Jonathan Toews is kind of a big deal at UND. Sure, UND get a lot of guys who make it into the NHL, but Jonny’s always been special. He hears amazing leader, good guy, great at hockey, and Nick would never think any of those things aren’t true. But there are other stories, ones that Nick has a much harder time believing. And he’s not homophobic, but if Nick had a hundred bucks, he’d have bet that Jonathan Toews had never sucked a dick in his life.
Right now, Nick would be a hundred bucks worse off.
Jonny’s a cool guy; he takes Nick under his wing a little bit, welcomes him to the team. Nick doesn’t feel special. He sees Jonny do it with all of the rookies, watches their eyes fill with admiration as he spends time with each and every one of them. It doesn’t matter if he thinks they’re going to make the team or not.
“It’s what makes him a great captain,” Kaner says, a dumb looking smile on his face, and if he knew Patrick Kane a little better Nick would joke about his extremely obvious man crush on Jonny.
Instead he says, “Hopefully I’ll get to see that in action this year,” and then cringes and waits for the inevitable chirp, because he cannot believe he walked into that one.
“Me too, man,” is what Kaner actually says, and before Nick can say anything Kaner’s strolling across the lawn and interrupting Jonny’s conversation. It gets a grin from Jonny, and while Kaner’s explaining something with complicated hand gestures, Jonny throws an arm over his shoulder.
Kaner doesn’t say a word, and Nick turns away and gets himself another burger.
He makes the team, barely, and he soon finds out that Kaner and Jonny are just weird about each other. He asks Seabs, once, who tells him it’s better not to think about it too much. Nick can’t help it though. It’s the first time he’s ever wondered if the rumors were true.
They sit together on the bus, they bicker over everything from the best goal of the Stanley Cup Finals in 1993 (when really, who actually cares?) to the best use of Jonny pod plants, whatever they might be, and they can seemingly read each other’s thoughts. Their silent conversations are both fascinating and terrifying.
Jonny has an open door policy for everyone on the team, and Nick’s not ashamed to say that he uses it pretty frequently. 50% of the time Kaner answers for him, Jonny mid stretch or mid exercise or once, idly channel surfing. But they’re never dishevelled or flushed, and Nick chalks it up to their weird, co-dependent thing that the rest of the team have seemingly figured out already.
It’s weird, but they’re fucking amazing at hockey. Nick thinks he can probably let it slide.
So really, it’s altogether unexpected when he finds Jonathan Toews on his knees.
He expects the locker room to be empty - he’d been five minutes from home when he realised he didn’t have his phone and turned back - and it’s quiet when he pushes the door open.
Or he’d thought it was quiet, because as soon as the door’s swung shut behind him there’s a moan followed by a quiet, “Fuck, Jon.”
“You like that, huh?” Jonny says, and what the fuck, “such a fucking slut for my fingers.”
“Yeah,” is the quiet response, “c’mon, please.”
Nick’s frozen in place; his body can’t work out if he wants to run really fucking far away and pretend this didn’t happen, or if he wants to figure out who the other person is. His brain’s still stuck on the fact that the rumors from UND were right, that Jonathan Toews likes dick, and clearly he doesn’t care who finds out otherwise he wouldn’t be screwing someone in the locker room.
“Yeah,” the other person says again, voice breathy like he’s just come off a hard shift, “yeah, god, Taze, look so good on your knees, so fucking- oh.”
It hits Nick then that the other person is Kaner, his soft lisp on Jonny’s name impossible to miss. Nick’s pretty sure that his cheeks are burning as he turns to leave the room, his sneakers surely squeaking on the tiles but he doesn’t care. He just has to leave before they realise he was there.
As he climbs back into his car, he wonders two things. One, if the rest of the team know, and two, if he’s going to need to get his phone sanitized.
“Looks like we scared another rookie,” Patrick says, pulling Jonny up to his feet. Jonny kisses him slow and soft and a little sleepy even though his erection is insistently digging into Patrick’s hip. Patrick loves how much Jonny loves sucking Patrick’s dick. It’s hot.
“Mmm,” Jonny says, nibbling at Kaner’s lower lip. “I’m glad they’re not all that dumb.”
“Proof UND will let any old scrub in,” Kaner chirps, and gets the Tazer glare in response. It’s a good thing he’s immune to it now. “Although I should send them a thank you card for perfecting your beej skills. Fucking A, man.”
“UND doesn’t actually teach that,” Jonny says, completely deadpan, “and I’m pretty sure you have something else to do right now.”
He guides Patrick’s hand to his dick, which okay, totally unsubtle, but neither of them are exactly good at that shit. If they were, they’d have been fucking in their rookie year instead of waiting until after the first cup.
“If I have to,” Kaner grumbles, and Jonny bites his jaw as a warning. “But you gotta be able to get it up when we get home. Your dick, my ass.”
“It’s not a fucking hostage negotiation, Kaner,” Jonny says, but he’s kissing Patrick anyway, the dumb smile that Patrick’s so fond of playing over his lips, and once again he thinks that Jonny’s completely right about this.
Because this? This is way more fun than telling them.