aeroport_art | Fic: put that away, kaner

Title: put that away, kaner
Fandom: NHL RPF
Characters: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Patrick Kane. He deserves his own warning.
Word Count: 1k
Notes: Like most hockey rpf, this ficlet was borne from chat. Naturally, the topic of Kaner being completely ridiculous in ways involving his dick came about. You ladies are amazing and totally bad for my life.
Summary: Patrick Kane exposes himself in the locker room to Shawsy, Leddy, and Hayes. Captain Serious is not happy about this.

When Jonny comes out from the showers, the locker room is mostly empty. There’s just Pat, standing by the benches with a few rookies crowded around him.

It takes a moment for Jon to realize Kaner’s showing them his dick.

“What the fuck, Kaner?” he demands from the doorway. “Put that away.”

Kaner turns around, shit-eating grin taking up the whole of his ugly mug. “Hey Jonny. Did you come to see, too? I’m telling you guys, I wasn’t lying. Her tongue ring fucked up my junk. You gotta be careful these days. Chicks can get pretty feisty, especially if they want you that bad. See? You can see the mark right here—”

Jon stalks over and squeezes in front of Shawsy, Leddy, and Hayes, who stop inspecting Kaner’s junk hopefully because they realize how fucking gay-as-shit this all is and not because Jon is sending them a glare that could probably set their clothes on fire. Once they look properly cowed, Jon turns to Pat.

“Kaner,” he says, using his Captain voice. “Put. Your dick. Away. Stop traumatizing the rookies.”

“Fuck you. My dick is a fucking delight.” Pat tries to crane a look at the rookies, wagging his eyebrows like he wants them to agree but Jonny blocks their view by scooting sideways.

“Don’t encourage him,” he barks, just in case. And it totally works. The snort he hears behind him is totally a sound of terror. Jon can be pretty intimidating, he knows.

“Come on, it’s like a battle wound!” Kaner laughs. His sticks his hand down his pants and Jon can’t help but track the motion with his eyes, then stare in abject horror as Pat re-adjusts the elastic of his white boxer-briefs and shoves it behind his balls so he can lift up the underside of his softie.

“Oh my God,” Jonny groans, clapping a hand over his eyes. “Quit it, Kaner. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I dunno,” Shawsy pipes up. “I kind of still want to see it. ‘Cause we all think Pat’s full of shit, but you know. We’re open to scientific evidence.”

“Nobody is seeing Kaner’s dick tonight,” Jon kind of shouts, whirling around. “What the hell is wrong with you all?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Shawsy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Never mind. He’s all yours, Jonny.” Next to him on the bench, Leddy and Hayes follow his lead, nodding as they stand up.

With the sound of gym bags zipping shut and general shuffling, the three rookies eventually file out of the locker room, leaving Jon alone with Kaner.

Kaner gives him a nonplussed look. “Aw, Jonny. If you wanted to get me alone, you should’ve just said so.” He bats his eyelashes, looking ridiculous. His dick is still hanging out over his shorts.

Jon doesn’t even think about it, just reaches down and yanks Kaner’s fucking underwear back up. Probably gives him a wedgie, nearly lifting him from the force to slam Kaner against the lockers with a satisfying bang.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Jon says darkly.

“Fuck you. You don’t own my dick.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jonny says automatically. But then he hears himself, and fuck, that’s totally not what he meant. Inches from his face, Kaner’s eyes go half-lidded, and he swipes his tongue across his lower lip like he’s searching for his mouthguard. There’s nothing there, though, so Kaner tucks his tongue into the corner of his mouth and keeps it there, like a moron.

Jon doesn’t realize he’s leaning in until one of Kaner’s stray curls brushes his forehead. The soft, tickly sensation makes him recoil like he’s touched a hot plate.

“Fuck, Kaner,” Jon says, shaking his head a little. “Just. Don’t fucking expose yourself to the rookies, okay? It’s probably illegal or something.”

Kaner blinks up at him, looking dazed. With distinct clarity, Jonny realizes he’s standing way closer than what could be considered normal. So he backs off, unwinding his fingers from where they’re still wrapped up in the elastic of Kaner’s boxer-briefs and lets go with a little snap.

Kaner jumps, which Jon would give him shit for if he wasn’t in such a hurry to get the hell out of the suddenly claustrophobic locker room.

“What’s illegal how boring you are,” Kaner huffs belatedly to Jonny’s back. But whatever; weak effort. Jon shrugs it off and gets his duffel bag out of his locker. It’s what he came for in the first place, anyway.

Kaner’s bitching follows him all the way out the door, and it isn’t until the cold blast of the rink hits Jonny full-force that he remembers he’s only wearing his underwear, since he’d just gotten out of the showers.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, scoping the rink to make sure he’s alone before yanking some workout clothes from his bag. They’re pretty rank, but there’s no way in hell he’s going back inside. Kaner’s probably still fiddling around with himself in there.

He dresses hurriedly, just track pants and a t-shirt. Claps a Hawk’s cap onto his head and shrugs the lid down low, which usually makes him feel better and like, ready to tackle whatever. But it doesn’t work.

He’s still feeling jumpy, recalling the weird look Kaner got on his face when Jonny said he owned his dick. Which—gross, he totally didn’t mean that way. Nobody wants that unless they’re seriously fucked up in the head.

Behind him, a low, metal whine marks the opening of the locker room doors. Feeling his cheeks warm a bit, Jonny quickly hitches up the strap of his bag and sets off for the exit. Sometimes him and Kaner will hang out after practice, get some dinner, but not tonight.

It’s not like he’s being weird or anything, but Jonny just doesn’t feel much like staring at Kaner’s stupid face for longer than he has to today.