Chapter Text
The bathroom Patrick shoves him into is blessedly empty, all dented metal stalls and grimy walls covered in graffiti and a bunch of other shit Jonny doesn’t want to think about. The lock on the door works, he realizes, as Patrick reaches behind him to twist it into place, and this is kind of a sketchy club anyway, so he can’t imagine they’re the first two people to put it to use.
This is all Patrick’s fucking fault, he thinks, breath punched out of his chest as Patrick shoves him hard against the door. All this space and they’re crowded up right against the exit. Anyone walking by could hear. Jonny thunks his head back, mouth dropping open and tonguing his lower lip at the thought.
His head’s all hazy, muddled with tequila shots and a few rounds of beer pong before they left the Sig Ep house and his dick’s hard as fuck in his pants, straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans. He cants his hips forward, looking for something to rub up against.
All Patrick’s fucking fault, dragging him onto the dance floor, rubbing back against him in the slowest, dirtiest grind Jonny’s ever felt in his life. Jonny could’ve stayed there forever, hard cock nudged up into the swell of Patrick’s ass, the small of his back, hand slipped under his shirt, fingertips tucked into the waistband of his pants, just flirting with the hard tip of his cock all tucked up high in his boxers.
Patrick’s curls had been so sweaty against Jonny’s skin when he’d buried his face in Patrick’s neck, and Patrick had laughed delightedly when Jonny bit down hard on the curve of his shoulder, sucking a possessive bruise into his soft skin.
“‘S your fault,” Jonny tells Patrick. If not for Patrick, Jonny wouldn’t be about to have shady, semi-public sex in the gross bathroom of a gross club. “‘You're a fuckin’ temptress.”
Patrick laughs. “Yeah, Jonny,” he says, and goes to his knees hard, uncaring of the concrete floor beneath them. He lifts Jonny’s shirt and trails his mouth wetly from Jonny’s waistband to his bellybutton, tongue dragging on the sparse hair.
Jonny’s not even that drunk, is the thing, but Patrick just fucks him up.
“C’mon, Pat,” Jonny pleads, dick aching. He’s been teased enough. He’s gonna go off in his pants if he has to keep looking down at Patrick on his knees, pretty pink tongue so close to where Jonny wants it to be. His eyes are open, sparkling, head tilted up just barely. He looks angelic like this.
Patrick’s head drops and he mouths at the bulge in Jonny’s pants. Jonny doesn’t have any underwear on, preferring the rough drag of his shorts against his sensitive dick and balls, and Patrick’s spit soaks through the fabric quickly, molding it to the outline of his hard cock. Jonny whines, fingers clenching at his sides.
“‘M gonna come in my pants,” he gasps out in warning, too overstimulated to let this drag on. He wants to hold out for as long as he can, desperate for the plush warmth of Patrick’s mouth around his dick, but Patrick’s had him on edge for too long. He’s gonna blow like he’s fucking fifteen again and Patrick’s doing this for the first time, all nervous determination.
It gets him right in the gut, the reminder of how long they’ve been doing this, how far they’ve come, and Jonny cups Patrick’s cheek, clear-headed for the first time all night when he smiles down at him and says, “Hey.”
Patrick grins, soft, nipping at the skin of Jonny’s palm. “Hey, loser,” he says, sucking two of Jonny’s fingers into his mouth. It isn’t romantic, but that’s okay. Jonny doesn’t want that. There’s so much love in his chest right now he feels like he’s going to burst. “I’m going to suck your dick, okay?”
Jonny exhales. “Fucking finally,” he says when Patrick unzips him and pulls his dick out through the slit. His fingers are wet where they drag on Patrick’s cheek, but he keeps them there, wanting to feel the way his cock fills Patrick’s mouth. “Fffuuuhh,” he groans when Patrick takes him all the way down. “Pat, baby, I -,”
He cuts himself off with a whine, fingers curling around Patrick’s jaw, feeling the head of his cock all pressed up tight against the back of Patrick’s throat. He thumbs idly at the corner of Patrick’s mouth, trying to keep himself from blowing too fast. Patrick’s just so fucking good at this, thorough and attentive, deepthroating like a pornstar and playing with Jonny’s foreskin exactly how he likes.
Jonny wants it to last forever, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Not against the onslaught of Patrick’s ridiculous mouth, stretching wide to take Jonny as far as he can, and the visuals that accompany it: Patrick’s red, swollen lips, his flushed cheeks, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyelids. He’s still sweaty from the dancefloor, skin covered in a sheen that’s making him glow so prettily under the harsh bathroom lights.
“Pat, I’m gonna,” he says, mouth dropping open as he feels his orgasm start to gather almost painfully in his balls, on the precipice of release.
Normally, Patrick has no problem swallowing, taking Jonny’s load quick and easy, saying it’s simpler clean up that way anyway, but this time, he pulls back and starts jerking Jonny off roughly, hand tight over his spit-slick cock. “Oh, fuuuck, yeah, I’m gonna -,” Jonny says again, all that friction getting him to the edge even faster, and then he’s coming, blowing his load all over Patrick’s open mouth, his plush lips, the softly stubbled skin of his chin.
And Jesus, it’s the most gorgeous sight. Jonny nevers wants to stop looking at Patrick like this, messy with his come. When he returns to himself enough to have some coordination in his limbs, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and flips on the camera, turning it to the video setting before he hits record.
“Smile for me, Pat,” he says, aiming it right at Patrick’s mouth, those thick lines of come coating his lips and chin.
Patrick’s eyes flicker, and he looks like he wants to laugh, but he’s good for Jonny, smirking faintly and pushing his tongue out against his lips, gathering up some of the come so he can taste it, giving a pleased little hum when he does.
“You wanna feed it to me, babe?” Patrick asks, smirk still playing at the edges of his mouth.
Jonny groans and gathers some on his finger, shoving it roughly into Patrick’s open mouth, coating his tongue with it. He changes his mind part way through, though, and hauls him to his feet, arm around his waist when Patrick seems a little unsteady on his feet. “Wanna clean you up,” he decides, fingers tight around Patrick’s jaw as he draws his mouth up to meet Jonny’s, lapping up his own come from Patrick’s lips with rough drags of his tongue.