Johnny kisses her, careful, soft.

“We did this all out of order, but will you come over for dinner? I’m asking you out. On a date,” Johnny says, ducking to lean his forehead against hers.

He can feel her heart beating fast where they’re touching and she’s smiling so hard, dimpling her cheeks. And she kisses him just as carefully, like it means everything and Johnny’s chest is stupidly full when she whispers, “Yes,” against his mouth.

“Although,” Kaner says, thoughtfully. Her smile turns into a smirk. “You should know I don’t put out on the first date.”


They pick up a game against the Red Wings, adding some endless satisfaction to a nice little winning streak and Johnny has been grinning for over an hour, smile still in place as he leans over the bar to shout “Heineken and a Malibu and Coke,” at the bartender, who gives him a bro nod and shoves Johnny’s money in his pants.

“You drinking alone?” a voice next to him asks.

“This one’s for my girlfriend,” Johnny says, taking the drinks from the bartender, setting them down on the counter. “Sorry.”

“Your girlfriend has good taste,” she says, plucking a cherry out of the fruit bin.

Johnny snorts. “Not really.”

Kaner laughs, shoving at him. “You’re such an asshole,” she says, tossing the cherry into her mouth. She pounds back the Malibu and Coke and leers at Johnny.


Johnny leaves his untouched beer on the bar.

Kaner laughs the whole way home.


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