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nebulein · 2 years

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1988 breeding kink?

I'm sorry this took me so long but there were literally so many possibilities running through my mind it was kind of hard to decide. 😆😅 Hope you enjoy, nonnie!

Baby, baby, baby (please) - read here on ao3

Jonny breathes. There's noises filtering in from outside, the laughter and slaps and general ruckus of a locker room, but in here it's just them. The leather of the bench is smooth and cool under his cheek, its smell filling Jonny's nostrils, the secure hold of the straps across his wrists and ankles keeping him anchored.

The room is kept cool, which is just as well, the shame of being in here, again, burning through Jonny like a furnace. He shouldn't need it as often as he does, should be a better role model, independent, self-sufficient, shouldn't—

"I betcha if you didn't fight it so hard we wouldn't be in here twice a week," Patrick murmurs, and there's no malice in his voice, a quiet observation, but the words still sting.

Jonny presses his eyes closed, breathes until the threat of tears has sufficiently subsided for him to open them again. "I didn't ask you to be here."

"You never ask," Pat remarks, steady and calm like he isn't casually pointing out another one of Jonny's fatal flaws. Weak enough to need it, pathetic enough not to ask. Jonny wants to throw something, except there's nothing in reach, and anyways—that's why he's strapped in.

Pat just laughs at Jonny jerking in his restraints. "Relax, babe. I know when you need it, yeah? I'll always give it to you."

It's true, Pat does seem to have a sixth sense for it. Jonny's got no clue what it is that tips him off. If he did, maybe he'd be better at hiding it, have a chance of escaping the embarrassment that is Pat's hand between his shoulder blades gently steering Jonny towards the door, the door that everyone knows leads to this room.

At least today they're at home, not on the road. Today, Jonny's shame is only shared with the team, of everyone knowing their captain is on all fours, again. Jonny's never heard Pat talk about it, what they do in here, which only means Pat's smart enough not to brag about it within Jonny's earshot. It's not like the team needs the narration, everyone knows what the room is for, everyone knows that it's Jonny who needs it so fucking bad. But if Pat is true to his word then maybe they don't know that sometimes, on the road, when it's the middle of the night and Jon can't sleep, Pat will crawl into his bed and do what they do here. There's no purpose-built bench in hotel rooms, no restraints, so Pat uses his hands wrapped around Jonny's wrists, uses soft whispered words to keep Jonny still, silent tears leaking into the mattress while Patrick gives him what he needs, so gentle and soft Jonny can barely stand it; craves it maybe worst of all. On those nights, Pat will usually stay curled around Jonny, one hand resting on Jonny's abdomen right above his spent cock, the heavy, warm weight of it like a promise lulling Jonny to sleep.

Today, on the bench, in broad daylight right after their game, all Jonny gets is Patrick's cock, sliding into him smooth as you please. Pat likes to start with languid thrusts, making sure Jonny can feel the full length of him, drawing out and teasing Jonny's entrance, riding the ridge of his crack.

Jonny hates it, hates it so much, teeth gritted to keep those words inside, the need inside him almost like an ache Pat can't help stoking. He likes it when Jonny cracks, when he breaks down and begs Patrick to fuck him, stick it in him, fucking use him already, do what they're here for, fill Jonny up.

"I will always give it to you, baby," Patrick promises, pressing a wet hot kiss to the cap of Jonny's shoulder, pressing his dick back inside, a wordless cry falling from Jonny's lips at the breach of his body.

"Patrick."

"Yeah," Pat grunts, moving faster, with more purpose. Jonny wants to sob at the relief, Pat's cock lighting him up inside, so good but not enough, not yet. Sometimes in those moments he wishes the whole team could be here, taking turns, filling Jonny up one by one until he's as full as could possibly be, safe in their arms, a real team effort. He couldn't, though. Could never lose his face like that, couldn't stand not knowing whose it was.

Everyone knows, but at least this way Jonny gets the dignity of pretending it isn't him strapped to the bench, that he maybe needs the flogger instead on this, even though he never leaves with marks other than the red bands around his wrists and ankles where the manacles dug in. If they'd ever get a good look at his hole, they'd know, how greedy it is for Patrick's cock, his seed. They don't know that sometimes he gets so desperate, he'd let anybody bend him over. Maybe that's why Pat keeps such a close eye on him, stepping in before Jonny can stray.

"Fuck, Jonny," Patrick grunts, his thrusts growing more erratic, "so good for me, taking it like a champ. Gonna fill you up so good, make you nice and round, yeah."

Jonny has to close his eyes then, lock his jaw, because it's always too much when Pat starts talking like this; everything Jonny wants but can never have. It means Pat is close, that it's almost over, and Jonny's caught between craving Pat's release and dreading the end, wishes this could last forever, this moment where everything he wants is in his grasp.

"God," Patrick groans, going still, and then Jonny can feel it, can feel Patrick's cock swelling with it, the first pump of it dragging another mewling sound out of him because this is it, everything he ever wants and can never keep, Pat emptying his seed into Jonny with sharp, tiny thrusts, grinding in as close as he can. "Fuck, babe," Pat wheezes, sounding way too wrung out and fond, his chest too warm and sticky against Jonny's back, but Jonny's still strapped in, has to lie there and take it, listening to him babble while Patrick slowly comes down.

There's the snap of a buckle being undone, first one arm and then the other, and Jonny grits his teeth, knowing Pat's gonna have to draw out in order to get to his ankles. He hates this part most of all.

Patrick at least makes it quick, releasing Jonny with practiced movements, and then he's being nudged, "c'mon Jonny, roll over," Pat beckoning him onto his back, drawing Jonny's legs up so they're pressed together, ankles resting on Pat's shoulder.

Jonny takes the coward's way out, hiding behind his arm thrown across his face, unable to look Patrick in the eyes just yet.

"You were incredible," Pat murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jonny's ankle. It's false praise when all Jonny did was lie there and take it, and he shakes his head to say as much but Pat shushes him.

Jonny's full but empty, too aware, everything clenched to keep as much of it inside as possible, his hole keenly missing Pat's dick. The position helps, at least a little, but he still thinks there's a trickle running down his cheeks, traitorous waste.

Pat keeps murmuring, hands running over Jonny's legs, hitching him higher so it's Jonny's knees hooked over his shoulder, his ass in the air.

"C'mon, let's make sure it takes, you know the contractions help," Pat coaxes, too gentle now that his own part is over.

This show is purely for Jonny's benefit, and Jonny had asked him, once, drunk and too unguarded, 'why do you do it?' Meaning everything but specifically this, afterwards. Pat had stared back at Jonny with wide eyes, uncomprehending, a slight frown knitting his brows together. 'Because you like it, Jonny.' Like that was answer enough, like it's so easy. 'You do, don't you?' Jonny's pretty sure he had flushed, face red hot, too caught out to come up with a plausible denial on the spot. Pat had laughed, leaning in like he was about to tell a secret, cutting off Jonny's stuttering with a wink and a clap on his back. 'I like it, too, buddy.' And Jonny had gone to find Shawzy and drown himself in Tequila. Everything else from this night is fuzzy, lost down the drain just like Jonny's breakfast the next morning, everything except this moment his mind had snatched onto, etched crystal clear into Jonny's memory, a beacon in a sea of fog to haunt him.

"Pat, please —" It's weak, barely a whimper, but Pat ignores him anyways, because no matter how much Jonny likes to pretend, Patrick always could see right through him, read Jonny like an open book.

"Hush, babe, you have a job to do. I did mine, now it's time for you to do your part." Pat's fingers are as relentless as his voice, closing around Jonny's shaft, squeezing in a rhythm that's designed to drive Jonny crazy, his thumb tapping against the fat ridge of the head. Jonny knew letting Pat watch him jerk off had been a mistake. He hadn't counted on Pat watching this closely, using that knowledge like a weapon against Jonny in his weakest moments, when he's been hard and desperate for so long. It's maddening, the way Pat will do almost the perfect things but not quite, choosing a path just ever so slightly different from the one Jonny would take, making it impossible to predict. Pat's hand on Jonny's dick his torture and absolution, Jonny's hand scrabbling at the bench, at Pat, desperate for something to hold on to.

"Pat, Pat, Pat."

"Come on, you're already leaking, I can see my come dripping down your crack, you better come, suck it back inside. Make it take, Jonny."

Jonny comes with a shout, folded nearly in half, fingers dug into Pat's neck, clinging like a lifeline, everything going static for a moment as he comes, and comes, and comes, dick spurting, ass clenching in a desperate bid to keep as much of Pat inside as he can.

It wrecks Jonny every time, the idea of it more than the real possibility, that maybe Pat wants this as much as Jonny.

"Yeah, babe," Pat breathes, and then he abandons Jonny's cock to give Jonny what he craves beyond all words: a hand, heavy and warm, splayed across his belly, the vulnerable underside of it, as if to guard what Jonny's harboring inside.

#i need you to know that i screamed when i first got this prompt #and then i immediately went and cried to jess bc i was paralyzed with too many choices #i finally cranked this out 6am this morning when i couldn't sleep #i promise the ending is softer than the beginning makes it sound #we all know i'm a softie at heart i just barely refrained from turning this into a total schmoop fest #anyway hope you enjoy!#nonnie asks #neb writes #1988 #hockey husbands #jonathan toews #patrick kane #reblogs welcome #hockey baby

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