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Blackhawks stars in gay sex tape scandal!

Sunday May 29 2016

Just when we thought Twenny Cent had hit rock-bottom, there’s a new low for Deadspin darling Patrick Kane as a sex tape emerges, exposing his gay relationship with good ol’ Captain Serious himself, Jonathan Toews. The video, allegedly taken from Toews’ own cell phone, is explicitly pornographic. Details that follow are not safe for work…



The video is four minutes and eighteen seconds long. Jonny remembers exactly how it goes: the images were seared onto his memory long before he had to deal with each frame being ‘conclusive analysed’ by morons on the internet.

The camera work is shaky and one-handed, but manages mostly to centre on Patrick’s face as he sucks Jonny’s cock, with Jonny’s filthy running commentary all too audible:  how fucking pretty he is, how good he looks sucking his dick, how he’d fuck Kaner’s mouth all day if he could, how much he wants to mess him up and come all over him, and, most embarrassing of all, how much he loves him. Jonny comes on Pat’s face, and the video does an excellent job of showcasing Pat grinning beatifically up at Jonny through batted eyelashes, come dripping from his chin, before Jonny’s hand tangles in his hair. That’s when the phone gets tossed aside, and there is a thrilling fourteen seconds of Jonny’s bedroom ceiling accompanied by the soundtrack of indistinct murmurs and wet sloppy kisses. Thankfully for the world’s collective sanity, viewers are spared the sight of Jonny licking his own come off Pat’s face.






“Have you seen my phone?” Jonny says.

Patrick is warm and sleepy and still hungover, curled up in a pile of bedclothes in an undignified heap. Jonny is fully dressed, fully caffeinated and obviously irritated at having to do some stupid interview at ten in the morning after two days of drowning their Conference Final sorrows, interrupted only by a four hour flight home from Vancouver.

“What?” Patrick mumbles.

“My phone,” Jonny repeats. “I can’t find it.”

He sounds pissy enough that Patrick drags himself out of his drowsiness, dismissing the last vestiges of the pleasant dream he was having about Jonny sucking his nipples while he jerked off on the Stanley Cup. What did Pat do to deserve having to deal with this shit so early in the morning?

“Have you called it?” Patrick asks. He rolls over and fumbles to reach his own phone on the nightstand. He tosses it to Jonny, who catches it easily. “When did you last have it? Did you leave it in Canada?”

“I can’t remember,” Jonny says. He jabs at Patrick’s phone to call his own number, pressing it to his ear. “Give me a hand will you?”

Patrick rolls his eyes and stumbles out of bed. He pulls on yesterday’s boxers from off the floor and shuffles around the room. He’s not quite sure why Jonny thinks that he might do any better at finding Jonny’s phone than Jonny could: Jonny, who is less hungover and far more awake than Patrick, apparently. Maybe he just needs Patrick’s natural problem-solving ability and inherently superior logical thinking.

Jonny fidgets while he listens to his phone ring on the other end of the line. Patrick can’t hear Jonny’s disgustingly boring default ringtone in the immediate vicinity.

“Is it on silent?” Patrick asks.

Jonny frowns and shakes his head.

Patrick checks his alarm clock. It’s nearly nine; Jonny needs to leave right now if he’s going to make it to the CSN studio in time to get all his make-up and shit done before ten.

“Just take a spare, dude,” Patrick says. He fumbles an old flip-phone out of the bottom drawer of his nightstand and turns it on. It has a battery life of about six hours and an old pay-as-you-go contract that, as far as he knows, hasn’t yet expired.

“Shouldn’t have to do interviews on a Sunday morning anyway, what the hell…” Jonny grumbles distractedly. He hangs up Patrick’s phone and dumps it on the dresser.

Patrick beans the old flip-phone across the bedroom. Jonny, to Patrick’s mild disappointment, is awake enough to catch it out of the air before it hits him in the head.

Jonny scowls down at it. “Can you keep looking for mine while I’m gone?”

“Sure,” Patrick says easily. “Now get going. You’re gonna have to hustle ass down there or else you’ll be late.”

He kisses Jonny lightly (if Jon cares about Pat’s morning breath, he can go suck a dick) and swipes a smoothing finger across his furrowed brow.

“Put that frowny face away,” he murmurs against Jonny’s lips. “It’ll look terrible on TV.”

Jonny smiles despite himself and kisses Pat one last time. Obviously he’s cool with the morning breath today; Patrick can never predict it – Jonny’s response seems to be entirely random. “I never look terrible on TV,” Jonny says.

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says sceptically. “Keep telling yourself that, babe.”

Jonny smirks at him and throws a mock-jab in the vicinity of Pat’s ribs, which Patrick skilfully dodges by tripping backwards over nothing in particular and landing on the bed. He lies there, smiling sunnily, as Jonny gathers up the old phone and his wallet. Patrick is going back to bed, so Jon can see himself out.

“I’ll be back for lunch,” Jonny calls, before stepping out the door.







The club is – as all the best clubs should be – hot, loud and crowded. The entire team is here, drowning their sorrows. Beers, shots and a couple ironic bottles of champagne are flowing freely, and most of them are well on the way to getting blindingly drunk.

The Vancouver series was vicious – the Canucks always are – but Patrick is surprisingly content with how they acquitted themselves. They wanted to win, of course they did – because who doesn’t, when the opportunity to win back-to-back Cups is on the table – but they lost so many guys over the summer that the chance was always going to be slim. Patrick is just happy they managed to make it to the Conference Final.

Jonny is holding court in a booth in a dark corner, flanked by Hammer and Seabs. Seabs is nursing a beer and checking his phone every five minutes for some mysterious reason. Next to him, Shawsy has five empty shot glasses in front of him, but is still managing to give a pretty accurate if misty-eyed play-by-play of the 2013 Finals, to an assortment of Rockford rookies, Teuvo and TVR. Arty has one ear on that conversation, translating for Artemi, who occasionally interjects with a teasing anecdote about how his own Gagarin Cup run with Saint Petersburg was obviously superior.

Duncs and Teeks wind over from the bar, clutching more pitchers of beer. Teeks thumps down onto the bench beside Hoss and Marko, while Duncs sits beside the rookies, squishing them closer to Shawsy, who clutches his beer perilously.

Despite the loss, despite the bone-deep weariness that is inevitable with a long post-season, especially on a team with so many kids, they all look happy. Patrick couldn’t be more proud of them.

Patrick follows Duncs and Teeks back from the bar, making a detour to the table on his way to the dancefloor.

“Come dance with me,” he says, a hint of a whine edging into his voice. He leans across Hammer to prod Jonny in the shoulder.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “If you want to make an idiot of yourself, go right ahead,” he says.

“Lameass,” Patrick says. He prods him again. “Come on.”

“If you do it, I’ll tape your sticks for a week,” Shawsy says.

“I don’t like how you tape my sticks,” Jonny throws back. “Anyway, season’s done now.”

He doesn’t look completely miserable about it, but there’s no disguising the hint of regretful longing. Shawsy, Teuvo and the gaggle of rookies jeer and groan.

“Come on,” Patrick tries again.

“Shawsy is corrupting our rookies,” Jonny grumbles, finally acquiescing. He has to climb over half the group to get out of the booth.

“No respect for their elders,” Patrick says with a rueful shake of the head.

Jonny agrees, nodding earnestly, not noticing the smirk that Patrick and Shawsy exchange behind his back. Artemi winks.

Patrick grabs Jonny’s hand and drags him to the dancefloor. Strobes and lasers light up the writhing mass of bodies, twisting and thumping to a dance remix of one of last summer’s pop songs that Patrick would probably recognise sober and at half the ear-splitting volume.

They’re not out to the team, technically, in the sense that there was a never a formal announcement, but they’ve been together since before they were ever anything else, and over the years, that has become increasingly obvious. Now, in the anonymous crowd, Patrick feels comfortable wrapping his arms around Jonny’s neck, letting Jonny’s hands rest on his waist as they dance together.

They stay that way for nearly an hour, never moving more than a couple of feet from each other even when they’re dancing with randoms, a ceaseless spiralling orbit, as the DJ cycles through his playlist. They come back together after a while, Patrick pressing his back against Jonny’s chest and wrapping an arm up to hook it behind Jonny’s neck. In a slightly less public setting, Jonny would be biting hickeys into the stretched-taught tendons of his neck. Patrick can feel Jonny suppressing the urge to do it anyway, so he rests his hand on top of the one Jonny has on his waist, squeezing lightly but firmly.

“Later,” he murmurs, and he can feel Jonny’s shudder everywhere their bodies are pressed together.

“Hey!” Seabs calls across the dancefloor. He’s standing there with Crow and Hoss. “We’re heading out. See you on the bus!”

They both nod in acknowledgment and Jonny takes his hand off Patrick’s waist to give them a thumbs-up.

Patrick uses it as an opportunity to twist in Jonny’s arms, looking up at him. “I’m gonna go piss,” he says. “Want another drink?”

“I’ll meet you at the bar,” Jonny says.

“Okay,” Pat agrees lightly. In the low light it’s so easy to lean up and peck a kiss to Jon’s lips. “Be right back.”

The bathroom is painfully brightly lit by comparison. When he’s done, he has to knuckle his eyes to help them adjust to the darkness as he makes his way over to the bar.

Jonny is up against the bar, leaning forward to catch the bartender’s eye. There are two guys pressed either side of him, neither paying him any attention. One of them is sleek and well-groomed, with an infuriatingly trendy undercut, talking to a pretty brunette on his other side. The other is large and sweaty, wearing a Canucks cap backwards, the orca motif grinning at Patrick mockingly as he comes up from behind. Hemmed in between them, Jonny’s uncomfortable-looking stretch exposes the mouth-watering curve of his lower back beneath his t-shirt.

Patrick thinks wanting to eat him alive is an entirely understandable reaction.

He presses into Jonny from the back, pushing his hips against the top of Jonny’s thigh. Jonny is warm and solid and so comfortably familiar. He has to jostle the Canucks guy next to him a bit to do it; the guy glares daggers at him until he recognises them, then he just looks weirded out.

“What do you want to drink?” Jonny says.

Patrick looks up at Jonny from under his eyelids. There’s a cut on his jaw from the hit he took earlier that Patrick didn’t notice before, and suddenly he doesn’t give a shit about drinks or dancing or the rest of the team. He wants Jonny spread out on their hotel bed: so he can press kisses into every bruise and scrape that this post-season has inflicted, replacing them with tender, heartfelt love bites; so he can fuck him until he’s cross-eyed and panting nothing but Patrick’s name; so when they’re on the plane home the next morning, the rest of the team will be aching from the rough game and the long night, but all Jonny will feel is the sweet ache that Patrick left in all the places on Jonny’s body that no one else gets to touch.

“Actually,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “I’m thinking of heading out.” The crowd at the bar is pressing in on all sides and he’s certain they’re being overheard.

“Yeah?” Jonny says. It’s clear even in the low light that he’s reading whatever it is that’s showing on Patrick’s face. “Alright, I’ll come with.”

They don’t share a hotel room anymore – except for how, nine times out of ten, they do. Patrick often wonders why the franchise still bothers to help them maintain the charade. God knows they’re barely trying anymore.

They push away from the bar and make a circuitous route to the door that stops off by the two Hawks enclaves – Hammer, Duncs, Teeks and Arty still occupying the dwindling booth; Shawsy, TVR and Teuvo off to one side of the dancefloor, encouraging Marko, Artemi and the Rockford rookies to dance wildly and mocking them as they do so. Patrick favours them with a mock salute. Shawsy returns it with an elaborate bow, sweeping an imaginary hat off his head.

“He’s gonna be so hungover on the plane,” Jonny says with wry amusement.

“Yep,” Patrick says, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously, “Probably still hungover on Sunday too.”

Hopefully, he’ll have got over it by Monday. Just in time for their exit interviews to be coherent. Well, as coherent as Shawsy ever gets, anyway.






Saturday passes in a blur.

Patrick untangles himself from Jonny long enough to get dressed, throw his shit into his holdall, and crawl onto the plane. They got back to the hotel at about four in the morning and had two rounds of very nice drunken sex before managing to actually get some sleep about two hours before they had to be up again. Jonny looks murderous, as if the reality of the loss has caught up with him along with the hangover, so Patrick lets him settle into the window seat on the plane and go straight back to sleep without even attempting to engage him in conversation.

They land at O’Hare in the middle of the afternoon, Chicago time. Patrick isn’t entirely sure that they’re strictly safe to drive, given how tired and still slightly drunk they all are, but miraculously they all disperse to their own homes without incident. As soon as he and Jonny get back to Patrick’s apartment, they crawl straight into bed, and stay there, waking up only in the early evening so Pat can call for pizza. They eat in bed, then have sex again – slower, more tender this time, all breathy moans and slow sucking kisses that make Patrick’s toes curl. He finds himself looking into Jonny’s eyes, blown and black, totally intent on fucking Patrick until he’s screaming. Patrick scrabbles for Jonny’s hand and clutches it desperately as they move together, slip-sliding on Patrick’s high thread count sheets, sweaty and sticky and so in love that Patrick thinks he might burst from it.

It’s only after they’ve both come down from their orgasms, cleaned up and headed rapidly back in the direction of another twelve hours of sleep, that Patrick realises he was stroking Jonny’s ring finger.







The story breaks while Jonny is already in the CSN studio, for maximum convenience and humiliation.

“Fucking fuck,” he says. He scowls at Patrick’s spare phone, blessedly glad that basically no one seems to have this number. He hopes that whoever has his phone – probably lifted at the bar, he has concluded – is enjoying the fact that it’s probably ringing off the hook.

He managed to ‘no comment’ his way out of the interview, and has sequestered himself in a bathroom. The video was lurid – Christ, he remembers every second of it, remembers filming it, has watched it enough times, alone or with Pat – really doesn’t need to have it splashed across Deadspin or twitter or, fuck, the lunchtime news. Still, just the thought of it sends a shudder through him: Patrick, on his knees, sucking Jonny’s cock so fucking well, just taking everything Jonny wanted to give him. There’s a reason he kept that particular one, out of all the times they’ve filmed themselves. (Their collection is starting to rival Patrick’s nostalgic collection of late 1980s game tape, which is saying something.)

“Patrick, pick up your goddamn phone,” Jonny says as it rings. He wonders how many calls Patrick’s had, whether it’s been enough to actually drag him out of bed.

Finally, it connects.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, sounding slightly unhinged. “Jon, this is so fucked up.”

“Tell me about it,” Jonny says. “I’m so lucky it wasn’t a live interview.”

“Jesus,” Pat breathes. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“Lawyers,” Jonny says. “Brisson. Contingency plan.”

The plan – little more than a carefully worded press release – goes back to when they signed their first contract extensions back in the 09-10 season. They were on the precipice of becoming seriously big deals in the league, and the prospect of getting outed escalated dangerously. They’ve talked about it, from time to time – actually coming out, the whole song-and-dance – but the closest they have ever come is that plan.

Of course, the plan was made with rather tamer issues in mind than a graphic sex tape being leaked to the gossip bloggers.

“Okay,” Patrick says. He sounds like he’s trying very hard to regulate his breathing. “Okay. I’ll call the lawyers. You call Brisson. Should I come meet you, or are you gonna get back here?”

“I really don’t want to do a TV interview right now,” Jonny says honestly.

The idea of sitting across from David Kaplan and being asked about why, exactly, a video of Patrick blowing him was circulating the internet, made him feel more than a little nauseous.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you, man,” Patrick says. “Get home. We’ll. Fuck. We’ll deal with this shit.”

“Fuck,” Jonny says. He runs a slightly shaky hand through his hair as he realises something, “Fuck, I walked here.”

“Jesus. Yeah, okay, I’ll come pick you up. See you in ten.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Patrick says, and hangs up.





Jonny manages to escape from the bathroom and sneak out an emergency exit before any enterprising Sun-Times intern can trip him up and bundle him in front of a camera. He turns the collar of his peacoat up and wishes that it wasn’t so warm out that he’d foregone a hat.

Patrick pulls up in Jonny’s car – thank God that a) Jonny had left it at Pat’s the night before and b) that Patrick had the sense not to drive his super-conspicuous monstrosity of a vehicle.

“Get in, get in,” Patrick says, throwing the passenger door open. “There are paps everywhere, dude. I think they’re following me.”

“How the fuck did this happen?” Jonny moans. He sinks his head onto the dash in despair.

Patrick glowers at the road and steps on the gas. “It’s alright for you, asshole,” he says. “You’re not the one with jizz all over your face. My mom has seen it, Jonny. My mom!”

“I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t find my phone. Fucking fuck.”

“I can’t believe you still had it on your phone.”

“Why not?” Jonny says defensively.

Okay, so maybe the video is almost a year old, but it’s hot. He’s totally justified in having a smoking hot video of his boyfriend on his phone so he can just watch it whenever. Totally justified.


“You’re missing the point,” Jonny says. “Someone must have stolen my phone.”

Patrick’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. He floors it back to Trump Tower.





“I’m not going to pull punches, boys,” Brisson says. “This looks bad.”

“No fucking duh,” Jonny says.

Brisson is on speakerphone in the middle of the coffee table, next to a few pieces of relevant paperwork and both their laptops. On the TV, muted pundits are flapping around like headless chickens, trying to report on footage too explicit to actually show.

Patrick is sitting heavily at one end of the couch, rubbing his forehead as if it will do anything to stave off the incipient headache that, for once, has nothing to do with his hangover. Jonny is flicking through the gossip blogs, stormy gaze growing worse with every new site he clicks on.

“I’ll chase up the leak. You think your phone was lifted, Jon?”

“It was,” Patrick says darkly. “At the club. You had it before then. Fucking Canucks.”

“Yep,” Jon says.

“In the meantime,” Brisson continues, “What do you want to do?”

“Denying everything seems pretty futile right now,” Jonny says.

The screen of his laptop is currently showing several of the more lurid stills: Patrick with come streaked across his face, lips nearly as red and swollen as the head of Jonny’s cock at the bottom of the frame.

“Yeah, no,” Pat snorts. He sighs and rolls off the couch to pace agitatedly a few steps before Jonny tugs him back down, “I guess this means media circus time.”

“I’ll put out the press release,” Brisson says. “Then, a press conference is probably the best way to go.”

“We should probably talk to like, McDonough and Rocky and shit, before anything,” Patrick says. “This could be so bad, Jesus.”

“Hey,” Jonny says. “It’s gonna be fine, Peeks.”

Patrick buries his face in his hands and concentrates on breathing steadily.

“I’ll get on the phone, Jon,” Brisson says. “You two should just hole up for a couple hours til I get back to you.”

“Lock-down,” Patrick says. “We know how it goes, man.”

“Okay,” Brisson says. “Good luck.”

The line clicks off. Jonny goes back to his laptop and immediately the frown reappears.

“I thought I was the one who gets stick for reading all my bad press,” Patrick says pointedly.

Jonny winces and closes his laptop.

“Sorry?” he says. “I just. I hate that they can do this to you. To us both, I guess, but, mostly you.”

Patrick gives him a faint smile. He should be used to Jonny’s strange sense of protectiveness by now, but it still does something funny to his stomach every time it manifests. He reaches across to shove Jonny’s laptop off the couch onto the coffee table, and climbs into Jonny’s lap.

“You don’t actually need to worry about me,” Patrick says quietly. He kisses him quickly, then presses their foreheads together until he loses focus and can’t meet Jonny’s searching eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t,” Jonny replies, just as quietly.

He reaches up to rest a hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, thumb rubbing soothingly in the soft skin behind his ear. Patrick noses closer, until they’re cheek to cheek and breathing in synchrony.

“Come here,” Jonny mumbles.

He sinks onto his back on the couch, pulling Patrick down to lie on top of him. The hand on Pat’s neck slips down to his back, to work gently up and down his spine.

“I love you,” Jonny says, “Whatever happens.”

“Yeah, man,” Patrick says into the crook of Jonny’s neck. “I know.”




29 May 2016


ICYMI: #Blackhawks cup campaign ends in 4-2 defeat against #Canucks in WCF Game 6. Story:


Expect to hear from Q in exit interviews tomorrow. Said to be ‘content’ with #Blackhawks performance despite loss.




I for one did not see this coming. #sarcasm RT @deadspin BREAKING NEWS: @NHLBlackhawksKANE & TOEWS IN GAY SEX TAPE


No formal confirmation as yet from #Blackhawks regarding @deadspin’s latest story. Inside sources call Kane+Toews an “open secret.”


Am I shocked? Yes. Surprised? No. RT @deadspin BREAKING NEWS: @NHLBlackhawks KANE & TOEWS IN GAY SEX TAPE


Also, I should remind my followers to respect privacy and lifestyle choices and all that. I don’t want to hear it.

@MarkLazerus Maybe you’ll have to start blocking people for realsies.

@ChrisKuc When Hell freezes over and Bettman decides to open a franchise there.

@MarkLazerus So… the next time they push for expansion then?


Kane and Toews press release: we’ve been together since before we were Blackhawks. #Kazer


Ok maybe I’m a bit surprised. RT @NHLBlackhawks Kane and Toews press release: we’ve been together since before we were Blackhawks. #Kazer


Here’s an old piece on the (apparent) absence of gay players in the NHL.


#CaptainSerious + #Showtime = #Kazer <3 <3 <3


RT @NHLBlackhawks #CaptainSerious + #Showtime = #Kazer <3 <3 <3


Sounds like @NHLBlackhawks are officially endorsing the #Kazer portmanteau. Expect to see more of that in tomorrow’s presser.


Am I the only one who hates these couple nicknames? First Brangelina, now #Kazer. Where will it end?

@MarkLazerus has lost his sense of fun. After all, #TheyAreAdorable, remember?


Incredibly happy to congratulate @NHLBlackhawks’ Jonathan Toews and @88pkane on their recent announcement. #Kazer


@deadspin should be ashamed of themselves. Outing people without consent is appalling behaviour. #Kazer have our full support.

@YouCanPlay public has a right to know.

@deadspin Only money-grubbing so-called journalists play that card. No one has the right to invade the privacy of people’s homes.


damn facebook autoplay. really didn’t need to hear toews calling kane pretty. ugh. pass the brain bleach.

@madhousefan94 He doesn’t say that til three mins in… Busted!



Kane and Toews in shock relationship announcement. Instant story:




Kane and Toews in shock sexuality, relationship announcement

Sunday May 29 2016

Mere days after their 2016 playoffs ended with 4-2 series defeat in Vancouver, Chicago headliners Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane have shocked local and national sporting media with the revelation that they are in a long-term relationship.

In a prepared statement on the Blackhawks website, Kane and Toews stated that they were in a “long-term, committed romantic relationship,” – rumored to predate their arrival in Chicago in 2007 – and that they were “tired of hiding who [they] are.”

“We love each other,” the statement went on. “In this era, being bisexual and in a same-sex relationship cannot be allowed to be an impediment to a sporting career.”

In a deliberate echo of the motto of the LGBT+ sporting advocacy group You Can Play, the statement closed: “We play.”

The statement came hours after a video emerged that was alleged to be a sex tape involving the two Chicago stars. The video was passed anonymously to the gossip blog Deadspin. One source close to the blog claimed that the video was acquired directly from Toews’ personal cell phone. Deadspin have issued no comment on the provenance of the video, but Paul Cambria, Kane’s legal counsel, is already believed to be exploring a civil case against both the blog and the anonymous source for invasion of privacy.

The Blackhawks organisation was quick to support Kane and Toews’ statement. “We were aware of Patrick and Jonny’s situation,” President and CEO John McDonough told reporters at the United Center. “We knew that it was not an issue, whether they wanted to come out publically or not. We were happy either way, and we are now glad to say that we absolutely support them.”

They become the first NHL players to come out during their active playing career.





30 May 2016


Happy Monday! #Blackhawks playoffs end in series loss to Vancouver, but #Kazer is the real news.


#Kazer press conference and #Blackhawks exit interviews at the UC today. Hold onto your hats, folks.


Not the #Blackhawks press conference I was expecting to attend today.

[Image: Quenneville, McDonough, Bowman and Wirtz flank Toews and Kane at a press conference. All very smartly dressed, sitting in front of black Blackhawks backdrop. Kane and Toews look slightly flustered, but happy, in matching black suits with red Hawks ties.]


Opening remarks from McDonough and Wirtz very supportive. “Proud” to have first bisexual hockey players in the league.


Entire #Blackhawks organisation quick to be supportive of Kane and Toews’ relationship bombshell. #Kazer


Both Kane and Toews quick to clarify that they identify as bisexual. #Kazer


Toews’ succinct answer to a rather pointed question: “We’re both bisexual.”

@MarkLazerus Fucking fags. Can’t believe I cheered for this team. Gonna burn my jersey this afternoon.

@UnitedCenterWeStand That is entirely your prerogative. No one is forcing you to support them, or to be a decent human being either, sadly.

@MarkLazerus I don’t get why you don’t block these assholes.

@kanelvr345 Some of the time they’re funny. Not today though.


Sheepish Toews confirms video came from his cell phone, presumed stolen in a Vancouver bar after Game 6 defeat.


No comment on the exact contents of the video, but confirmation that it is legitimate.


Question of legal action against Deadspin. Kane has “been in contact” with his attorney Paul Cambria.


Amusingly, Cambria has been involved in other high profile sex tape/porn cases. Probably wasn’t expecting this from Kane.


Toews: “Unfortunate circumstances, but [we] could not be happier. It’s something we always planned, but not like this.”


Bowman and Q insist #Kazer relationship “will not be a problem” for either hockey or business aspect of the franchise.


Teasing from Bowman: “[Kane] lived with me as a rookie. I’ve had a long time to get used to this.” Kane goes bright red.


That would seem to confirm rumors that #Kazer have been an item since their early days in the NHL.


Asked about length of relationship, Toews confirms 2007 World Juniors as start of “something,” Kane: “that shootout, man.”


Kane (1/2): “That shootout, man. He’s got some moves.” [elbows Toews] “But for real, we’ve been together for a while now.”


Kane (2/2): “Maybe it’s about time I stopped waiting for him to put a ring on it and took some initiative.”


Kane: “We’ve been together for a while now. Maybe it’s about time I stopped waiting for him to put a ring on it and took some initiative.”


Toews speechless after that bombshell from Kane. #Kazer



image #Kazer

[Vine: Tail end of Kane saying “…some initiative.” Toews fumbles his water bottle in shock, staring at Kane. Kane ducks his head. Sounds of sharp inhales, motion, from the assembled reporters.]


99% sure Kane just proposed to Toews in the middle of this presser. I genuinely didn’t see that coming. #Kazer


I think that was Kane’s roundabout way of proposing. Toews looks shocked. #Kazer


Last questions to McDonough regarding potential legal issues. Non-committal answers all round. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”


No one is really listening though, because everyone is too busy watching Toews and Kane emphatically not make eye contact with each other.


Kane looks horrified at himself. I’m reminded of the sort of people who propose on the Jumbotron and get turned down… #Kazer


And that’s that. Kane hurries off, talking to Wirtz. Toews last to leave the table, still looks stunned from Kane’s last comment.






Jonny catches up to Patrick in the corridor leading to the offices. He’s walking with Rocky, who is making all the right fatherly noises, one hand resting on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Kaner,” Jonny calls.

They both stop, and Patrick pivots awkwardly on one foot, not looking at Jon.

“I’ll let you two sort this out,” Rocky says quietly. “Then we’ll have another talk about those statues okay?” He pats Patrick on the shoulder and – if Jonny isn’t going completely insane, which, admittedly, is a distinct possibility after the last three days they’ve had – winks.

There is a long silence

“Were you serious?” Jonny blurts out.

“I thought you were supposed to be the serious one,” Patrick replies. He still isn’t making eye contact, the playful mood that had awakened briefly in front of the camera long gone. He scuffs his dress shoes on the hideously itchy blue carpet in the corridor.

Jonny has always hated that carpet.

“Peeks, look at me,” Jonny says. There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“I. It was a joke, okay,” Pat replies, eyes still downcast. “It doesn’t matter. Forget about it.”

“It’s gonna be pretty hard to forget about when every news outlet from here to Winnipeg is going to be repeating it for the next week,” Jonny says. It comes out harsher than he meant and Patrick flinches a little.

He puts his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, forcing him to look up. Pat is wearing his black suit; it’s not as nice as his blue one, but the cut is still better than anything he ever used to have. Jonny was extremely relieved, to put it mildly, when he convinced Pat to come to his tailor with him at the start of the season.

“Were you serious?”

Patrick’s eyes are so blue, Jonny thinks hysterically. Blue like the lake on the best days of summer, when it’s warm and humid, mosquitoes in the air and friends all around. Big and blue and endless.

Blue enough to drown in.

The corner of his mouth twitches nervously.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, shakily. He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Of course I was serious.”

“I… What?”

It’s the answer Jonny wanted – of course it is – but that doesn’t mean he knows how to react to it any better. The hesitation must be too long, though, because Pat sweeps Jon’s hands off his shoulders. An unhappy fist clenches closed involuntarily.

“Forget about it,” he says hoarsely. “Pretend it never happened. Along with the rest of this whole shitty week.”

“No, Pat, please,” Jonny says.

Jonny grabs at Patrick’s wrist as he turns away, tugging him back around and pulling him flush against him.

“For fuck’s sake, stay still and listen to me for a minute,” Jonny says into Patrick’s hair. “I… I should have said something before now. I didn’t realise you were waiting.”

Patrick snorts. His nose is pressed into the collar of Jonny’s jacket and there’s a suspicious dampness growing against Jonny’s neck that he’s going to diplomatically ignore for the moment.

“It’s not like,” Patrick starts. He pulls back a bit until his voice is no longer muffled by fabric. “I wasn’t looking for some big gesture. I just…” He shrugs. “Some confirmation might have been nice.”

Shit. Jonny runs a hand up Patrick’s back, just like he did yesterday, curled together on the couch, waiting until the media stormed passed. How did they manage to get caught up in it, after all they did to bunker down?

“I didn’t know,” Jonny says. “I’m sorry. You know I love you.”

After a minute, Patrick says, “It’s okay. I should be used to you being as dumb as a brick by now.”

“Hey,” Jonny says reproachfully. He pokes Patrick in the dimple in the curve of his back until a watery giggle emerges from the vicinity of Jonny’s collarbone. “So,” he says, “You wanna do it?”


“Get married, dumbass.”

Patrick steps back half a foot and regards Jonny with wide eyes. “I can’t believe you,” he says. “Put me through that and then steal my thunder! Take that back, I’m gonna propose to you later, and it’ll be the most baller proposal you could dream of.” He shoves Jonny in the ribs and mutters, “Asshole.”

Jonny’s heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest. “Okay,” he says.

“’Okay’,” Patrick grumbles, burying his face back in the curve of Jonny’s neck. “I can’t believe I even like you, you dick.”

“Shut up, you love me,” Jonny says.

Patrick sighs. Quietly, insistently, he says, “Yeah. I really do.”




Thank you for all your supportive messages. Jonny and I really appreciate it. #Kazer <3 <3

[Image: Patrick, grinning at the camera, while Jonny kisses his cheek, in the locker room at the UC. Pat’s arm is around Jonny’s shoulder; Jonny’s arm is around Pat’s waist.]