Archive of Our Own

"You're fucking ridiculous if you still can't admit that we never had a normal friendship!" Patrick is yelling at him.

Tashi had told them to spend some time alone while she was out of town for the night. Ever since New Rochelle they'd been... well it couldn't really be labelled.

They'd been fucking, was probably the best way to describe it. Although, the fucking was only really Art and Tashi or Patrick and Tashi. He and Patrick kissed for her, their tongues touched when they ate her out, their hands touched when trying to grab as much of her as they could.

Art liked all this. He liked it because Tashi did, and because there was a thrilling edge to it. He hated Patrick, and he really didn't hate him at all. It was wrong but that's what made it hot, letting another man into your bed.

That's why he liked it. Typical kinky stuff which he was a little ashamed about but knew that most adults had something like this going on behind closed doors. Maybe not quite exactly like this, but everybody had something they were into, even though they shouldn't be.

So when Tashi had told them to spend time alone he knew what she meant. She thought they were holding back for her sake. Art wasn't holding back, he was doing all of this for her.

Patrick had been joking around, bringing up their time at the academy. Saying how it was obvious they'd end up like this. What, fucking the same girl? Art had said, which Patrick had laughed at.

But that's not what Patrick meant, he made that clear when he started talking about teaching Art to jerk off. Art expressed that he thought that was pretty standard for young boys, and for some reason that pissed Patrick off.

"I guess so but it wasn't my fault, I didn't know any better" Art retaliates, feeling a sense of injustice. He can't think about the academy much these days, but he knows he wouldn't have done those things if Patrick hadn't made them seem ok.

"I was young and didn't know those things were weird" Art feels the need to add; clearly it's a mistake because Patrick is squinting at him as if trying to decide if he's serious or not.

"We were the same age, Art. I was a fucking kid too," Patrick jabs his finger at Art, "just because I, what? Went through puberty a bit before you? Started jerking off before you?"

"You were always ahead of me so I just trusted you" he really had looked up to Patrick, felt as though he was infinintely cooler than him, "I didn't want to disappoint you."

"You were the one that asked me what I was doing," this story is something that Art will never escape, "you were the one that asked me to show you. Don't act like... like you're so innocent."

Patrick's face hovers between a smirk, a snarl and something Art can't identify.

"I barely knew what I was asking for, Patrick. You moved and I followed."

"You don't become as close as we were just by following. Relationships like that are not one sided" Patrick's face shifts further into the unidentifiable emotion.

"I'm not saying completely one sided I'm just saying I wasn't..." he doesn't know how to finish that thought, knows he probably shouldn't, but does it anyway, "like you."

Patrick is searching his eyes, seeming to find what he was looking for.

"You really believe that don't you?" He laughs, just on the edge of bitter. "Even Tashi could see it that first time she met us. That's how fucking obvious it is to everyone but you."

Patrick is jabbing his finger into Art's chest, a smirk creeping back in his face. Art wants to keep him like that, away from that unidentified expression, but he also can't bear to let go, to give in.

"It's not my fault that you were constantly touching me, grabbing me, getting close, and making weird jokes. And that's fine or whatever but-"

It's a mistake, it's a big mistake.

Patrick's face is taken over by that horrible expression. One that Art would call sad if he didn't know better. Patrick doesn't get hurt, not by Art. It's the other way around.

"Fuck you" he scoffs at Art.

"What?"

"Sorry that I was just some fucking gay pervert preying on poor vulnerable little Art" he's angry but his voice comes out shaky.

"That's not what I said" Art protests, because that's not what he said. He wouldn't say that.

"It's what you meant," Patrick takes a breath, "that I just can't help myself, that I'm greedy for everything and everyone. That I just take and take and take. And all you do is roll over and let it happen, out of politeness."

Art doesn't know what to say, just lets Patrick speak.

"You're not superior because you don't know how to want things" Patrick finishes.

"I do want things" he does, he knows that he does.

Patrick shrugs, "not enough to take them."

"I took Tashi from you" Art is sure this is a winning point, one that will make Patrick go from serious angry to fun angry.

He just laughs, mocking.

"No. No, you didn't take. You waited for me to fuck up. That's what you do, Art. You manipulate situations so that people end up giving you what you want. You don't take, you receive."

"What's wrong with that?" Now Art is getting pissed off. "That I'm not so selfish I think my wants are the most important thing in the world."

"Nothing wrong with not being selfish," Patrick smiles, "apart from the fact it's made you completely pathetic. Now, you couldn't take something no matter how much you wanted it."

Art finds this ridiculous, and how would Patrick know anyway. He hasn't been here.

"Just because I don't, doesn't mean I can't."

A glint of mischief flashes in Patrick's eyes. Art secretly feels relieved.

"Prove it."

"What?" He doesn't know what Patrick is asking for.

"Prove to me that you can take what you want," he steps back, "take me."

Oh.

Art can't think what to do. Tell him to fuck off. His mind supplies. Do what he says. Another part tells him.

Instead what comes out is, "Who said I wanted you?"

Patrick suddenly closes the gap between them, grabbing Art's face and connecting their lips.

Art responds almost immediately, opening his mouth when Patrick sticks his tongue in. He lets Patrick's hand grip his waist, the other in his hair. Patrick so forceful he almost bends Art over backwards. Their noses bump as they kiss, and it feels so very Patrick. Frantic, aggressive, all consuming.

And then - he stops.

Abruptly as it had started, it ends. The gap between them growing, the only noise being Art's heavy breathing.

Patrick pauses for a moment, still and expressionless. His eyes glassy and lips pink. Just waiting for Art to move.

Ball's in your court, Art.

Art's hand twitches, he sucks in a small breath as if readying himself to speak. He doesn't move, he doesn't talk.

Miss.

Patrick looks him over, gaze lingering over his lower body.

"Yeah, you don't want me." He's so smug, and it's killing Art that he won't move. That he just stands there.

"Guess not," Art shrugs, desperate for Patrick to do something. Say something.

Call my bluff. Show me I'm a liar. Catch me red-handed.

He gestures to Art's crotch, "yeah, I can see how much you don't want me."

Art's ready to smile, ready for Patrick to call him insufferable, ready for Patrick to laugh as he kisses him again anyway.

"I'm not giving you what you want, Art," Patrick says, as if reading his mind, "not unless you fucking take it"

Tashi's voice creeps into his head, coaching him.

Now, Art. Ball's in your court. Again. It's not going to hit itself, Art. Now. NOW.

Instead he finds himself saying, "Jesus, you have a high opinion of yourself"

Out.

"Just because Tashi wanted a trip down memory lane doesn't mean you're a fucking sex prize or whatever," he continues for no good reason, "sometimes a boner is just a boner, man."

Patrick laughs incredulously at that. Art can't stop himself from talking now, hates that mocking tone from Patrick.

"I know you always thought you were better than me but I've got a wife, a family, a great tennis career, a nice fucking house," now Art is pointing a finger at Patrick, "I'm happy. I've got everything I want in life. I'm satisfied. I'm not always begging for more."

Patrick barely reacts, infuriating Art.

"You may have all that shit, Art, but you're still more pathetic than me," Patrick speaks calmly, that aggravating smirk in his face, "look at yourself. You've been walking around like a corpse, like a puppet waiting for its master."

"If I'm so pathetic, why would Tashi choose me?" Art pulls out what he thinks is a trump card, surely an indisputable argument.

Patrick still doesn't receed.

"You're giving me this 'I'm a real boy' act but you're not, man. And I miss you," his smirk softens, "you used to be able to want something without ten layers of overthinking. Even if you didn't take, you used to at least ask, you know."

He puts on a high-pitched voice, "oh Patrick, please let me win the match. Oh Patrick, please teach me to touch myself. Oh Patrick, please talk me through it. Oh Patrick-"

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

"Ok, I get it" Art cuts him off.

He feels a breaking point.

"It's not so simple. I can't get away with doing and saying whatever the hell I want. You and Tashi can just be honest and mean and push people's buttons and I still- I'll always need her," he really will, sometimes gets scared thinking about what could be too far for him, what buttons she could push that he wouldn't come back.

Or Patrick for that matter.

"It comes naturally to you, to just take things without shame and I can't. It's not easy like it is for you, Patrick. To not care what people think," he can't imagine it, to just do.

Patrick softens, very slightly, "well, it's just me here now. And I'm not people."

"You're not people." Art repeats

"Nope, just Patrick. You don't have to scheme, you can just be" he says it like it's obvious, like Art should know.

"And you want me to ask you...?" he can't even finish it.

"Ask me what?" Patrick encourages, like talking to a frightened animal.

He wants to get it right.

"You tell me," is all he can offer.

Patrick groans.

"You're unbelievable. It's like endless circles with you," he sighs, "I should leave"

"I can't do it," he hopes Patrick will just accept that.

"I know" he smiles weakly, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

He assumed that this meant Patrick wouldn't be coming over to Art and Tashi's anymore. At least not for a bit.

"Yeah, you know me, I am that greedy, I can't fucking help myself," he shrugs, "guess we'll make do with only touching for Tashi. Fucking by proxy."

Patrick pauses, seeing if Art will say something, before finally going for the door, "see you later, man."

"Patrick I-" Art begins, not knowing what way his words will go, Patrick pauses at the door, facing away and hand still on the knob. "You can kiss me, if you want."

Kiss me. The two words echoing in his head.

Art can see the sigh Patrick lets out more than he hears it. He doesn't turn around, his head hangs lower and his shoulders have dropped. Finally giving in. Or-

"No."

Patrick opens the door without even looking back, and before Art can process it, he's left alone in the room.

He just stands there, anger and shame burning inside him.

How dare he wear Art down until he is forced to ask Patrick to kiss him and then, after all that, reject him. This is classic Patrick, purposefully humiliating him.

It makes him want to teach him a lesson, to knock him down a peg, to push him down and just let it all out.

His stomach swirls with the feeling. Patrick always brings this out of him, this, not quite anger, but definitely something like fire.

Art should've known Patrick would never grow out of annoying him. He's probably trying to get into Art's head, to make him seem stupid in front of Tashi.

Which doesn't make much sense considering she's not here right now but still, Art knows Patrick is trying to get between them. Somehow.

Art should tell him not to bother coming tomorrow.

He won't.

---

Tashi's hand is on the back of their heads again, slowly urging them towards eachother. Instead of letting themselves be led, both boys avoid eachother, bringing themselves back to her neck.

Art can sense that she notices this and he gets the urge to please her, but his stubborness prevails.

Tashi leans back a little, again urging their faces together but Art just pulls her closer, licking up her chest.

"You're seriously not going to kiss me?" Patrick finally breaks to ask.

"You're not kissing me, either," Art points out.

"Yeah, but you usually do whatever Tashi wants, no matter what," Patrick smirks.

Tashi would normally interject at that but perhaps senses that the conversation happening in front of her is going to be interesting.

Patrick continues, shrugging, "guess I'm just surprised you're not folding to your pathetic need to please."

Art feels the rage from yesterday returning, as Patrick tries to humiliate him in front of Tashi.

"Surprised you even have the willpower to stop yourself kissing someone," Art moves his face closer to Patrick's, "you're normally such a slut."

Patrick takes a breath in at this point, almost a gasp. Art must've hit a nerve.

Patrick doesn't falter for long, begining to smile, "when you have a big dick it's only right to share it with as many people as you can. I guess you wouldn't understand."

Art snaps, shoving at his chest so Patrick is on his back on the bed. Art climbs on top, grabbing at the front of his shirt, bringing him close so their noses touch.

"Shut the fuck up for once, Patrick."

He just lays there in shock looking up at Art. Art revels in briefly leaving Patrick speechless.

"I'm not falling for this again." Art continues.

"Hmm?" Patrick questions, not really paying attention. He's breathing heavier, Art must've shoved him down pretty hard.

"I'm not going to get in another argument with you, you hear me?" Art lets go of his shirt, dropping him back down.

"Yeah, I hear you," Patrick's eyes are only half open.

Art slams his hand down next to Patrick's head, propping himself up above him, "I'm not stupid."

"No definitely not" Patrick squirms underneath him, probably trying to escape.

"I'm not going to let you trick me into asking you to kiss me, to humiliate me for your own pleasure" Art snarls.

"Mmhm," Patrick just nods before he seems to process the words.

"Wait, that's what you think happe-" Patrick is cut off as Art notices something, looking down between them.

"Patrick are you getting hard whilst I'm yelling at you?" Art continues to stare at the bulge between them.

"Well, yeah" Patrick smiles.

"Jesus, you will stop at nothing to try and undermine me. To try and embarrass me" he fully sits up now.

Patrick turns to Tashi, "am I going crazy? Seriously, am I hallucinating? Please tell me you see this?"

"Oh, I see it. If you're hallucinating, then so am I" she smirks.

They both laugh at this, which infuriates Art even more because he doesn't know what they're laughing at.

He stands up and they exchange another look.

"What the fuck is that?" He points between them, "what don't I know?"

"What do you mean?" Patrick asks, smiling with faux innocence.

"Patrick, get the fuck out." Art gestures to the door.

He's not smiling anymore.

"Really? You're kicking me out" he sits up, but doesn't leave the bed.

"Yeah. This is my bed with my wife. So..." Art puts his hands on his hips

Patrick turns to Tashi, "you going to let him speak for you?"

"You think that's what I'm doing?" She raises an eyebrow at him, "don't push it Patrick."

"Right, so I'm getting punished because he's repressed to the point of insanity" he looks between them both, waiting for a response that doesn't come.

"Cool," Patrick finally gets off the bed, grabbing his clothes off the floor and slamming the door on the way out.

Tashi turns to him as soon as Patrick's footsteps disappear, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't think it's that crazy to be a little jealous" he says while getting back into bed, not looking at her.

"I'm not talking about that."

"So you want me to just be normal that Patrick is getting hard while I'm trying to yell at him," he carries on, seeing that she's not getting it, "so that neither of you take me serious.

"You think he made himself hard as a way to make you look stupid" her eyebrow raises.

"Yeah."

"He's right," she pinches the bridge of her nose, "you've driven yourself to insanity."

She's sat with the duvet tucked up over her.

Art sits next to her, cross-legged and confused,"I don't know what you mean."

She watches him carefully, "in your mind, all you did was yell at him?"

He nods,"yeah? I mean I know I got a bit physical."

There's a flash of sympathy across Tashi's face.

"Art, we were laughing at you because you pushed him to the bed, straddled him, and started grinding on him whilst degrading him," her hand grazes at his knee in comfort, "and then you stop to ask if he's getting hard to piss you off."

The picture is vivid, Art hates it, "I wasn't grinding."

"You were," she gestures to his lap, "why do you think you also got hard?"

He doesn't bother looking down, obviously knowing exactly why he's so hard, "from kissing you."

"Art, seriously. I know you're not stupid. I wouldn't marry stupid," it's sweet, in Tashi's own way.

For some reason it helps. She knows him. She married him.

"I just don't know how," he pauses, turns to look at her, "how to give him what he wants."

She begins to stroke his hair, "what do you think he wants?"

"We had an argument yesterday and he said he wanted me to take instead of just waiting until I get what I want," he moves to lay back, his head in her lap.

"Mhmh," she affirms softly.

"So, after all that I asked him to kiss me and he said no. He just fucking left, after making me say that," Art is bordering on whining.

"You're sure you were clear?" Her thumb grazes his eyebrow.

"Yes. I said, you can kiss me, if you want," Art feels himself blush.

Tashi stops stroking him.

"That's not even a question," she sighs.

"It's close enough"

"Close enough isn't good enough. You've put it all on him. You can kiss me if you want to," Tashi removes his head from her lap, "Art it's fucking exhausting when you do that. Like you don't even want it, you're just going along with it."

Art can't find any words except, "maybe I don't."

Tashi let's out another sigh.

"You do. I knew it since I first met you both," a vaguely distant look flits across her face.

"He said the same thing."

"Well, it's obvious to everyone except you," she doesn't know that he'd also said that, and Art's not going to tell her.

He feels both fond and frustrated at how alike they are. He supposes he has a type.

Tashi takes in his silence, "look, I'm not going to coddle you and guide you into this, you're a grown man. I shouldn't have to and I hope you don't expect me to."

There's a familiar look on her face, that she gets whenever she's telling him to be less clingy. It's a surface anger where she holds her face still, but Art knows she's more scared than anything.

"I don't expect that," he assures, although wishes she would, "It's just so hard"

Once reassured, Tashi shows a little sympathy. Giving him a small, soft smile that he knows not many people get to see.

"Your desire has probably been there for so long that you don't know how to approach it, or even fully recognise it," she holds his palm, "I get it Art, and I've been trying to give you some grace. It's new. It's scary."

Tashi is doing the thing where she reads him perfectly, in a way that makes him twitch as if being examined under a bright light. It also makes him feel warm.

She squeezes his hand a last time, "but I can't do this for you. I don't want to."

"I know," he squeezes back.

"I want you to just show some passion, to just-"

"Take?" he finishes her sentence.

"Yeah" she nods slow, before getting up to shower before bed.

"I'll go see him tomorrow."

"Good," she shuts the door to their en-suite.

----
[Text Conversation]

Art: can we talk?

Patrick: I don't know

Art: where are you?

Patrick: booked a motel on fifth

Art: I'm coming over

Patrick: not even going to ask if that's ok?

Art: no

Patrick: alright. cya soon

---

Patrick had let him in with surprisingly little comment, so Art was trying to return the favour.

He couldn't, "this place is awful."

Patrick laughs.

"I'm used to it."

That makes me sad. Is what Art wants to say.

"So you've been staying in places like this all these years?"

"Yeah, my car too," he pauses as though considering if he should continue, "and other places..."

Patrick trails off, a smirk filling his face that Art returns on autopilot.

"Like where?"

"Well sometimes I couldn't afford the motels, and couldn't stand another stiff neck from my car," he rubs his neck in memory, "so you know, I'd get on the dating apps and just swipe until someone would be down to meet that night."

Art's stomach drops.

"And what? Hope they'd sleep with you?"

"Yeah. And they usually did," he's smirking again, it pisses Art off.

"Jesus, Patrick. You were just out there prostituting yourself for a place to stay? Flirting and smirking your way into girls' beds for a good night's sleep."

It's infuriating, it's disgusting, and it's just really fucking sad. Art can't say it, but it shows on his face.

"Men too," Patrick adds, stirring the pot like he always does when things get a little too much, "I'm an equal opportunity offender, remember."

"You're so- God," he pauses, "how have you always been this brazen?"

"Well, when you look this good it comes with the territory," Patrick continues trying to push Art's buttons.

"No, seriously, it's always seemed so easy for you. You just exist and-" Art pushes himself through the next part, "I'm not like that, I'm sorry that's why it's been so hard, it's not easy like it was for you."

"It wasn't," Patrick's smirk falls, and Art senses he's messed up again, "not always."

"Well, it seemed like it. You've always been shamless," he can't help it, saying the wrong things again and again.

Art has always been consumed, overwhelmed, with this deep-seated jealousy when it comes to Patrick. Or, insecurity. Inferiority.

"You think I was just totally fine with everything right away?" his voice raises, "that I realised I wanted to suck dick and just went about my day? In a fucking tennis academy in Florida, in the early 2000s? With the parents I have? No twelve-year-old is completely immune to that shit. Even me."

It strikes Art hard, hadn't even occurred to him that Patrick's parents were part of it. He'd just assumed Patrick didn't give a fuck, and probably mostly he doesn't. But he feels stupid for thinking that a kid saying he doesn't care if his parents hate him is probably not being entirely truthful.

Art suddenly remembers one summer when Patrick had impulsively got a single ear piercing. His dad had been pissed apparently, started completely ignoring him. Patrick had said fuck 'em, but a week later the stud was gone.

He'd told Art it wasn't because he cared what his parents thought, it was because he needed their money and it probably wasn't a good idea to play tennis with a piercing anyway.

Art had believed him, wholeheartedly. Always believed when Patrick said he didn't care. Or at least believed that Patrick always cared less than Art did about things.

What Patrick says next strikes harder, "With you as a friend, Art?"

"What do you mean?" He's never stopped Patrick doing anything, couldn't if he tried.

"You probably don't remember, but there was this time at the academy when we were five stolen beers deep and," Patrick breaks eye contact briefly, "you told me that if I was a girl, you'd fuck me."

Art winces in embarrassment at his past self but truly has no memory of it, "I don't, remember, and I was probably-"

"Drunk. I know. I was too, and you passed out almost immediately after. It was a one-off comment, a stupid joke, and I laughed," Patrick's smile strains, "and then I thought about it constantly for years."

Art feels itchy all over, wishing he could go back and stop himself. Or tell himself to get a fucking grip. He didn't know.

Even blackout drunk, Art couldn't think about it fully. He must've been hard to be around. Probably still is.

"Did you know that I felt that way, about guys, about you?" Patrick takes Art's silence as a no, "don't you think that tells you something, the fact that you didn't know about it."

It really does. He knew Patrick, could read him well and didn't even need to most of the time because Patrick had no filter, just saying whatever popped into his head. Apart from this he guesses. That does seem significant.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, I didn't think-"

"And now you do," his voice settles, "it's not like you're just born with a particularly repressed personality type, and I got lucky. Maybe I am shameless, but it wasn't always easy."

Art doesn't know what to say, so he lets Patrick keep going.

"And I want to make it easy for you, just not," Patrick stops to find his words, "not to the point where I don't know if it's what you want."

Now it's stuck in his head. If you were a girl I'd fuck you. God, it's exactly the type of stupid fucking thing he would say. Art probably believed it at the time too. But he doesn't want Patrick to be a girl or anything apart from what he is.

"I do want you," he manages, staring intently at a stain on the wallpaper, "I really do."

"That's not enough."

There's another silence while Art pauses, feeling every conflicting emotion swirling inside. He wants. Badly wants. He also feels stubborn, not quite ready to give in.

So Patrick does what he knows best. He pushes.

"If you're just going to stand there I can invite someone else over. I'm still on the apps and there are plenty of people who'd be happy to be here," he smirks, "people who aren't too pussy to-"

He doesn't even finish because Art is rushing forwards, fuck feeling stubborn, he's got something to prove.

He shoves Patrick to the bed, doing it purposefully this time. Crawling on top and holding him down. Their lips and teeth smashing together.

"But you don't want those other people," Art speaks into Patrick's mouth.

"No?" Patrick is infuriatingly calm still, barely shaken by Art's display of strength.

"No. And you know that," he sits up, straddling Patrick "even when I give you nothing you still- fuck- you want me."

"I do?" Patrick questions, still maintaining his smirk.

"Stop with the fucking questions," Art leans back in, attatching himself to Patrick's neck, finally earning a small gasp, "you were sat here all day waiting for me."

"And I thought I was the one with the ego," Patrick grabs the back of his neck, feeling at the cropped hair at his nape. He brings him closer, stopping Art from replying.

Art rolls his hips at the feeling of Patrick's hand, his hips meeting the thrusts in return. He briefly forgets what he's doing, just falling into the rhythm of Patrick's tongue and hips.

Patrick breaks the trance, "if you came here just to grind on me, I could get more friction myself."

"You're so impatient," he pulls back, standing up, leaving Patrick on the bed as he stares down at him.

"So is that it?" Patrick's smirk falters a moment, "you got what you wanted?"

Patrick is on his back, taking up most of the length of the bed with his body, propping himself up on his elbows, searching Art's face.

Art stares back, really stares. Finally allows himself to, reveling in the opportunity. He's seen him like this before, seen him naked and hard even. Seen him fucking Tashi. But he's never really allowed himself to look properly.

Patrick's messy curls, his stubble, the barely-there pink of his cheeks. His broad shoulders, biceps twitching, his too-clothed chest rising up and down. Art's eyes trail lower. Patrick's wearing shorts but they are tiny enough that his bulge and thighs are basically on full display, his thighs muscular and perfect for grabbing. Art eyes down the length of his legs, so long, he wants to wrap them around him or have them over his shoulders, his nails digging in to Patrick's hips and just-

Too many thoughts. Too many images.

You got what you wanted?

"Not even close," comes out without even meaning to. It might be one of the most genuine things Art has ever said.

Something shifts, Art thought the air had already been hot but now it's sweltering. The gaze between them feels electric.

"How do you want me?" and there it is, a break in Patrick's unaffectedness, a look in his eyes that shows he's really asking.

"On your knees, middle of the bed," Art finds that the less he thinks, the more right things he says.

Patrick doesn't even argue, doesn't question, doesn't joke, he just does it. A thrill rolls up Art's spine.

Patrick kneels, resting back on his ankles, legs spread slightly. Posing for him.

"Yeah," Art affirms looking him over, "now, clothes off, and do you have any-"

"Top draw," Patrick answers.

Art raises his brow, "presumptuous."

"Prepared," Patrick's correction comes out muffled as he's taking his shirt off.

Sure enough, in the top draw he finds lube and condoms, he takes the lube and places the condom on top of the draw.

When he turns back, Patrick is completely naked, Art only has a side view and Patrick keeps staring ahead, staying in the same position he first knelt in. Art walks around to the front for a better look.

It's even more overwhelming than before, his dick hard and flushed already.

"You going to get undressed now?" Patrick asks.

"Not yet," and Patrick looks disappointed, but lightens up as Art crawls onto the bed too.

"Don't you think it's unfair that I'm naked and you're fully clothed," he questions, head titling up towards him as Art moves in close.

He moves his head forward, their lips about to touch again, "I thought you liked being a spectacle", he whispers into Patrick's mouth, not closing the gap.

He swears he can see Patrick's pupils dilate before he moves away from his face, moving behind him instead. Also on his knees, his chest flush against Patrick's back.

"You're always making such a show of yourself, talking about how hot you are, how big your dick is," he begins moving his hands up and down Patrick's chest, avoiding going too low, "you might as well be naked and on display like this. It's clearly what you want."

Before Patrick can react to that, Art is finally wrapping a hand around him, up and down in slow lazy motions. It's driving him crazy, he tilts his head back onto Art's shoulder.

Art looks down over Patrick's body, feeling the weight of his dick in his hands, it's not so different from touching himself at this this angle. Except that it is extremely different. He can't help himself grinding against Patrick's back, at the sight of it all, the feel of it all.

This gives Patrick confidence to reach his hand up to the back of Art's neck, turn his head sideways, and pull him in for a kiss. Patrick tries to turn around completely, to face him, but Art holds him still, continuing to jerk him off slowly.

Art is determined not to get lost in this, he could very easily just do this until Patrick comes, until he finishes in his pants just from rubbing up against Patrick. But that's not what he wants today.

He clicks open the bottle of lube, making Patrick pause and separate their lips.

"You don't have to, you know," Patrick's voice is breathy, "you probably haven't-"

"I'm not a virgin," Art laughs, kissing at Patrick's neck.

Patrick returns the laugh, looking over shoulder at the lube, then back to Art's face, "you know what I mean."

"I'm not that kind of virgin either," which causes Patrick's eyes to widen, so Art corrects himself slightly, "well, not with men but I've done anal with girls, I'm not a prude... and Tashi has toys"

Patrick takes a moment to breathe, "so I guess you've got some experience on both ends."

"Not as much as you, I'm sure," he starts rubbing his hands down Patrick's back, lower and lower.

"I'm pretty tough competition in that department," he sounds smug, Art feels a burgeoning wave of anger returning. Jealousy.

Who are these people that Patrick has been fucking? All these people that have got to have Patrick like this? People that Art never got to hear stories about? He wants to know every detail and also never wants to know a thing about it. Wants to make Patrick forget.

"So you keep telling me," he grabs at Patrick's ass, making him gasp.

"Just thought you should know, but don't feel intimidated about it," he eyes him over his shoulder, "I'm sure you'll be good too."

"Up," Art instructs, as he puts some lube on his hand, "I know what you're trying to do."

Patrick lifts up more on his knees, allowing Art access, "I don't know what you mean."

Art circles his hole, slipping in one digit, he can see Patrick swallow a moan, "you're trying to rile me up so that I'll give you what you want."

He watches his finger going in and out, almost has to hold in a moan himself imagining it was his dick instead. But he's not impatient like Patrick.

"What do you think I want?" Patrick is subtly moving himself up and down in rhythm with Art's finger.

"You've got such a big mouth and you walk around with all that swagger, pushing people's buttons and hoping that they'll push back," he slips a second finger in.

"You think?" Patrick is aiming for teasing but his voice is strained.

"Yeah. Lucky for you, that's exactly what I want to do," he starts scissoring the two fingers, stretching him, "but be careful what you wish for."

Patrick chuckles mockingly, "I'm pretty sure I can take it, Art."

"Mhmh?" Art goes deeper.

"Yeah, I can take another finger at least, could probably take all of you right now," he starts touching himself where Art has left his dick abandoned, "you're being very slow."

Art takes his fingers out, using both hands to grab Patrick's hands away from what they were doing. In a quick motion he's got both of Patrick's hands behind his back, holding them together at the wrist with one, while the other returns to his hole.

"No touching yourself," and Patrick could probably free his hands if he wanted but Art is adding a third finger and he's feeling weak, "this is about what I want, how I'm making you feel."

Art watches as Patrick can no longer be subtle, actively pushing himself up and down, following Art's pace. Art stops moving and watches how Patrick continues riding his fingers.

"God, you can't help yourself," he remarks as Patrick bounces, "I don't even have to do anything, you're just fucking yourself on my fingers like you can't stop."

Patrick moans, but restrains himself enough to say, "because you're taking too long."

Art lets go of Patrick's hands and pulls his fingers out, enjoying the whine he lets out. Before he can so much as turn to give Art a glare, Art is pushing him forward. Patrick braces with his hands, ending up on all fours.

"Fuck," Patrick's breath is heavy, and Art reaches for the condom, opening it loudly and putting it on slowly. He feels like he can see the hair on the back of Patrick's neck stand on end.

"This what you want?" Is all he says before gripping his hips and pushing his tip against Patrick's opening.

He's meaning to go slow, to tease him a little more, but suddenly he can't help himself either, pushing himself in half way, then out, getting deeper each time.

He moans but Patrick's groan is even louder.

"I can take more," Patrick tries pushing back on him, "want all of you."

Art grips his hips to keep them still, "thought this was about what I want," he says as he pushes himself fully in anyway.

"Fuck," it's his turn to swear, being fully inside Patrick for the first time, "shit."

"Don't come already, you've barely even started," Patrick teases.

"Shut up," Art starts moving, slowly, getting used to how tight and warm he is.

He can't believe it, his grip so tight he knows they'll be marks on his hips tomorrow.

"I'm fucking you," slips out of his mouth, twinged in disbelief.

Patrick laughs, "is that your usual dirty talk?"

Art can't help but laugh a little in return, "I just, shit, I'm fucking you, Patrick."

"You're fucking me," he echoes.

"I'm fucking you."

For some reason it's getting him off, getting Patrick off too, until he can't help but push, "Art, you say you're fucking me but it really doesn't feel like it."

Art leans forward, draping himself more over Patrick and shoving his fingers in his mouth. It works, stops him talking.

"God you're so fucking greedy, needing to be filled at both ends just so you shut up for a minute," that earns a proper full-bodied moan from Patrick, "should do this again with Tashi, you'd like her strap. And I could push myself down your throat, really keep you quiet."

It's an image that Art can't believe is even coming from his own brain, and it has Patrick desperately licking at his fingers, sucking them in deeper.

His hips piston in and out, faster and faster, "you're so tight, fuck, Patrick, so good."

As if good was a trigger word, Patrick is biting his fingers in rebellion. Art winces and pulls them out.

"Fuck you, you're so," he presses himself further over Patrick, his front pressed fully against his back, "it's like you want me to be mean."

As he leans further over his back Patrick's hands give way under him and he's collapsing onto the bed.

Art pushes his face into the mattress, "you try to get at me for not taking what I want but look at you, you've been pushing me until all you can do is take what I give you."

His pace picks up again, harder and faster.

"Don't touch yourself," he instructs again.

"I'm not," Patrick whines, indignantly.

"I know," Art smiles, "I'm just saying I want you to come like this."

"I don't think I can," Patrick says into the mattress.

"I want to try," he really, really does.

"Fuck, okay," the noises Patrick is making are too much, Art worries that he'll finish before him.

He can't stop pumping in and out, with increasing speed.

"I've wanted this for so long," Patrick moans.

Art suddenly pulls out, half because he doesn't want to come but mostly because he's desperate to see Patrick's face now, how he looks moaning that.

Patrick whimpers, actually whimpers. Art can't even tease him because he needs to be back inside as soon as he can. Can't even get the words out so he just flips Patrick himself.

Patrick lands with a gasp, looking up at Art.

"Needed to see your face," he's grabbing at Patrick's thighs desperately lining himself up again. Patrick wraps his legs around him, bringing him in.

Art starts moving again, finally taking in Patrick's face. He's a mess, his hair sticking up, drool at the side of his mouth, lines from where he was pushed into the mattress, and his cheeks are pink.

Art's hands are either side of his head, propping himself up, looking down at him, "you look so good like this."

Patrick turns his head to the side, looking away from Art's stare. Bashful. A word he'd never use for Patrick, who is always so thoroughly unabashed. He feels like a live wire.

Art grabs Patrick's face, turning it back to him, "no, I want you to look at me," and he does. Art can see his eyes fluttering, trying to stay open as he moans around a particularly violent thrust.

Patrick tries to lick at Art's fingers where he's holding his face, and he obliges, slipping two fingers in his mouth.

He laughs, in disbelief, and to be a little mean, it works because Patrick lets out a surprised whine.

"I should've been doing this the whole time," Art laments, "if I'd known it would get you under me like this."

"I always wanted it," Patrick slurs around his fingers.

"When you used to piss me off by teasing me or gloating, I used to think I wanted to shove you up against a wall and hit you or something but," he pulls almost all the way out, then snaps his hips forward, "I think I wanted this."

He pulls his fingers out of Patrick's mouth to let him speak, "I would've let you."

"I know, fuck, wish I knew it then," he fucks into the wet and warm of Patrick to make up for it.

"You know it now," Patrick desperately claws at his back, "you've got me."

It feels overwhelming sweet for some reason, and that combined with the look on Patrick's face and the years missing between them is too much.

"I've missed you" spills out of him.

He can't help leaning down and kissing his forehead in a way that feels silly in combination with his relentless pumping of hips. Patrick gasps and Art connects their lips, swallowing it.

Shoving his tongue into Patrick's mouth until he feels something wet against his cheek. He pulls back to see, not exactly crying, but Patrick definitely has tears in his eyes.

He looks down at where their bodies meet, as though assessing for injury.

"Should I stop?" he slows down for a moment but Patrick is shaking his head strongly.

"Don't stop," he closes his eyes.

"It's that good, huh?" Art leans back in to kiss him.

"It's just been a while," Patrick says into his mouth.

"Thought you were meant to be a whore," Art jokes, "also you fucked Tashi three days ago."

Patrick laughs, "you know that's not what I mean," he keeps kissing back, "I've missed you."

Art bites at his lips to stop himself saying something in reply, moving onto Patrick's neck to keep his mouth occupied further.

Patrick is rolling his hips in time with Art, moaning, then he feels a hand between them.

"I told you not to touch yourself," Art scolds.

"Yeah, well, if you want me to come untouched you're going to have to fuck me, and you seem more interested in making love so..." Patrick teases, continuing to jerk himself off.

Art grabs at his hands shoving them above his head and holding him down, "you are such a brat, you can't let it up for one moment."

"I'm just helping you get what you want," he says, faux sweetly.

Art returns to his fast pace, holding Patrick's hands tight, as his moans pick up. It's not enough, Patrick is fucking insatiable.

He lets go of his hands, "don't fucking touch yourself."

Patrick doesn't, can't because Art is grabbing his legs putting one over each shoulder, essentially folding Patrick in half. He starts thrusting, hitting that spot inside that makes Patrick almost yelp.

"Jesus Christ," Patrick groans as Art grips his thighs tightly, his knees almost touching his ears in this position.

It thrills Art to his core to see Patrick like this, unable to move, just taking Art's dick. Thrills him even more that Patrick is letting him, whimpering about it.

"How's this for fucking?" he asks knowing Patrick can barely answer.

He doesn't reply, just moans, hands grasping at the sheets.

"I need an answer Patrick. Or should I just stop?"

"Fuck. No. I'm close, I'm getting close," he finally manages.

"This is what it takes, huh? This is what you've been wanting? Me to just take you. To hold you down and force you to take my dick," he's rambling but it's working because Patrick is getting louder, as he drills into his prostate, "Say it."

"Fuck, yes, this is what I want. Always what I wanted, to get you to stop being so fucking polite," Art bites at his leg for that, "to just snap and do whatever you wanted to me."

"Patrick I want you to come for me," his forehead is dripping sweat onto his abs, "want you to come just from my dick inside you."

"I can't, I'm so close, Art-"

"You can. And I'm going to keep fucking you until I finish too, because this is what you said you wanted," Patrick's moans are getting higher, "because it's what I want. I'm taking what I want."

"Art," is all Patrick can say, so on the brink.

"Come on, Pat," he's putting all his strength into it, "look at you, all fucked out on my cock, so pathetic, so desperate, wish you could see yourself baby."

That is what topples him over, Patrick lets out a high-pitched moan, white ropes spurting out as he convulses under Art, speaking nonsense.

"Fuck."

Art almost comes from seeing it but manages to hold on, fucking Patrick through it.

He lets Patrick's legs off his shoulder and they wrap back around his waist. Art is beyond desperate, leaning to connect their lips.

"Knew I could make you come like that," he says proud into Patrick's mouth as he keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm.

Patrick is still recovering but Art keeps going, "you're so tight, fuck, how are you so tight?"

"For you, it's for you" Patrick mumbles, which doesn't make much sense but it works for Art, getting him closer and closer.

Patrick is whimpering now, getting close to overstimulation.

"Is it too much?" Art watches him shake his head but Patrick's eyes are screwed shut, and he's biting his lip hard enough to almost draw blood, "thought you could take anything? This is what you wanted, remember?"

He fucks into him harder still, "bet none of those stupid dates had you like this."

"Nobody. Just you. Can't even remember any of the other guys," he opens his eyes to look up at Art, "best I've had."

It's shameless ego stroking and it's working, "I'm close, fuck, so close."

"Wish you weren't wearing a condom so you could come in me properly," Patrick smiles up at him evilly, "want you to fill me up."

It works, the image of his come dripping out of Patrick. Then the feeling of him clenching around Art's dick and the sounds as Patrick shifts into overstimulation push him over the edge.

Art's hips stutter, Patrick's legs that are wrapped around him pull him in deeper and he's coming, shaking violently as he does.

Art gasps collapsing on top of him into Patrick's own come that had splattered on his stomach, out of breath.

"That was..." he can't even finish.

"Yeah" Patrick agrees.

They just lay, breathing together until Art pulls out and rolls to the side, both of them wincing.

"I don't hate you," Art finds himself saying.

Patrick turns to him, confused, "if that's what hate gets me then I wouldn't mind."

"I just mean, not anymore, or I never did," he attempts to explain, "or at least it's hard to feel inferior to a guy who I fucked so good he cried."

"Is that what happened?" Patrick raises an eyebrow.

"Alright, you should be fine to get up and get us a towel then," Art teases back.

"I can't move," Patrick groans, "might never move again, honestly."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Art laughs, going to get it himself, bringing it back to wipe at their stomachs.

He feels lighter than he has in years as he slips back into the bed, pulling the duvet over them both.

"So, did you get what you wanted then?" Patrick asks again, "got it out of your system?"

It's twinged with a sadness and Art reads between the lines. Are you done with me now?

"Not even close," he grins, which Patrick returns. Satisfied.

He really means it. He understands Patrick's insatiable greed now. Once you start taking it's hard to imagine ever stopping. It thrills him, brings him back to life.

He should've fucked Patrick Zweig years ago.