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Do It Better Than Anybody, 1/1
RAINBOW DATE
twsomething
Title: Do It Better Than Anybody

Fandom: NHL RPS

Pairing: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews

Summary: "And Johnny is just lounging over Patrick's breakfast counter, looking like something a Pay-Per-View channel devoted to farm-bred Canadian ass would spit up, his gray, threadbare sweatpants doing nothing to prevent Patrick from staring at his stupidly perfect everything. It's unsporting to give Patrick a semi in his own kitchen just by existing."

Length: 2900 wordsish

Warnings: basically just boning what do you want from me

Notes: So I was in a tizzy in the middle of the night and asleepunderpurpleskies talked me down and also into this. With love for The Hoyden who beta'd this like she checks me on all things <3 and for MK who gave me a six-s yes over this. Recommended listening: Kanye West's Power on loop. NO ONE MAN SHOULD HAVE ALL THAT POWER



There's no way Johnny isn't doing this on purpose.

Like, there's a whole undisputed category of shit Johnny just doesn't seem to get because he's like a freak, but there's no way he thinks that's his shirt. It's definitely Patrick's, because, okay, he is not short, Johnny is just a damn monster these days, but it's like cotton saran-wrapped around Johnny's shoulders and torso. Like, Boystown-tested, twink-approved fucking tight on him.

And Johnny is just lounging over Patrick's breakfast counter, looking like something a Pay-Per-View channel devoted to farm-bred Canadian ass would spit up, his gray, threadbare sweatpants doing nothing to prevent Patrick from staring at his stupidly perfect everything. It's unsporting to give Patrick a semi in his own kitchen just by existing. Like, he's reading the paper, the actual physical paper, which should be making Patrick's junk want to crawl back up into his body with what a douche Johnny is, but all he can do is watch Johnny's shoulders work under the thin cotton and try not to embarrass himself.

"First look's free, but if you keep staring, you're gonna pay for it," Johnny says, still staring at the paper, in that painfully fucking mild tone of voice that actually means he's getting off on this- dressing himself like the setup for soft-core in Patrick's apartment and then playing like he wasn't angling for the attention in the first place.

"Whatever, like you could make me," Patrick bites back automatically, and Johnny just glances up from the paper with a look that has Patrick flushing from head to toe, fucking beyond filthy, like... visual rimming, or something.

"That an invitation to try?" Johnny asks, soft, sweet- dangerous.

Patrick shivers, right from the small of his back, uncontrollable. "Like you can make me do anything," he says, and it comes out breathless and fucked up, like all Patrick wants is for Johnny to make him, like all he wants is for Johnny to do whatever Johnny wants with him, but fuck, that is what he wants.

The expression on Johnny's face is fucking indescribable. It makes Patrick feel hot all over, because fuck if he knows what's about to happen, but oh, shit, it's gonna be so fucking good.

"Pretty sure I can," Johnny says, precisely closing the paper, like he has all the time in the world, like he's totally in control here. "Pretty sure I can have anything I want from you, Patrick. I don't even have to ask, do I? You'd give me whatever I want."

God, nothing gets him hotter than when Johnny reads him just right, right there on the same page, the same fucking thought and seriously Patrick is too turned on to be in a room where he cooks eggs. "Bedroom," Patrick insists.

Johnny looks like he might get stubborn, just for the fucking sake of it, but then his face goes smooth, melting into a smile that looks so fucking smug it makes Patrick's toes curl. "Didn't even have to touch you, you're already begging for it," he says, and he might sound cool, but Patrick can see he's hard in those fucking ratty old sweatpants, he wants Patrick so bad.

"Not the only one," Patrick says, letting his eyes linger over Johnny's cock, thick and perfect, and fuck if his mouth doesn't water a little.

"I'm not going to be the one begging, believe me," Johnny says, low and, shit, that's a promise. "C'mon."

He just starts walking to the bedroom, letting Patrick follow him, a step behind. Johnny sits down on the edge of the bed before crossing his arms.

"Well?" he prompts after a moment. "Strip."

Patrick raises his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

Johnny shrugs. "I can go back to the paper," he says, and he's just fucking crazy enough that he might and Patrick hates, just a little, that he won't take that chance, won't give this up for anything.

"You're such an asshole," he breathes out, but it only takes a couple of seconds to throw off his shirt and shorts, shoving his boxers down with them.

Johnny just looks him over so long that Patrick feels like he's going to die from it, the consideration in that look, like Johnny's got so many ideas that he's not sure where he wants to start. Johnny is just looking at him and Patrick is so hard it's unbearable. He's not sure if Johnny is in one of those moods where if he pushes, Johnny will just go ten times slower, just to wreck Patrick, which actually- "Johnny," Patrick whines.

Johnny hums, irritated. Patrick's blood burns just a little hotter.

"Johnny," he says, pushing harder.

Johnny pins him with a look so black that Patrick's breath stutters a little. "Interrupt me again, Kaner," he says, leaving the threat open and Patrick can't help but shiver again. God, he's gonna get it so fucking good.

He's seconds from actually squirming when Johnny must feel like his point's been made, because he stands up and crowds close, but still doesn't actually touch him, using all of the totally limited height and weight advantage he has on Patrick, fucking looming, and Patrick is undyingly embarrassed that this is doing it for him, just the heat from Johnny's body on his bare skin, Johnny's stupid fucking loud breathing in his ear.

Patrick would perjure himself in a court of law if asked, because he does not gasp when Johnny finally touches him, his hands wrapping around Patrick's hips, exerting just enough power to get his point across, turning Patrick around, his back to Johnny's front. There's still that electric, almost painful, distance between them, except for Johnny's hands, firmly in place, the tips of his long fingers pressing into the the tender, ticklish skin between hip and thigh. Johnny-

Johnny walks them backwards, until he's sitting again, pulling Patrick down to sit in his fucking lap, still fully dressed, pulling Patrick in until Johnny's fucking plastered along Patrick's back. Johnny leans in to press a wet, open kiss to Patrick's neck, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin between the tendon and Patrick's adam's apple.

"You're gonna give it up so easy for me, aren't you," Johnny says, like it's not even a question, exhaling it into the space just under Patrick's ear. "Look at you. Fucking dying for it."

It's true, it's so fucking true, because Patrick's world starts and ends with all the places Johnny is touching him, hands still holding Patrick's hips back against his, where Patrick can feel how hard Johnny is, and he knows it, knows Johnny wants him, but every time, it's still a rush, such a turn on that Patrick has to bite his lip. There's only so far he can play the game before Johnny pushes him past it, and all he can do is be painfully honest about how badly he wants Johnny.

"Yeah," Patrick says, and fuck, is that even his voice? It sounds fucked out, hoarse, worse than when he's actually been sucking cock. "Fuck, Johnny. Whatever you want." He can feel Johnny's hands tighten, his breath turn harsh.

"Say it again," Johnny demands.

"Whatever you want," Patrick repeats, because Johnny's been able to have anything he wanted from Patrick for a long time. Fuck, probably from the beginning.

"Yeah," Johnny says, half to himself, before squeezing tightly again. "Fuck, Kaner, I'm gonna take it, too. You don't have any fucking clue, all the shit I wanna do to you, with you."

Patrick's breath catches in his throat. "I want it. I want it all, Johnny."

"I fucking know you do," Johnny hisses, biting at Patrick's collarbone. "And no one else is gonna give it to you, not like I'm gonna, no one could."

And that's the truth, Johnny's so deep in him now, gets him so good, that Patrick is ruined for anyone else. "No one else," Patrick agrees.

That gets Johnny moving, his hand slipping down to circle Patrick's cock, glide up to smooth his palm over the head, getting his hand slick where Patrick's been leaking precum, setting up a rhythm that has Patrick's mouth working soundlessly. His other hand slips under Patrick's thigh, dragging his legs even more open, pulling Patrick off-balance on Johnny's lap, giving him no choice but to let Johnny take all his weight, to just fall into him. It's good, it's so fucking good, just Johnny's breathing, angry and fast against his neck, Johnny's hands all over him.

Johnny's totally in control, manhandling Patrick where he wants him, and Johnny knows him, knows Patrick's body so well that he can just work him like a play, finding all his buttons and slamming them at once and it's too much, too good and Patrick can't do anything but shake apart.

Say what you will and should about Johnny's lack of consideration as a roommate, when it comes to fucking, Johnny is surprisingly giving- he works Patrick through coming, backing off just before it would get too intense to keep going, his hands shifting to stroke along his thighs, more soothing than sexual. Patrick has about zero bones left in his body, so he just lets Johnny arrange him however he wants, drowsing a little through Johnny cleaning him up, perking up a little when Johnny strips off the tight little t-shirt that started everything, the sweatpants following and jesus, Johnny was commando under there. That makes everything feel a little dirtier, in the best of ways.

Patrick rolls over and stretches lazily- the cool sheets feel fucking amazing against his skin and behind him he can hear Johnny hum to himself thoughtfully.

"See something you like?" Patrick asks over his shoulder, feeling loose and the smirk just comes naturally, man.

Johnny snorts, but there's a smug fucking curl to the edge of his stupid mouth, and yeah, he fuckin' does. "See something I'm gonna get," Johnny says, shrugging.

"Yeah?" Patrick says, aiming for cocky and falling somewhere in 'shamefully eager.'

"So fucking easy," Johnny says, grinning as he goes for the bedside drawer and- oh, fuck, yeah.

"If you think it's gonna be easy," Patrick says, stretching again, watching Johnny watch him, want him, "I think you're gonna be pretty surprised."

"Don't think I am," Johnny says softly, lube in hand. He spreads Patrick's legs obscenely wide, dragging a pillow under Patrick's hips, and even though Patrick's expecting it, the slick glide of Johnny's finger over his hole makes him shiver.

Johnny takes his time, working Patrick open so slowly that he feels like he's dying. It takes forever for Johnny to go from one to two fingers, like he has all the time in the world, and nothing more on his mind than gently working his fingers in Patrick, stretching until two just isn't enough- Patrick wants to feel full.

"C'mon," Patrick whines, half-hard again. "I'm ready."

"You're ready when I say you are," Johnny tells him, totally unmoved and when Patrick tries to at least rub his hips into the pillow to get some friction if he can't get anything else, Johnny's other hand grips his hip, hard. "Stop."

"Get on with it, then," Patrick grits out as Johnny purposefully strokes across his prostate.

"Not happening. Gonna take my time with you, Patrick. You said whatever I want. If you didn't want that, you shouldn't have said it." Johnny says, fingers curling gently, but purposefully.

Patrick swears under his breath, because jesus, Johnny is gonna take him apart. "Okay, fuck, okay," Patrick hisses.

"I wasn't asking permission," Johnny says, but he pulls out and adds a third finger and Patrick thinks he might be babbling something blasphemous.

Patrick's fully hard by the time Johnny seems to be satisfied, according to whatever fucking mysterious schedule he has them on, thighs trembling a little with the effort of keeping still. Johnny lets one of his fingers catch just a little on the rim of Patrick's asshole, not tugging, but it's not an accident, either and Patrick's breath catches hard, obvious. His face is smashed into the pillow, mouth open, so he only hears Johnny pop the cap on the lube, slicking up. They'd had an awkward conversation about a month into hooking up when they'd both defensively said they’d been tested by the team doctors and didn't really like condoms and that if they were going to do it they had to be responsible and it had been the most painful conversation of Patrick’s whole life, but it resulted in some of the best sex of Patrick's whole life, so. They'd never looked back, which means when Johnny pushes in, he's hot and so hard and Patrick can feel everything.

Johnny just lays himself right on top of Patrick, completely covering him, just a slow, unrelenting push until he's buried balls deep. Patrick's mouth is working weakly, but nothing's coming out. He doesn't pull out to thrust, just digs his hips into Patrick's, just- fucking him into the mattress with the weight of his body and a filthy grind. Johnny's kissing Patrick's back, open and wet and biting, just a little, teeth scraping the edge of a shoulder blade.

"You're so good, Kaner, so good," Johnny says, hot into the skin at the nape of Patrick's neck. "Fucking made for this, made for me."

Patrick tries to agree, but it comes out in this broken, uncontrollable whine instead.

"So good, just for me," Johnny like, fucking purrs into his back, still grinding deep into Patrick. "Wouldn't be like this, this good for anyone but me."

He's so embarrassingly hard, dick trapped against the bed, all the fucking dirty shit falling out of Johnny's mouth pushing him closer and closer to the edge, and Patrick doesn't want to think about how all it takes is Johnny's fucking approval.

"I wanna be the only person who gets you like this, only one you let have you, fuck, no one else," Johnny grunts.

Patrick is full up whimpering at this point, but he doesn't want anyone else, couldn't want anyone else, not with Johnny giving it to him like this, getting him, giving him what he needs. So he makes himself gasp out, "Only you," and Johnny's hands clench tight on Patrick's hips, so Patrick knows Johnny heard him, and fuck, Patrick's coming again, can't stop himself.

Johnny fucks him for real, all through Patrick's orgasm, and Patrick wants to scream, it's too much and still not enough and he feels like he's going to fly apart when Johnny bites down hard on Patrick's shoulder and comes, and Patrick can feel him lose it, shaking a little as he slumps over Patrick, deadweight anchoring, grounding him.

He's totally crushing Patrick, but Patrick kind of wants him to never move, fuck breathing.

But all good things come to an end, because Johnny pulls out, slow enough to drag an involuntary gasp that trails into a moan out of him- it sounds needy and breathy and too obvious. And Patrick knows he doesn't want to ask, but he can't stop himself.

"So, do you just like... say that stuff during sex?" he asks, because in addition to being a professional hockey player, he's a professional afterglow-ruiner.

Johnny looks like he can't believe Patrick is asking him that shit, which, Patrick agrees. But it's out there now and he kind of really wants an answer. Some of that stuff, in addition to being brain-breakingly hot, was pretty serious.

"I don't say anything I don't mean," Johnny says, judgey, and maybe a little offended or something, like Patrick questioned his Manitoba Manhood.

"So, you..." Patrick prompts, glancing up at Johnny, because he'll be fucked if he's putting words in Johnny's mouth, but you don't say someone- Patrick- is made for you unless there's like... other... shit going on.

Christ, he can't even say it in his own fucking head.

Johnny is propped up on his elbow, staring back at Patrick, who is fighting the urge to bury his face in the pillow until he dies. "You really need me to spell this out for you?" he asks, and his face is shutting it down, but his stupid fucking dead shark eyes are so fucking amused, and fuck him.

"Shut up, yes," Patrick says, shoving his chin out, determined to get it out of Johnny and Johnny fucking laughs at him and kisses Patrick.

"Shit, I'll get you a skywriter next time, you dumbass, I fucking love you," Johnny says, still laughing at Patrick, even as he kisses him. "Take out an ad in the paper in the fucking obvious shit section."

Patrick shoves at Johnny's chest even as he rolls over on top of him, the better to kiss him. "Fuck you, you asshole, you had your dick in me, you can't trust shit that comes out of anyone's mouth during sex," Patrick insists.

Johnny keeps laughing at him.

"No, seriously, fuck you," Patrick says, and it sounds whiny and weak to his own ears. "Clearly, I love you more, fuckface, because I'm not laughing at you."

"If that was a requirement, you'd be shit out of luck," Johnny says, but he looks so stupidly happy that Patrick can't even get that salty about it.

"Fuck you, you don't even know from luck," Patrick shoots back, and it doesn't make any sense but he can't bring himself to care.

Johnny smiles, dragging Patrick down, close enough to kiss, humming thoughtfully against Patrick's mouth. "Now, I wouldn't say that."





Yo dawg, why don't you comment on the dw. Because you can do that. And I want you to do that. Right here. http://twentysomething.dreamwidth.org/30900.html?mode=reply <3.

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